“Oh, please. Marilyn Monroe? Joe DiMaggio? Why do you think he became the legend he is today?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Because he was a great ball player?”
“Made great because he got to look forward to a fine piece of ass crawling over his cock every night.”
His words hit me like someone had just slapped me across the cheek. Whatever sexual harassment policies the team had drawn up, Shepherd was breaking just about every single one of them.
“You are an asshole.”
“Oh, please. That woman couldn’t act to save her soul. But servicing dick—she could have taken home the Academy Award.”
Anger coursed through me, mixing with the alcohol. It was a volatile combination. “I wasn’t calling you an asshole because of what you’re accusing Marilyn Monroe of. I was and still am calling you an asshole because of what you’re accusing me of.” Nevermind the fact that DiMaggio and Monroe hadn’t even met until after he’d retired from baseball. Clearly, Shepherd wasn’t up on his baseball trivia like I was.
Shepherd exchanged his empty glass for the one I’d left unfinished on the counter. “What? Are you not servicing Luke Archer’s dick?”
My stomach turned over. How did he know? How had he found out?
“Don’t worry, Allie. Your valiant Archer didn’t fuck and tell or anything.” He drained my glass in a single sip. “It was just implied in your contract when you were brought on.”
“I was brought on as an athletic trainer. Athletic trainer. The same exact job as the one you have.” When I realized my hands were starting to shake, I wound them behind my back. I didn’t want him to see me rattled. I didn’t want to confirm his suspicions.
“Yes, you were brought on as an ‘athletic trainer.’” He snorted. “Just like the girl last season was brought on as a ‘physical therapist,’ and the one before her as a ‘dietitian,’ and the one Archer’s first season as a ‘guest reporter.’”
The room started to close in on me. I had no reason to believe what Shepherd was saying; just like I had no reason to disbelieve what he was saying. He might have been an asshole, but he was a drunk one right now and couldn’t have just pulled all of that out of his ass if it wasn’t true. Or could he?
God, my head hurt.
“Oh please, don’t be so na?ve.” Shepherd dropped his hand on my shoulder and gave me a little shake like he was trying to break me out of shock. “How do you think a team attracts a player like Archer and keeps a player like him? It sure as shit isn’t with just heaps of cash. But it’s not exactly like the Shock can put a traveling hooker on the payroll, so they’ve found legal ways around it.”
I shrugged out from beneath his hand, my eyes searching the room for Archer. He was still in the same place, but he was watching me. When he noticed the look on my face, his brows drew together. His eyes narrowed when he saw Shepherd so close.
It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Whatever I did or didn’t know about Luke, I knew he was a decent person. A good man. Someone like that wouldn’t condone or expect the team to hire some new woman every year to be his personal traveling fuck toy. Shepherd was full of shit.
“God, what is the matter with you?” Peeling my eyes from Archer, who looked close to tearing across the room for me, I crossed my arms at Shepherd. “Are you intimidated by me or something? Worried I’m going to take your position as lead trainer?”
His head fell back, and a laugh spilled past his lips. “Oh, yeah. That’s it. I’m truly intimidated by your ability to use your pussy.” My eyes widened, but he didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Please, what did you really think? That you were hired on because you were the best candidate for the job? This is baseball. It’s a boys’ club. The only cunts allowed in are the ones who know how to spread ‘em and bed ‘em.”
At my side, my hand twitched. The pull to slap him right in the middle of this charity ball was so appealing, I could taste it, but Luke was watching me again. I couldn’t give him a reason to come barreling over here and confirm Shepherd’s accusations. “You truly are a heinous person.”
Shepherd feigned insult. “You misunderstand why I’m bringing this up. It isn’t to insult you—it’s to congratulate you.” He clapped a few times at me. “You’ve done your job better than any of the ones who came before. Keep up the good work. Who knows? You might even get a little bonus at the end of the season—with your marching orders.”