Overnight Service (Always Satisfied Book 4)

by Lauren Blakely

  I laugh. “You’re right. Exactly twenty-eight years ago, I started delivering noogies, as soon as you were born.” I gesture to the book. “Are you getting that or hating it like the grumpy cat you are?”

  She sighs and casts a derisive look at the yellow cover featuring an illustrated couple. “No. I’m not getting it. It’s from Owl Landing House Publishers. It’s another book I lost out on. Of course it went straight to the top of the charts, a place I could never be. Midlist—I’m the queen of midlist books.”

  I roll up my shirtsleeves, signaling that it’s time for business. “Which brings me to the reason for this meeting. You want me to toughen you up. Let’s talk business. Strategize.”

  “No one better to toughen me up than the most intense, driven, and devoted agent this side of the Mississippi.” We head to the café at An Open Book, where she stops at the counter and snaps her sharp-eyed gaze back at me. “Wait. Are you still the most intense, driven, and devoted? I didn’t hear a word from you while you were in Vegas. Does that mean you slacked off and played cards all night long?”

  Time for my best poker face. I didn’t exactly slack off and I didn’t hit the tables, but I also wasn’t all work.

  I tap my chest. “Slap the placard on me. I’m driven and devoted as hell. I worked on Alfonso’s trade details on the flight home yesterday. As soon as I returned, I had dinner with Big Kevin C.”

  “Wrestler?”

  “Please. You should watch sports sometime. He’s the star forward on the Knicks.”

  “Don’t the Knicks suck?”

  I bring my finger to my mouth. “Shh.”

  She mimes zipping her lips. “I won’t tell a soul. I’m assuming no one else in New York is aware.”

  “Next year, sis. Next year they’ll be better. And today I’m meeting with the girlfriend of a new client I’m chasing.”

  “The girlfriend?”

  After we order lattes, I explain how Jackson’s girlfriend, as well as his best friend, are intimately involved in all his decisions. Then I bring her up to speed on the potential client, and how Haven’s pursuing him too.

  “Good luck with that,” she says as we sit, drinks in hand.

  “Why do you say ‘good luck with that’?”

  “Tennis is the only sport I follow, because there are some amazing women dominating the game. And Alicia is a girl’s girl. She has a pack of girlfriends. She’s all about girl power.”

  That phrase rankles and stirs a new worry. Girl Power is the name of Haven’s charity, the one that helps fund athletic programs for underprivileged young girls. If Alicia’s a girl-power type of gal, does that give Haven an automatic leg up?

  As if reading my mind, Amy asks, “How do you think you’ll win Jackson over Haven? Also, didn’t you have a thing with her?”

  My sister, I swear. She forgets nothing. She’s the only other person, besides Jason, who knows what went down a year ago. “Yes, but that’s in the past.” Thirty-six hours in the past. “And, hello, can we talk about you?”

  “You started it. I kind of want to know everything now about Jackson and Alicia and this whole bet.”

  Though I’m curious about gaining further insight from her on the female mind-set of Haven and Alicia’s girl-power connection, I shake my head. “We’re talking about you. Let’s dive into it.”

  She takes a drink of her latte then tells me her work concerns. I listen, smashing away the occasional thoughts of Haven, of advantages, and of what we did less than two nights ago in Vegas.

  We agreed it wouldn’t happen again, and it simply can’t.

  Besides, so what if she has an advantage? All the more reason for me to be ruthless as I focus on what I can bring to the table. That’s what I intend to do when I meet with Alicia and Jackson tonight.

  After Amy updates me on her work situation, we talk it through and devise a game plan.

  “Thank you. That sounds brilliant,” she says with a grateful smile. “By the way, are you going to Josie’s baby shower?”

  I reach into my back pocket and make a show of opening my wallet. My sister stares curiously. “What are you doing?”

  I hold up a just-a-sec finger then continue to root through my credit cards. “Let me see if I can find my man card in here.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You are so ridiculous.”

  “No, really. I’ll be forced to turn it in if you make me go to a baby shower.”

  “You act like it’s waterboarding.”

  I find an old credit card and toss it across the table. “It is waterboarding. They do stuff like ‘guess what’s in the diaper’ and ‘what position was the baby conceived in.’”

  “Someone’s been reading up on baby showers,” she says, stretching an arm across the table to poke me.

  “Of course I read up. I wanted to know what I was turning down. Besides, why do you even want me there? We have two sisters you can drag along. Take Quinn and Tabitha.”

  “And I’m dragging them along too. But I want you to come.” She bats her lashes.

  “Why?”

  She takes the last sip of her latte, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Because my friend Peyton is going to be there.”

  “And?”

  “Duh. I want to set you up with her. There. Fine. Are you happy? You got a confession out of me.”

  I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re adorable. But seriously, I can’t go. And that’s exactly why—you always want to set me up with your friends.”

  “Well, some women think you’re attractive. I mean, not me. Others do. And you’re single.”

  “I am.”

  She arches a brow then sniffs the air. “Wait. Are you not single? Did you meet a showgirl in Vegas, you devil?” She slugs my arm.

  I laugh. “I did not meet a showgirl.”

  Her eyebrows dance, and she waggles her finger at me. “You met someone. I can see it in your eyes. What happened?”

  How is it possible for her to see through me? This is how she got the Haven info out of me in the first place—her laser vision into my head. “Nothing happened.”

  She studies my face, searching every inch. Then she gasps and covers her mouth. “Oh my God. You saw Haven.”

  “I did not.”

  “You did! She was at the conference too. I saw on Twitter. The sports reporter tweeted later about the two of you bringing ‘heated points of view’ to the stage. What else did you bring a heated point of view to? To her? Did you give her a heated point of view?”

  Like I said, she’s a mind reader. She also kills me, so I’m cracking up, a giveaway that her Star Trek mind-meld worked.

  Her smile turns gleefully evil. “Are you back together with her?”

  “No. Never. We are never getting back together. We weren’t even together in the first place, Ames.”

  She shrugs impishly. “You say that, yet you did have a whirlwind couple of weeks with her.”

  She’s not wrong. It was an epic whirlwind. And it was also wholly secret, so it was a surreal whirlwind. A secret affair, for all intents and purposes.

  “And those few weeks proved we’re the Yankees and the Red Sox, Batman and Superman, Tweety Bird and Sylvester the cat.”

  “No.” She curls her hands around her mug, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “You’re Bennet and Darcy.”

  I toss a napkin at her. “You want to play lit analogies? We’re Valjean and Javert. Holmes and Moriarty.”

  She stands her ground. “Bennet and Darcy. Forever.”

  “Bennet and Darcy. Never.”

  “In that case, you should come to the shower and meet Peyton.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t. I’d probably, I dunno, die. But I picked up gifts for all of us to give Josie.”

  Her eyes widen. “You didn’t!”

  I reach for my phone, slide open a photo, and show her the pic I snapped. I took it earlier today in my apartment. With eyes as big as dinner plates, she gawks at the shot of gift after gift from Josie’s registry. “Did y
ou buy out her registry?”

  “Pretty much. I went online, ordered them, had ’em gift wrapped. I’ll even messenger them to her apartment, from the Summers cousins. But I won’t go to a baby shower.”

  She heaves a dramatic sigh, but then says, “Fine.” Happily, it seems I’m excused on account of gifts, the fastest way to my sister’s heart.

  But after I say goodbye to Amy, I breathe a sigh of relief that she didn’t ferret out the real reason I don’t want to go to the shower.

  The reason I don’t want to be set up with Peyton.

  I’m sure Peyton’s a great gal, but the sad, sorry reality is, for the last year, I’ve had zero interest in any woman other than a certain rival sports agent.

  And that’s a big fucking problem.

  15

  Josh

  I have a couple hours free before I head to see Alicia and Jackson, so I decide to burn off some energy with a long walk through Manhattan. As I head up Fifth Avenue, I send a text to Ford.

  Josh: Dying here. What’s the swimmer report?

  Ford: Thanks for your heartfelt concern for my boys.

  Josh: Did they arrive at the destination? Did they get scared and run the other way? Are they still on deck?

  Ford: You truly have no respect for the sanctity of marriage.

  Josh: I have the utmost respect for it. But need I remind you, your wife admitted she liked spanking at Yankee Stadium, and you then asked me to serve as wingman for your procreation efforts? I believe that entitles me to a report.

  Ford: Since you seem to have forgotten the basics of the birds and the bees, let me remind you: WE WON’T KNOW FOR TWO WEEKS. Also, you’re an asshole.

  Josh: I AM FAMILIAR WITH THE SCIENCE OF THE FEMALE REPRODUCTIVE SYSTEM. But I wanted to rile you up anyway. And I can indeed be an asshole. As proof, let me say this—I don’t know how I will get through the next two weeks. Send my love to Viv.

  Ford: I’ll send your love to the North Pole. Also, thanks, man. Appreciate you filling in for me.

  Josh: Anytime.

  Ford: Did you and Haven work it out?

  As I pass St. Patrick’s Cathedral, its spires looming high above me, I reflect on the weekend. All else aside, his advice was spot-on. We did put the past behind us. Now we are simply two regular old rivals. Nothing more.

  Josh: Yeah, we did. Cleared the air. Thanks again. Great advice. And now I’m off to see Alicia and the guy who’s going to be the male Serena Williams.

  Ford: You never stop working.

  Josh: Never ever ever.

  And there’s no need to stop working when I can devote everything to it once again, thanks to this weekend’s air-clearing.

  When I wander past Central Park and Austin rings, I slide Haven into a drawer in my mind and slide it closed.

  “Hey there. How’s it going?” I ask.

  “This loophole! Damn, you’re like the Robert Langdon of contracts. You figured this out. For all I know, my last agent might have too, but hell if I could think past her looks—”

  “Just call me a Da Vinci Code hero.” I cut him off before he can give me another Haven comment. Yes, we all fucking love her.

  “Dude, add that to your business card right now, because you cracked this. This is epic. This is what I wanted. This kind of laser focus.”

  “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

  “I had some ideas for our next steps,” he says. “Can you meet up right now? I’m done with my workout and about to grab a carrot juice.”

  “Absolutely.”

  Thirty minutes later, we’re talking at the smoothie bar at his gym, and I’m zeroed in on Austin’s needs, even as he ogles every woman in spandex and a sports bra, and even when he calls a time-out.

  “Be right back. Gotta grab a hottie’s number right now.”

  But I remind myself that, like Ford said, Austin doesn’t have to be Mr. Squeaky Clean. We aren’t repping nuns and kindergarten teachers. This is my job—to take care of his business needs like the killer sports agent I am.

  And that’s what I do as we review the plans when he returns.

  Yes, this past weekend was everything I needed to reset my mind and get back to work.

  I’m early for my meeting with Alicia and Jackson at The Lucky Spot, but they’re earlier.

  The bright, bubbly blonde waves me over from their booth in the corner and jumps up when I reach them.

  “Look at you! Just look at you. It’s so good to meet you,” she says, vibrating with boundless energy, like she’s hopped up on twenty espressos.

  “Pleasure to meet you too.”

  “I have so many ideas. So. Many. Ideas. It’s time, don’t you think?” She sits, drops a hand on Jackson’s shoulder, and squeezes. “Time to take this man to the next level!”

  I’m guessing Alicia was head of the cheerleading squad in high school. Probably college too.

  “Let’s take him to the stratosphere, where he belongs,” I say.

  “Yes. Yes. You are talking my language.” She turns to her man. “Baby, isn’t he talking my language?”

  Jackson tears his gaze away from the ESPN scroll on the TV. “He is.” He drops a kiss to her cheek. “Love you, baby doll. You’re the best.”’

  “No, you’re the best,” she says with a big smile. Then she grabs her drink. The ice cubes in it clink forlornly against the glass. “Empty. This is so sad.”

  “Let me get you another,” I offer. “Diet Coke with a slice of lime?”

  “How did you know?”

  I smile casually. “You don’t drink. You’ve said on Instagram that you like to be one hundred percent present.”

  Jackson chimes in, draping an arm around her. “My girl is all about the zone. She’s always in it.”

  She smiles with a guilty-as-charged nose wrinkle. “I do. I don’t want any distractions. Thank you for noticing. I totally appreciate that.”

  At the bar, I grab iced tea for myself and a Diet Coke for her, figuring this woman is going to be on my wavelength. I get the impression that Jackson doesn’t care about representation. Only his girlfriend does. She’s the one I need to win.

  When I return with her drink, she takes a sip then rubs her hands together. “I have a plan. It’s going to be fantastic. Jackson’s rocket is launching higher, and it’s time to move past the momager.”

  “Alicia,” Jackson chides. “Don’t be dissing on my mom.”

  “I’m not dissing her. But, Jackie, it’s time. She’s been managing you for too long. We need professional representation.”

  “I know, but be nice to Mom.”

  She smacks a kiss on his cheek. “I’m always nice to your mom. I took her shopping last weekend on Rodeo Drive, and I Instagrammed it all. And your fans ate it up.”

  “They did like those pics,” he concedes.

  “They liked them more than pics of avocado toast.”

  “And that’s pretty much the pinnacle of liking on Instagram,” I add.

  Alicia clasps her chest. “Yes! An agent after my own publicist heart. He knows Insta, sweetie. This is going to be great. So great. Want to hear my plan?”

  “I’d love to.”

  She takes a deep breath like she’s prepping to deliver big news. She grabs Jackson’s arm and squeezes. “We’re going to the Hamptons for the weekend. Just to chill. Get some sun, play some Frisbee, and work on our tans.” She lowers her voice to a whisper. “Take some pics, of course. Because what’s more unnerving to the competition than the idea that we’re relaxing before his next big tourney, not sweating it at all?”

  “That’s a brilliant strategy to psyche out his rivals.”

  She taps her sternum. “I know. My idea.”

  As if I would think otherwise.

  She sits straighter, her smile stretching to the edge of Manhattan. “And we thought . . . wouldn’t it be great to have you and Vaughn Channing and Haven join us? Spend a weekend and pitch us on what you can do. Doesn’t that sound amazing?”

  I’m rarely
thrown for a loop. But that’s not how business works. Clients don’t host battles royal.

  I need to redirect this down another, less disastrous path. “Wouldn’t you rather—”

  “No. I wouldn’t rather do it separately. This way, we’ll know who’s best. It’ll be like a reality show without the cameras.” Her message is crystal clear—she wears all the pants in the family, and it’s her way or the highway. “We saw Haven and Vaughn already, and they’re on board. Are you in or out?”

  There is only one answer.

  I lift the glass of iced tea, take a swallow, and set it down. “I’m all in.”

  “Great. I’ll send a car on Friday for all of you.”

  I clench my jaw so it doesn’t drop off completely. Carefully, I ask, “You want us to take a car together?”

  She rolls her eyes. “Of course. I’m not going to make you take a bus.”

  Jackson squeezes her shoulder. “She’s the best. So thoughtful. Love this woman. Just love her to pieces.”

  “She’s the best,” I second.

  And by “best” I mean the absolute worst.

  16

  Haven

  After I get the confirmation from Alicia, I reach out to Sloane. I hate cancelling plans, but I have to chase this deal.

  This is the type of opportunity that can vault me to the next level. I grab my phone and write to my friend.

  Haven: Forgive me!

  Sloane: Bah. Leave me all alone with my wine. And otters. We’re painting otters this weekend. Your loss.