11. Charlie

CHAPTER 11

CHARLIE

I can see the frustration in Patrick's eyes as he slams his notepad onto the table. "I've heard enough," he says sharply.

"What do you mean?" I growl. "We're just getting started."

"Charlie," Marissa hisses.

"I'm only explaining myself." What's this dude's problem?

But Patrick looks like he's sucking on a lemon. "I'm a busy guy. I carved out half of my morning for this when no one else in the industry will give you a chance. And then you come in here and act like an entitled brat. It looks like everyone is right about you."

My chest tightens, and my hands curl into fists. This was a mistake; Marissa and I shouldn't have even bothered coming here. No one is going to take me seriously.

And that's what this world is like when you're in the public eye. People put you on a pedestal and expect you to be perfect, and then they throw rotten tomatoes at you when you act human.

"Patrick." Marissa smiles, but her whole body is tight. "Charlie just?—"

"Thank you for coming in." Patrick stands and opens the door.

For a long moment, everyone freezes. And then Marissa gets up, her shoulders rounded forward.

"Thank you," she quietly says to Patrick.

I follow her out the door, making a point to not look at Patrick as we leave. Marissa and I walk silently through the maze of office cubicles, the tension between us palpable.

As soon as we step out into the humid air of the street, Marissa whirls on me, eyes blazing with fury. "Could you not just behave yourself for one meeting?" she hisses, hands balled into fists at her sides.

"Marissa, I—" I try to explain myself, but she cuts me off.

"Save it!" she snaps. "Do you have any idea how hard I've been working to get my own clients? To actually be taken seriously at the agency? And now, thanks to you, I'm starting to think I'll never get there."

"You don't have any other clients?" I ask.

"No." She jabs a finger at me. "You're my first one. And you know why? Because you're the bottom of the barrel right now. Isaac gave you to me because no one else wants you."

She turns her back on me, her shoulders heaving up and down with heavy breaths.

Her words sting and guilt stabs me through the heart. I know I've made things difficult, but I didn't realize just how much was riding on this for her. My throat tightens, and my hands clench involuntarily.

"Look, Marissa, I'm sorry," I say, trying to sound as sincere as I feel. "But I had to defend myself in there. Patrick was making it seem like I don't care about my career or our partnership."

"Maybe if you'd shown more maturity, he wouldn't have thought that," she retorts, turning back to me and crossing her arms over her chest. "You're supposed to be a professional athlete, Charlie. It's time you start acting like one."

"Fine," I reply, gritting my teeth and forcing down the urge to argue further. "I'll do better next time, all right?"

"Next time?" She raises an eyebrow, her anger momentarily replaced by disbelief. "What makes you think there will be a next time after that disaster? I'm half considering booking a flight right now and going home."

I scramble for the right words. "Listen, I didn't mean to make things worse for you," I say, my voice strained. "It's just… I needed to stand up for myself in there."

"By arguing? By not sticking to the answers we went over?" Her tone is incredulous, and she shakes her head. "You weren't thinking, okay? And of course you weren't. You never do."

Her words cut deep, but I can't deny their truth. I've been so focused on defending myself that I hadn't considered the consequences. "I'm sorry."

A heavy weight settles in my chest. I'm such an idiot.

"Let's just go back to the hotel," she says, walking away from me, her posture rigid. I follow her silently, our footsteps echoing through the empty streets.

As we enter the hotel lobby, I notice Marissa's hands tremble ever so slightly, betraying her otherwise composed demeanor. I hate that I've put her in this position, that I've jeopardized her chance at a promotion. It's one thing to sabotage myself, but doing it to someone who's been working so hard alongside me feels even worse.

We don't talk as we check in and receive the key cards to the rooms where our driver has already taken our luggage. I don't know what to say, either. I've screwed up big time. Again.

We reach the elevator, and Marissa punches the button with more force than necessary. The doors slide open, and she steps inside, her jaw clenched. I follow her in, my heart sinking with each floor we ascend.

Once we reach our floor, she storms off toward her room, not waiting for me to catch up. She inserts her key card into the door and turns to face me, her expression unreadable.

"I need some time alone," she says, her voice cracking a little. "Please."

"Sure." I watch as the door clicks shut behind her, then lean against the wall, resting my forehead against the cool surface as guilt and regret wash over me.

I know I need to make this right. But how can I convince her that I'm serious about turning things around when I've been so careless with her trust?

Leaving the floor, I walk aimlessly around the hotel. Up the stairs. To the rooftop. Down the stairs. Through the gym. Past the pool. With every step, my mind spins.

I don't know what to say, but I can't wait until I have the perfect speech prepared. I need to act now before Marissa books that flight and leaves, taking my only chance at a comeback with her.

Back in front of her door, I gather my wits and courage. It feels like an eternity before I finally summon the strength to rap three times.

"Who is it?" Her voice is muffled through the door, but I can hear the tension in her tone.

"Hey. It's me. Can we talk?"

There's a pause, and then the door cracks open just enough for her piercing gaze to meet mine. She hesitates for a moment, studying my face before opening the door wider and gesturing for me to come inside.

"All right." She crosses her arms as I step into her hotel room. "What do you want to talk about?"

"I know I can be… defensive," I start, struggling to find the right words. I rub the back of my neck, feeling the heat rise up my cheeks. "I guess it's because I'm afraid of being wrongly judged and being… I don't know."

"What?" she prompts, her expression softening ever so slightly. "Unworthy?"

"Yeah," I admit, my shoulders slumping. "That's it."

Her eyes narrow as she studies me, and I can tell she's trying to gauge whether or not I'm sincere. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, feeling more exposed than I have in a long time.

"Sometimes it's easier to be a jerk," I confess, my voice cracking. "Easier to ruin things before anyone has the chance to reject me."

"Okay." She's giving me nothing, but that's as it should be. It's up to me to win her over.

I swallow hard, forcing myself to look her in the eye. "I know I've been self-sabotaging, and I'm tired of it. I want to change. I'm ready to put in the work if you'll help me."

She regards me for a long moment, her eyes searching mine. I hold my breath, waiting for her verdict.

I lick my lips. "Are you quitting? Are you dropping me?"

Her shoulders lower, and I can see the fight dissipate. "I want to, but… no. You're all I have." She shakes her head. "Damn it. We're all each other has at this point."

"Exactly." I inhale deeply. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But I won't give up. And I know you won't either. We're a team, Marissa, whether you like it or not."

She stares at me for a long moment, and then her expression softens ever so slightly. "You'd better be serious about this, Charlie. I can't afford to have my career ruined by your antics."

"Trust me. I'm done messing around."

"Good," she finally says, her voice soft and measured. "I can't do this alone. If we're going to make this work, you have to be all in. No more excuses, no more self-sabotage. Do you understand?"

"I do," I say, my voice steady and resolute. "I promise you, I'm ready to make this right."

"All right," she replies, her gaze never leaving mine. "Then let's get to work."

I exhale, relief flooding through me. It's not lost on me that this might be my last chance to turn things around. To prove that I'm more than just a washed-up athlete with an attitude problem.

"The next meeting can't be like this one. You need to stick to the answers I give you. And we need to firm up our relationship story. After what happened today, it's pretty clear it's not good enough. We need to be more convincing."

"Of course," I agree, nodding my head vigorously. "Whatever it takes."

"Even if it means staying up all night?" she challenges, raising an eyebrow.

"Even then," I confirm, determination fueling every word. "I'll do whatever it takes."

"If we don't get this right, there won't be another opportunity like this."

"I know," I admit, my voice cracking with emotion. "And I won't let you down. I promise."

"Actions speak louder than words, Charlie," she reminds me, her gaze steady and unwavering. "Let's make sure you keep that promise."

"Absolutely," I say, clenching my fists at my sides.

My mind races with thoughts of what lies ahead: the work we have to do, the trust we'll need to build, and the transformation I have to undergo before stepping into the next meeting.

She gestures for me to take a seat on the couch. "Want some coffee? This will take us a while."