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)
Gunnar offers a fist for knocking. “Then may all your dreams come true tonight, man.”
I knock back, then grab my water bottle, and head out for my meeting at the Luxe Hotel. I snag a parking spot on the lower level and take the stairs to the black and white lobby.
Vance, the man who’s repped me well during my year in the minors and my first three years in the majors, is easy to spot, parked on a ruby-red velvet couch, tapping away on his phone. Would it be rude if I flopped down next to him and demanded he tell me everything now?
Probably.
Better to ease into it. I don’t want to be a pushy jackass. Too many athletes are.
When I reach the pro football player turned sports agent, I clap him on the shoulder. “Let me guess. You’re ready to make us rich tonight. Or, in your case, richer,” I say with a grin.
Vance’s logged more than a decade in the business and has made quite a name for himself at CTM. I’m lucky to work with him, and especially lucky to work with the biggest agency in the world. CTM reps everyone—actors, writers, athletes, rock stars. Hell, if God needed an agent, God would call CTM.
Vance glances up, looking slick and polished in his sky-blue shirt, no tie. “That’s always my goal.” He stands and hauls me in for one of his signature hugs. “Good game tonight,” he says when he steps back.
I flick some nonexistent lint off my shoulder. “I try to knock in a few runs now and then.”
“Keep that up and we will get you a fat contract next year in addition to these deals,” he says.
“I’ll have to call you Santa Vance.” I laugh, trying to keep it light, maybe trying too hard not to let on how I want to set myself up for the future. Baseball is merciless and gives no guarantees. One bad break and my career could be over before it’s really begun.
“So, did the deal with Energize Drinks officially fall apart?” I aimed for nonchalance about the energy drink sponsorship, but, yeah, that sounded pessimistic as fuck.
Vance tilts his head, curious. “Why would you think that, Zane?”
It’s what I do when it comes to work.
“Oh, you know,” I say. “Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.”
He smiles. “Let’s save that talk for dinner,” he says, all warm encouragement. My tension doesn’t retreat. “But tonight, we’re going to have dinner with the rest of the team at CTM and make sure everyone’s on the same page so we can hit these deals hard. How does that sound?”
Sounds like shorthand for Energize Drinks still has cold feet. Only, I don’t say that to Vance. Doubting your agent isn’t a good look on a client. “Works for me if it works for you,” I say, gathering the enthusiasm and support I should show as a team player.
“It does. I am an agent of good. And I told you I have good news—”
“Dude, you said news. Next time, include the adjective,” I tease, but I feel ten times lighter.
Vance laughs. “Here’s the deal,” he begins. But his phone interrupts with a Stone Zenith tune. He waggles the device at me. “That’s Brea. Gotta say goodnight to the wife and kids. You go upstairs to Sushi Ko, and I’ll be there shortly. Get a drink on me.”
I scoff. “As if it’d be anything but on you.”
But it’s a damn good idea—a drink and a couple of minutes to shake off this lingering tension and put on my game face for dinner.
In the elevator, I punch the button for the restaurant in the sky. As I climb, I undo the cuffs on my dress shirt, then roll them up once, twice. I’ve never met a night that wasn’t improved with a little forearm reveal.
The elevator delivers me to the twentieth floor, and I make my way to the elegant sushi spot then head straight for the bar, where I order a scotch.
“Coming right up,” the bartender says.
As he grabs a bottle, I check out the crowd and…hello.
The sexiest suit I’ve seen in ages sits next to me, wearing a silk burgundy tie. I have such a thing for a sharp-dressed man, and nothing says see you later to work woes like flirting with a hot-ass guy.
Deals can take a timeout for a few more minutes. My dick’s at bat.
2
A COCKTAIL BET
Zane
I don’t fuck around when assessing the potential of a smoke show. Best to know the score right away.
“Nice tie,” I say.
No, nice tie isn’t a secret gay handshake, but it’s an innocuous opening. If he’s straight, he’ll mutter thanks and avoid eye contact.
But the guy next to me takes a beat, his deep whiskey eyes meeting mine, his lips curving in a slight grin.