by Tracey Ward
“It’s your release from the Ashford Agency,” Sloane confirms proudly. “Once you sign there at the bottom, you’re free.”
“Brad won’t be my agent anymore?”
“No.”
I look into her eyes. “And neither will you?”
Her lips tighten slightly. “No. Neither will I.”
“I don’t know exactly how I feel about that.”
“It’s what you wanted.”
“Yeah, I know, but now I have to find a new agent. Where am I going to find someone who will fight for me the way you did?”
“I have an idea about that.” She takes a step closer to Berny with a smile. “I think you should sign with us.”
I frown, not getting it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. You want me split my contract again? Between two different agencies?”
“I don’t work for the Ashford Agency anymore. I work for the DAK. Dawe, Ashford, and Kane.”
“Who’s Kane?”
“Hollis. He and I jumped ship tonight.”
I blink hard, not sure I understand her right. “Jumped ship? Do you mean you quit?”
She’s calm when replies, “I do. After I got you released from your contract with Brad, I resigned. And on the plane ride here from L.A. I joined a new agency with Berny and Hollis. Well, we kind of formed a new agency on the plane ride over.” She puts her hand on Berny’s shoulder. “Berny used to be my dad’s boss back when he first got started as an agent. They worked together for years, lived like brothers, and then my dad being my dad up and left him and took every big league client they had to form his own agency. He trashed Berny’s name, told everyone he was skimming money off his clients—“
“A lie, by the way,” Berny points out. “In case you were wondering.”
“Never a shred of evidence to prove it,” Sloane confirms. “Berny immediately offered up all of his records for an investigation, total transparency, and when it was over he was cleared, but the damage was done. Dad had sunk him.”
“Rumor is stronger than religion in this business. Once it started going around that I was a crook, there was no stopping it.”
“No one cared that he had been one of the best agents around for the last ten years. Dad had the big name clients and the shiny new office so that’s where they went. No one would partner with Berny after that so he’s been working alone for the last seventeen years.”
“But I never stopped fighting for my clients,” he assures me.
“Even though he’s been a one man show, he still has eight clients on his roster. Three NBA, two NHL, two NFL, and one PGA.”
“All of them active.”
“All of them happy,” Sloane adds pointedly.
“But if I sign with your agency, that means you’ll be my agent again?” I ask Sloane carefully.
She shakes her head. “No. You’ll be Berny’s client, not mine.”
“But I’ll pay Sloane a finder’s fee for bringing you to me,” Berny promises. “She won’t be taken advantage of. Not by my agency.”
“Our agency,” she reminds him.
He laughs, nodding heavily. “By our agency. Yes. I’m going to have to get used to saying that again.”
I look at Sloane. “Can I talk to you about this alone for a second?”
Berny puts up his hands, already backing away. “This is a big decision, a lot of change. You two should definitely talk about it. I’ll wait in the hall. Holler if you need me.”
“Thanks, Berny,” Sloane calls after him.
I wait for the door to close behind him before I sit down on the bench in front of the lockers.
“You’re sure about attaching yourself to him?” I ask quietly. “You said your dad ruined his name.”
“Yeah, years ago. The client and agent pool is full of fresh faces, people barely older than me who don’t know anything about the scandal. And with the Ashford name back on the letterhead, we’ll win over some of the old guys who do remember.”
“What about your dad? Won’t he be pissed you’re teaming up with his old boss?”
“He’d be pissed if I went to any agency other than his, but I can’t stay with him. He’ll never let me out of his shadow. Berny is excited about Hollis and I. He’s terrible with technology and he’s an old guy falling out of touch with young recruits. We get the benefit of stepping straight into a small, established agency without having to start our own from the ground up while he gets the benefit of putting our faces on the website and having us show up at events to pull in new, young clients. It’s win-win.”
“And you really think this is the best move for me and my career?”
Sloane’s face is open and honest as she nods down at me. “Yeah, I do. I trust him. Hollis and I vetted him. We ran a background check, looked at his financials, talked to his clients. They’re all happy with him. No one would even consider leaving. And he’s a one man show but he’s making money. Not the amounts the Ashford Agency does, but he’s turned a substantial profit every year for the last nine years, plus he’s been in the business for almost two decades. He got a law degree just because he was curious. He wanted to understand contracts better. He knows the game and he can play it like a champ. And with Hollis bringing almost all of his clients with him, we’re in a very good place. We can drop some big names when we’re scouting.”
“Does Matthews know about this? Is he coming with him?”
“He is. Hollis confirmed him thirty minutes ago while you were in with the press.”
I hang my head, hesitating. What I want and what she needs, they aren’t the same thing, and what I need is for her to be happy.
“What about you?” I ask reluctantly. “If you hand me off to Dawe, you’ll have nobody.”
“I have Demarcus. And even better than that, I have the freedom to scout clients without worrying about them being stolen. I don’t have to clear anyone through Berny or Hollis. I’m a partner in this agency. I can do what I want. And so can you. If you don’t want to sign with us, don’t. I won’t be hurt and I won’t be angry. I want what’s best for your career and for you. I brought you Berny because I trust him. And I trust Hollis. I think as a team we can do right by you and all of our clients, but if you have someone else in mind that you’d like to go to, I understand.”
“No,” I tell her firmly. “I’ll go wherever you think I should. I trust you.”
She smiles softly. “That means a lot to me.”
“So when I sign with him, you won’t be my agent but I’ll be a client at your agency.” I look up, gesturing between the two of us. “What does that mean for this?”
Her smile changes, becoming something else entirely. Something sly as she steps forward. “It means we can be whatever we want to be. Whenever we want.” Her hands thread through my hair, tilting my head up to watch her. “Wherever we want.”
I put my hands on her hips, lifting her easily. She straddles me, wrapping her legs around my waist settling herself on the hardness already bulging in my jeans. It pushes against her, pissed off at all of the layers between us.
She kisses me slowly, sucking my bottom lip between hers. I grunt when she bites it. When she rolls her hips to grind against me. I lower my hands to take hold of her ass and I savor the fact that she’s mine. That she’s here in this place making me hard but I can take her home tonight to love her until we’re both soft and spent. Finally there’s no more hiding. No more lying. No more wondering. This woman with everything wants me, a man born from nothing, and maybe someday this ride will end and I’ll be right back there; jobless, penniless, worthless, but if I have her, I’ll still come out ahead.
I lift my hand to slowly trace the letters across her chest, and I know that whatever clothing I rip from her body tonight, I’ll leave that shirt on her. I like her wearing my number and my name.
She sighs, her chest rising against my fingers. “What are you thinking about?”
I lift my hand, running it up to her neck, back into her hair. The stran
ds curl around my fingers, soft and warm from her skin.
“I’m thinking about you.”
She moves her hips slowly against me. “I’m thinking about you too.”
“I’m thinking about how much I love you.”
Her body stills, her eyes going wide. She blinks once. Twice.
“I’m thinking about how much I love you too,” she whispers.
“Will you come home with me tonight? Back to California. To my apartment.”
She runs her hands through my hair, looking down at me affectionately. “Your apartment is shit.”
I nod solemnly. “I know.”
“I hate it.”
“I remember.”
“I’ll go with you.” She grins, her eyes going soft. “I’ll go anywhere with you.”
I smile, pulling her mouth down to mine. I kiss her softly. Gratefully. Grateful that she’s here, that she’s mine, that she’s willing to slum it in my shoebox apartment with mismatched sheets and only two towels. I’ll give her the gray one, the good one. I’ll give her the best of everything I have, and even though I know none of it will ever be half as good as what she can give herself, it means something to me to try. To take care of her in any way I can.
She is my friend. She is my family. My first, last, and only love.
She’s all I need.
November 6th
CenturyLink Field
Seattle, WA
“Fuck the northwest,” I grumble, pulling my coat tighter.
Hollis glares at me from under his thick knit cap. “You’re the one who said we had to be here.”
“We do. We’re being supportive.”
“Of who? The Kodiaks are kicking their ass! They don’t need us here for that.”
The crowd surrounding the concession stand turns, every one of them dressed in Seahawks green and blue. They are not happy with us.
I give them a small smile.
“You’re going to get us killed,” I warn Hollis quietly.
“Oh yeah, because they were in love with us after your ‘fuck the northwest’ comment.”
“Stop talking and give me your gloves.”
“You’ll have to kill me first.”
“Don’t think I won’t.” I bounce up and down on my toes, trying to stay warm. “I need coffee. They can poor it over my bare hands.”
“We could be drinking coffee in the skybox,” Hollis grumbles under his breath.
I reach behind me to smack him hard. “Don’t you start that shit,” I hiss. “You promised you’d stop.”
“I lied,” he hisses back.
“Joining with Berny is the smartest thing we ever did.”
“I’m not arguing that. What I’m arguing is that we gave up a lot. A lot.”
“Don’t you think I know that? I lost my home. Brad kicked me out of my apartment—“
“His apartment,”
“—and made me go live on the streets because we quit.”
He rolls his eyes. “You live in a nice townhouse in a good neighborhood.”
“Yeah, at street level.” I take a deep breath, slowing myself down. Calming the anger and hurt that tears through my veins when I talk about Brad. When I talk about my dad.
I knew it wouldn’t go over well, me leaving. I knew he’d be angry. But I didn’t know he’d stop talking to me. That he’d evict me from my apartment and ban me from his house. I’m not even allowed to go there to see Mom. Now I’m forced to visit with her on spa days and brunches that go on for hours. It’s a cunning punishment he’s devised. I’d be impressed if I wasn’t so fucking annoyed.
I lower my voice, swallowing my hurt. “Look, I don’t want to talk about it, okay? It’s done. We’re not going to the skybox. We’re staying down here and dying of frostbite together.”
“Just as the old gypsy woman foretold,” he intones.
“What are you talking about?”
“Nothing.” He shoves me forward in line. “I still don’t know why we’re here.”
“We have three clients on the team.”
“Kurtis doesn’t care if I’m here.”
“Well, Colt cares if I am. He had a shit agent before who was never there for him. It’s important to him that I am now.”
“What about Trey? Why isn’t Berny here?”
“Because Berny has a time share.”
Hollis scoffs. “What the hell kind of excuse is that?”
“A warm one.” I shiver violently. “It’s in Hawaii.”
“You know who owns a house in Hawaii?”
“Bob Newhart?”
“You’re adorable,” he replies dryly. “The Ashf—“
“Fuck you,” I snap. “You think I don’t know the agency has a house there? I spent Christmas with the Mannings there two years ago. I’m well aware. Let it go.”
“Oh God,” he groans unhappily.
“What now?”
“Look at the TV.”
I glance up at one of the TVs hanging from the ceiling, broadcasting the game. We’re almost through halftime and all of the announcers have finished their pontifications. They’ve gone to commercial.
They’ve gone to a very familiar commercial.
“Not again,” I sigh.
It’s a commercial for Dairy Queen. It starts out innocent enough. It’s zoomed in on the handsome face of Colt Avery and those hypnotic blue eyes of his. His look is intense. Angry. Behind him is a rain of candy, because why wouldn’t there be one while a guy is hate fucking the camera with his eyes? Gummy bears and worms, chunks of chocolate bars, M&Ms cascading down. The camera pans out to find him topless. Oh and hey, there’s Tyus. He’s also topless. And angry. And Trey. Topless. Angry.
The camera stops pulling away just shy of showing their junk and we find each of them holding a plain vanilla cup of ice cream. The announcer, who sounds like a knockoff Samuel L. Jackson, speaks up.
“The new Triple Threat Blizzard at Dairy Queen. You choose three flavors in one bursting Blizzard.”
They zoom in on abs and ice cream, pouring different toppings on each one.
Because why settle for one when you can have three?
Some disembodied hand with red lacquered nails dips a signature red spoon into the ice creams one at a time, presumably taking a bite and loving it.
“Get it how you like it. No holding back. The Triple Threat. Only at Dairy Queen.”
I shake my head in amazement when the commercial is finally over. I still can’t believe they did it, Tyus especially. He was hesitant at first, but when he saw Trey get in there with his shirt off, he wasn’t about to be shown up. I don’t know what we all thought the spot would look like, but it wasn’t that. Trey’s mom called me the day it aired in Hawaii and I was glad that I got to be the girlfriend instead of the agent on that one. We commiserated on the ridiculousness of it. I felt like with that one phone call I was forgiven for all of my sins at the Draft.
Luckily other people think it’s funny, like we meant it to be hilarious. No one takes it seriously. That’s our saving grace. Dairy Queen has ordered two more commercials similar to this one and all three of the boys are signed on for it. The publicity has gotten Trey a meeting with Outback steakhouse, Tyus is talking to Dolce and Gabana about doing a print ad for their men’s cologne, and Colt has already signed a deal with Snickers. Apparently he has a pregame ritual where he gorges himself on sugar, and the candy company ate that shit up. He does it on the sidelines right before he heads out to play. He swears up and down that it gives him an energy boost and makes him run faster. Announcers jokingly call his big plays ‘sugar rushes’. I call it diabetes waiting to happen, but he’s my client and he can do what he wants. I’m here to support him.
Even if it kills me.
A horn blows down on the field, signaling the end of halftime. I groan inside, wishing I was a bitch because at least I’d be warm. If I was less supportive, less committed to my job, if I loved Trey even a tiny bit less than I do, I wouldn’t be here right now. But
I’m not and I don’t. I’m supportive as shit, my job is my life, and I’d die for that Spandex clad gladiator running out onto the field right now. So I’m here and I’ll shut up and I’ll drink my coffee, and when the Kodiaks kick the hell out of these Seahawk sons of bitches I’ll stand in the fray and shout for joy at the top of my lungs because we’re one win away. One more victory to put the first half of the season to bed, then it’s on to the next. On to the downhill run with the big show in our sights.
Super Bowl, baby.
Here we go.
Thank you for reading ROOKIE MISTAKE!
SUGAR RUSH, the second book in the series, is coming April 7th, 2016.
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Keep reading for a preview of LAWLESS.
Lawson Daniel is good at a lot of things. He can show you the best places to surf, the perfect time of day to ride the tide. He knows the best bars, the best bands, he has the best weed, and if you’re looking to get laid, he’ll show you the best time.
No girl in her right mind should speak to him. She definitely shouldn’t have sex with him, and only a blind, self-loathing idiot would fall in love with him.
I’ve done all three.
All in the span of one sweltering, suffering summer that nearly cost me everything down to the blood in my body and the beat of my heart.
No one walked away from that season unscathed.
Not even Lawson Daniel.
Chapter One
My skin feels tight. It’s sticky from the dried salt water of the sea, burning from the heat of the afternoon sun that touches on every inch of bare skin it can find. My swimsuit will smell like the ocean for days. I won’t wash it. I’ll take it with me to Boston and I’ll let it smell like California. I’ll let it remind me of today. Of my last day.
“They’re setting up a bonfire,” Katy comments.
I roll my head to the side, squinting one eye open to see the group of six guys gathering firewood down the beach. It’s the surfer crowd. The ones who get here at dawn and don’t leave until well after dark. They live here because they live for the ocean. For the waves and the crash and the ride. Their bodies are toned from the sport, browned by the sun, their hair bleached out with natural highlights that most of the girls out here would pay a fortune in the salon for. There’s a handful of them, all hot and smiling, but one stands out. One always stands out, no matter where he goes.