A Scandalous Deal With The Basketball Star

Sloane's POV

Manifestation fucking works!

It's why I was standing in front of Dr. Lambert's office, holding up my fist and about to knock.

Exactly a year and a half ago, I made a promise to myself that on this particular day, my PhD dissertation would be completed and signed. I followed through with the plan that constituted of a lot of sleepless nights, printing out questionnaires, and traveling to Scotland for interviews.

"Come on in," A voice said when I knocked.

"Good morning, Dr. Lambert," I smiled, pushing open the door and cat-walking into the office.

My smile vanished as soon my eyes landed on Dr. Lambert's seat. Absent was Dr. Lambert, and present was an older female I had never laid eyes on in my entire life.

"I'm looking for, Dr. Lambert, ma'am." Shock didn't even let me greet her.

"I see you haven't heard." She cleared her throat. "Dr. Lambert will not be available for the next six months."

"M-m-may I ask why?" I blinked.

"He signed up for a clinical research study in Amsterdam, and he got chosen.”

My eyelids fluttered three times before I could feel the cereal I had for breakfast this morning pushing up my throat.

"But he's been the one supervising me for my dissertation. He has been for the past year and a half."

"Yes, that is where I come in. I'm Dr. Humphrey, by the way. You are?"

Fuck this. Fuck my life.

"Sloane..." I looked around the office, unable to contain my uneasiness. "Sloane Murphy."

"Oh, the Sloane Murphy. I've heard nothing but good things about you."

Thank fuck!

Dr. Lambert wasn't here anymore, but I still had to get my dissertation signed.

"Ma'am, I'm here to get my dissertation signed. Dr. Lambert was supposed to sign it today." I explained, flipping the pages of the hardcopy open until I got to the section where my supervisor would sign.

I slid it across her desk.

Instead of pulling out her pen to sign it, she observed my face for a while, clasping her hands together.

"You know, Ms. Murphy, I was able to go through the dissertation before you arrived."

"And?" I stared at her with eager eyes.

"I'm not really buying it. It reads more like academic fluff. I'm sure you, of all people, know that Oxford has passed the stage where a dissertation is all theory and no practical."

What the hell?

I bit the inside of my cheek because if I didn't, I would cry.

"Okay, Dr. Humphrey. I'd like to know the specific areas I could polish to make it better. I'm ready to work with you, ma'am." I said, nodding.

Even though I wanted to break, I just wanted to get past this dissertation stage so I could begin looking for jobs. Graduation was in three months.

"Everything."

"Ma?" I pushed up my glasses, leaning forward because I didn't quite get her.

"I'm not someone who likes mediocrity, and I'm going to be honest with you, this work is very mediocre, and I'm sorry, but I can't sign it."

I didn't realize it when the tears started falling down my cheeks.

"B-but graduation is in three months."

"Yes, and while I'm not really buying this dissertation, I've gone through your other academic research and I, for one, know that if anyone can pull anything off, it's you, Sloane Murphy."

She popped open a drawer, bringing out a sealed envelope before sliding it across.

"Now, in here is a one-way ticket to Los Angeles. Sloane, I know this is a lot of work, but it's exciting. We know Los Angeles is the heart of entertainment. We get to see the good side of it, yeah? But, there's also a bad side. I want you to do a thorough research, and work on the topic The Psychopathology of Elite Athletes. You can pick any case study, but I need you to pick a live subject and fixate on it for the next ninety days. I want you to highlight the bad side that we do not see. Also, your live subject must sign off on your clinical validation weekly. If I'm impressed, you get a signature, and you get to graduate. If not, you begin again."

Ninety days.

Like I was some superhero.

I crossed and uncrossed my legs as I sat in the waiting room of the Los Angeles Lakers sports complex, waiting until it was my turn.

"The truth of the matter is that we saw these signs since he got drafted and we ignored them!" An angry bald man walked past the people waiting.

"Mr. Hillary, I can assure you that my client will be better!" A shorter woman scurried behind him, trying to keep up with his pace.

"Better? Cross has been in the league for five years! When exactly does it get better. I get it that he's talented, but I knew that his bad habits would one day end him. What type of damage control can be done in a case like this? Brenda, I don't think you get it. We're talking about four hundred million dollars here!" The bald man spat, and all of a sudden, my interest was piqued.

Fuck if I knew shit about basketball, but I did a little research before hopping on the plane. Apparently, the Los Angeles Lakers are a fan favorite, and I need Dr. Lambert to sign this dissertation, and so, I went with it.

"Mr. Hillary, I can assure you that Cross is sober." The shorter woman responded. 

The reply seemed to get on Mr. Hillary's nerves. 

He took a couple of steps back, coming to stand in the middle of the waiting room.

"Sober? Did you fucking say sober? Brenda, this is the same shit we've been hearing since he came on the scene. Look, at this point, we will have to suspend him until we know what to do."

"Please, don't." Brenda begged.

Mr. Hillary then took the conversation into an office. A couple of people made their way into the office. While the door was soundproof, I could tell it was chaos in there.

Time flew by so quickly, and I didn't realize it when I was yawning.

I stared at the smartwatch on my wrist.

6:00 o'clock.

Fuck!

I'd been seated here since 8:00 this morning. I looked around and saw that everyone had gone.

I hadn’t had anything to eat, and my head was spinning.

I was guessing I'd have to try another team tomorrow.

Marching outside to get a taxi, a gasp slipped out of my mouth.

"We want better!" Someone yelled, holding a placard that said 'Do better, Malik!'

There was a full-blown protest with fans, the press, and regular people holding up their phones, trying to get some form of tea. I seemed to be the only one lost. 

The entrance of the arena was crowded, leaving me stuck.

Quickly opening my ride app, my phone hit me with the no service notification.

Son of a bitch!

Not now.

Not when the fear of crowded spaces that I had was clawing away at my nerves.

I froze, my mouth hanging open as droplets of rain began to hit my skin. My teeth slammed together, my temperature dropping at a scary rate— a sign that my low blood sugar was kicking in.

God, was this how I was going to die?

Someone pushed me forward, and that was when I found myself marching towards him. 

An insanely tall man with scary tattoos and a physique that showed he spent half his life in the gym. 

"Sir, can you please help me. I'm lost." I pleaded.

He seemed to be all caught up in the argument he was having with a woman I recognized from earlier today. Brenda.

"You don't fucking tell me what to do!" He yelled at her.

“I’m your manager. You….”

That was the last thing I heard before someone yanked something from under me, and I went careening into the asphalt.

God, I really was going to die today.

I closed my eyes, hoping that my death would be a quick and painless one.

My eyelids blinked open, and shockingly, my head wasn't smashed against the floor. Also, it didn't hurt.

Rather, I found myself in a really weird position. Dizziness was taking control of me, but I could see a figure hovering above me, his cross chain dangling in my face as I felt strong arms wrapped around me. I got a peek at his chest tattoos.

A loose strand of hair got in my face, and he tucked it behind my ears before it began to pour heavily.