Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“That’s no fun,” he says, then tips his forehead to the black and white menu hanging above the counter. “But they do have cold drinks.”
I feign surprise. “They do? Is that a new thing?”
“Iced lattes, Zane. They’re all the rage,” he deadpans. Then he lowers his voice. “They even have iced coffee and iced tea.”
“Mind blown.”
When Maddox reaches the barista, he orders a coffee for himself and an iced tea for me. As the barista flies through making them, I nod in approval. “Good guess.”
He smiles, then we grab our cups and snag a table outside on the sidewalk that’s bustling with mid-morning crowds—women in trendy hats and flowy dresses, men in beards and skinny pants, an eclectic artsy crew.
“Question. If you like hot tea, why let one bad incident stop you from drinking it again?” Maddox asks, sounding genuinely curious.
“Fool me once,” I say. “That’s sort of my adage. I’m a big believer in learning your lessons, stat.”
My dad drilled that into my brother and me. But I don’t need to elaborate on family shit with my new agent.
Instead, I knock back some of the iced tea and focus on Maddox as he drinks his coffee. “What about you? Is that your third cup of the day? I bet you were up at five, working a conference call, brewing your morning cup as you barked orders at some underling. Floyd, get me the CEO of Hot Athletes Wear My Clothes, Incorporated, on the line right now.”
Maddox chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s the best you can do on the fly? Hot Athletes Wear My Clothes, Incorporated for a fictional athletic wear company?”
I bristle as if greatly offended. “I thought the incorporated was a nice touch. How fast are you at making up fake names?” I challenge.
But Maddox LeGrande wastes no time. “Toned—a hotshot athletic-wear company. Entice—cologne that intoxicates the senses. Kingsley and Steele—they make the trendiest, must-have clothes. XZO—sports cars with a price tag so high the acronym stands for nothing.” He sips some coffee then sets down the cup with a certain confidence. “Should I go on?”
Holy shit. That was fuck hot. This man’s brain might be as big as his dick, and I am here for both of those. “Did you really just come up with those names on the spot?”
His expression is deadly serious. “Do you suppose my clients regularly challenge me to devise fictional business names on the fly?” He takes a beat, leaving space for the next thing he says, “You’re the first, Zane.” He licks his lips, leans back in his chair, and hits repeat. “You’re the first.”
Traitorous heat flares in my chest. That’s what he said the night I met him, when he told me I was the first client he’d ever flirted with.
I tamp down the growing fire as best I can. “Well, let me say this. You win.”
Maddox smiles warmly, accepting the compliment. “In any case, this is my first cup of coffee. I saved myself for you. And you’re wrong about the assistant. I don’t bark at my admin. But you’re close on the other points. I’ve been up since five. I took calls from the East Coast, went for a run, worked out, and finished a contract.”
Shaved, I want to add. That clean-cut jawline is Greek-statue-level goodness. Thank fuck he doesn’t hide it behind a beard.
But I do need to hide these lusty feelings that didn’t dissipate over the last two weeks. I’m still ridiculously attracted to this man who wants to strike me a deal. “Want to walk?” I ask.
I need a change of scenery. Can’t sit here at a sidewalk café with Maddox like this is a date. Makes me want the second half of the date far too much—the part when I’d take him home.
“Sure,” he says, and I fight valiantly not to stare as he moves past me to the sidewalk.
But I fail hard.
A little later, we wander through the independent bookstore a few blocks from the café, and my feet take me where they always do—the sports shelves.
I thumb through the newest releases.
“You read a lot of sports books?” Maddox asks.
I smirk. “I feel like this is a dating profile question.”
“It is. I’m trying to understand you so I can work best for you,” he says.
I scratch my jaw, a little doubtful. Is this really the way to nail an endorsement deal, with this kind of get-to-know-you sesh? I mean, I’m not complaining about spending time with Maddox. He’s sarcastic and sharp and takes no shit. But Vance never asked these questions. Maybe it’s because he’d been my agent since he snagged me in the draft, or maybe he just learned them over time.
“I like sports history,” I say. “I try to read athlete bios. It’s good to know who came before us. What they were like.” I tap a hardback on the shelf, the bio of a closing pitcher who escaped a dangerous country to play in the US. “I’ve read this one.” Then a football player who was dyslexic. “This too.” Next, I show him a basketball player who was raised by a foster mom working three jobs. “Another winner.”