When in Sochi

Pretty and Dying ♡

I had one more person to talk to before I had to leave for Alaska.

Nick Boehner was watching the speed skaters from the judges' panels. I cleared my throat and walked up to him.

"Ms. Young," he nodded at me and beckoned for me to sit with him.

"Mr. Bay-ner," I waved back awkwardly. "How are you?"

"I'm fine," I said, while watching the skaters whiz by. Then he looked at me. "You don't usually come to me unless you need something. What is it?"

"It's Gretchen," I said quickly. "He's been stealing US Weekly's ideas and sending them over to People from MY hotel room. It's not me, sir. And he was the one who told People all that BS about me and stuff."

He looked at me, as if not convinced.

"Sir," I pleaded. "You have to believe me."

I gave him a letter. "What the hell is this?" he asked gruffly.

"My letter of resignation. I no longer wish to work in this kind of business. It's like high school all over again, with all the mudslinging and backstabbing."

"Resigning?" he sat up straight now and looked at me seriously. "You're bluffing, Young!"

"I'm afraid I'm not, sir," I said in a croaky voice. "It's been a fun ride. And... I gotta go back home sir, to see my parents. I'm afraid I don't have much time left n this earth."

Nick was now standing up and staring at me incredulously.

"What in the name of God are you talking about?! You're not dying, are you?!"

I nodded and forced a smiled. "I'm getting weaker everyday, sir. I have this heart disease that I've been keeping under control for a while now, but I can only sustain it for so long. My body's tired and weary sir, and I just wanna go home."

"When you mean home, you don't mean Alaska, do you?" he asked me, almost in a whisper.

I shook my head. "I mean 'home' sir. My time here is up."

Then I stood up and shook his hand. "It was great working with you."

Nick was stunned, and for the first time, he didn't have anything else to say. When I was halfway up the steps to get out of the judges' panel, I heard him say loudly,

"For the record, you're the best God-damn publicist I've ever had in a while."

I smiled. It's true, what they say. They'll only love you if you're pretty or dying.