“Leak the photo on every social media outlet I can find?”
Millie grinned. As far as assistants went, Cassie was worth her weight in free media coverage. “Make whatever pithy caption you come up with more football related than basketball. We want to shift the focus away from all talk of basketball, so for now, Kate will have to be Mrs. Gridiron.” She smirked as she pulled her phone from her pocket. “Serves her right for looking so damn good in a bikini.”
“Yeah!” Cassie chirped.
Millie paused in the doorway. “Okay, maybe don’t leak the photo.”
“But we can still hate her for looking so awesome?” Cassie asked hopefully.
“Yes, but we have to store it deep down inside.”
“Got it,” her assistant chirped.
Millie held for another moment to be certain she hadn’t forgotten anything. After a quick rundown of her mental checklist, she nodded and sprang into motion again. “If Chancellor Martin decides he wants to talk to me, I’ve moved to Mozambique.”
“Do you even know where Mozambique is?” Cassie called after her, but Millie didn’t break stride.
She knew exactly where Mozambique was on the map. She knew lots of things. And coastal Africa seemed as good a place to hide as any. One of the baseball coaches jumped out of her way as she swung around the corner at full speed. She smiled but didn’t stop. Not when she was this close to escaping campus.
The morning after Davenport’s story broke, she’d appeased the gaggle camped outside Ty’s front door by sending him out to recite a brief but seemingly heartfelt statement wishing his soon-to-be-ex-wife well. Getting something slightly better than nothing worked for the majority of them. Most just wanted something to put in their sidebars. Unfortunately, the one who didn’t bite was the biggest thorn in her side.
Slowing her pace, she focused on regulating her breathing before she reached the athletic director’s office. The past few months had been rough on Mike Samlin. She needed to appear calm and collected. The thought made Millie smile. Not because she disliked the man, but she fancied herself the Joker to Mike’s Bruce Wayne each time they stood side by side. He was everything cool, crisp, and conservative, while she liked a pop of color. Or ten. And colorful or not, she wanted to be taken seriously.
Mike landed at Wolcott in the nick of time, in Millie’s opinion. The university was becoming a tad too comfortable in its role as Mid-Continental Conference’s patsy, and influential alumni were getting restless. Intercollegiate athletics generated an astronomical amount of money.
Kate Snyder’s unparalleled success in women’s basketball was certainly a huge feather in the university’s cap, but it wasn’t enough. They needed to build their men’s programs and fast. That’s why Mike had hired Danny McMillan to revive the football program and Ty Ransom to bring men’s basketball up to speed. And Ty was starting to have some success. Dante Harris was the first marquee player to come out of the men’s basketball program in more than two decades. His defection was a stunning blow beyond the scandal surrounding his departure.
Millie drew to a halt and blew out a long breath, a technique she’d picked up at one of those god-awful yoga retreats her friend Avery insisted she and Kate attend semiannually. As much as Millie hated to admit buying into any part of Avery’s new age crap, the breathing thing worked.
While blowing out a single measured breath, she wiped her mental slate clean. These days, her job was less about spinning Mari Ransom’s infidelity and more about Ty’s big mouth. Damage control had been bumped to priority one in the aftermath of Jim Davenport’s scoop, and Millie hit the ground running. Ty’s contract would be up in a couple of years, and the last thing Millie wanted was to give the scandal-shy university reason to look elsewhere for a basketball coach.
For nearly a week, she’d paraded Ty around to various print, web, and television outlets. As expected, interest started to wane when he opened his mouth and started speaking rationally and without rancor. He’d taken every poke, prod, and outright jab like a man…so far.
Taking it on the chin was not an easy task for a guy like Ty. He’d been born a winner. Trained to be a champion. Labeled a disappointment when he went pro. And now, after years of building his reputation as a coach and rebuilding his ego, this mess.
Their dog and pony show had kept them booked solid all week, but the next day, they’d tackle their biggest hurdle yet—the only person who hadn’t succumbed to Ty’s charm, NSN lead anchor, Greg Chambers.
She nodded a greeting to the grad student who acted as Mike’s assistant. The girl smiled and motioned for her to go on into the inner sanctum, but she paused anyway. Millie wasn’t one to open a closed door without at least tapping first. That was how a person stumbled onto unwelcome surprises.
Then again, for Millie, there was no such thing as a welcome surprise. The secret to her success was knowing exactly what cards she held versus who might possibly be hiding an ace up their sleeve. Rolling her shoulders back, she imagined an invisible string pulling the top of her head up until she stood straight and tall, then she raised her hand to knock.
The AD called for her to come in, and after making a mental note to burn Avery’s newest Birkenstocks for implanting the whole string out of the top of her head thing, she twisted the knob and entered, bravado firmly in hand.
“So I have calls in to Today as well as LIVE, but word is Kelly Ripa is pretty much off the jock bandwagon since Michael Strahan jumped ship. They’re both long shots, but you don’t get what you don’t ask—” She stopped on a dime when she spotted Ty sitting in
