Rookie Mistake (22 page)

“I’m sorry,” I repeat.

“Whatever you do, don’t ever fall in love. It’s bullshit.”

“That’s been my experience.”

She nods, not meeting my eyes.

I take the hint that our meeting is over. I quickly and quietly gather my folders, even the fake ones with real names on the outside and spreadsheets full of gibberish on the inside, and stuff them back into my bag along with my notepad, pen, and phone.

When I stand to leave she looks up at me with red rimmed eyes.

“I’m not telling the story to anyone,” she promises. “It’s a lie. All of it. I was never pregnant.”

“Thank you for being honest.”

“Please don’t tell people I did this. I—I don’t know why I did it. I was angry and when his cousin called me he got me all riled up and I lost my shit. I should never have agreed.”

“We won’t be telling anyone about this, trust me. It doesn’t benefit Trey at all to have this story break, whether you’re confirming it or denying it.”

“What about David?” she asks nervously. “What should I do if he calls me again?”

I shake my head once before heading for the door. “You let me worry about David.”

When I get outside I turn the ringer on my phone back to full volume. It immediately goes insane, text messages and voicemails vying for my attention, but in the thick of it is a phone call. One that’s been coming in over and over again.

“Demarcus, what’s up?”

“Did you know, Sloane?” he demands harshly. “Did you know this was happening and you didn’t bother telling me?”

I stop on the sidewalk, confused by his aggressive tone. “What are you talking about? What’s happened?”

“I’m fired, that’s what.”

“What do you mean you’re fired? You quit the Canada league. They can’t fire you.”

“Not them. Your dick of a dad. He sent me an e-mail today. Said my contract is up and they aren’t renewing it. Cold as ice, he told me I’m not a client of the Ashford Agency any more. Did you know about it?”

“Of course I didn’t know about it! Are you serious? That’s what it said? You’re not our client anymore? It wasn’t just a reminder that we need to renew with you?”

“Ended,” he tells me decisively. “I can read, Sloane.”

I put my hand over my eyes. The stupid, big ass bracelet beats me in the face. “I know you can read, D. I’m trying to understand what’s happening. I can’t believe this.”

“I can. Your dad has hated me since I got signed out of the country.”

“Jesus,” I mutter to myself.

“What am I gonna do, huh? I couldn’t get picked up with one of the biggest agencies in the damn country. If I go somewhere else I won’t be able to get a job at Burger King.”

I lower my hand. Take a deep breath. “Do you have those tickets I sent you?”

“To Domata’s game? Yeah. We got ‘em.”

“Go to the game. Have fun. Smile, make friends, shake hands. Act like nothing has happened. If anyone asks, you’re still my client. Don’t say you’re with the Ashford Agency, but you are with me. You’re my client, do you hear me, D?”

He hesitates, the heat draining out of him. When he speaks next his voice is tired and sad. I preferred the anger.

“Yeah, Sly. I hear you. I got you.”

Sun Life Stadium

Miami, FL

“Call her again,” I tell Hollis harshly. “She needs to know what the fuck is happening here.”

“I will. I’ll call her as soon as you let me hang up the phone,” he promises calmly.

“It’s fucked up!”

“I agree.”

“Who does Ashford think he is?”

“God, I assume.”

I shake my head, running my hand over my face. “I can’t deal with this bullshit right now. I’ve got a game to play. Why would he put this at my feet right now?”

“You should be in warm ups, shouldn’t you?”

“Tell Sloane to call me, Hollis,” I growl.

He takes a breath. “I will. I promise. Try to calm down, Trey.”

“Yeah, I’ll fuckin’ do that.”

I hang up, tossing my phone into my locker. It ricochets off the back wall before bouncing behind my gear. I collapse down onto the bench, putting my head in my hands.

I’m in a bad place, a bad way. I’m having trouble breathing. Having trouble seeing straight. I can’t hit the field like this and I only have a few hours before I have to. I consider grabbing my headphones, the ones Sloane gave me back at the Combine, and going for a run. Some of the guys lift together before a game. Maybe I should join them. I have to do something. I can’t handle doing nothing like this. Not when I’m this thrown, this far gone.

“Are you okay?”

I look up to find a mass of big shoulders, dark hair, and black eyes towering over me.

Matthews.

He’s calm as always, so much that it infuriates me. I want to punch his smug face.

“No, I’m not fucking okay,” I snap, sounding breathless.

He nods his head slowly, his eyes scanning the locker room. “You might want to tone it down.”

“Yeah, alright.”

“One of the boys on the defense acting like this, that’s good news. People want them riled up. Angry. You, though? The quarterback? It’s ugly. It sends the entire team into a spiral. We don’t need that right now.”

“Is this pep talk supposed to be calming me down? Because if anything it’s making things worse.”

“It’s not a pep talk. It’s advice. Stop being a bitch.”

I glare up at him, amazed by his balls. The guy barely speaks five words to me since I joined the team and now he’s calling me a bitch?

“What the f—“

“Man up,” he interrupts, turning his back on me. “Everyone is watching.”

I watch him walk slowly away, my mouth hanging open. I release a puff of air held tightly in my lungs, rubbing my face in my hands again. I need to get right. Matthews wasn’t wrong about that. I have to calm down, but I have no idea how.

My phone rings, muffled and hidden in the mass of pads and uniform stuffed in my locker. I reach back to dig it out. I expect to see Hollis’ name on the screen calling to tell me that he couldn’t get ahold of Sloane, but I’m wrong.

It’s her.

I stand to put my arm against the shelf in my locker, blocking my face from the rest of the room. “Sloane, what the fuck is going on?”

“Hello to you too.”

“Sloane,” I snap impatiently.

“Which fire are you talking about?” she asks briskly, turning all business. “I’m chasing quite a few of them at the moment. You’ll have to be specific.”

“I’m talking about your dad emailing me hours before a game to tell me that he knows I’m being blackmailed and my endorsements are going to dry up.”

I hear her grunt, a curse bursting from the back of her throat. “Okay, that’s a new one.”

“You didn’t know?”

“No. I didn’t know he knew. I just talked to Tish and got her to recant her story. She’s not going forward with it. I was about to remind David that he has outstanding warrants in Washington for vandalism and he might want to shut his mouth if he doesn’t want cops at his door, but before I could get to him I got a million messages telling me to call you ASAP.”

“How’d Brad find out about any of this? I thought you were keeping it quiet. I thought you were handling this.”

“Trey, it’s his agency. He has eyes and ears everywhere. I did the best I could,” she says calmly. “I’ll keep on it, I’ll put the fire out, but right now I need you to chill.”

“I can’t. Fucking. Chill.”

“You have to. You have a game to play.”

“You think I don’t know that? This is my job. All of it. I can’t lose my endorsements over this lie.” I pound my fist against the shelf as the world shifts sideways, threatening to drop me to my knees. “I can’t have someone fucking with my life like this!”

Sloane is silent for a long time. I’m worried she’s hung up on me or I’ve gone deaf when I hear her voice, low and even. “Drive me.”

“What?”

“Get out of the passenger seat and drive me. You’re in charge. You’re in control. Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll do it.”

I laugh bitterly, shaking my hand out. “You don’t want to know.”

“Tell me. I’m listening.”

“I want you to get on a plane, get down here, and make me forget all this shit.”

“How? How would I do that, Trey?”

Get naked and let me eat you alive for hours.

“Jesus, I can’t do this right now,” I groan in frustration. “I’m in a locker room surrounded by guys, all of them listening. All of them have already heard me say your name.”

“Do you want me to take care of this for you?”

“Yeah, of course I do.”

“But you don’t want me to tell you it’s going to be okay, so
you
need to tell
me
. You need to be in control,” she insists. “Imagine we’re on the field, we’re in the huddle. Tell me what route to run and I’ll run it. What’s the play, Domata?”

I step back, swiping my hand over my mouth. “Clean up this Tish shit. Make it disappear, I don’t fucking care how.”

“I will, baby,” she promises softly. Submissively. “I’ll do it for you.”

I’m floored by the tone of her voice. By the term of endearment. She’s never used it before, but there’s something about it. Something that sets me off because when she says it, it’s like sex. It reminds me of her under my hands, under my body. Under my command.

“What are you doing?” I ask roughly.

“Giving you what you need. Tell me what to do. What else do you want me to do?”

I take a slow breath. “I don’t want anything to do with Brad. Get me the hell away from him,” I tell her, not a clue how she’d ever be able to make that happen.

Still she coos quietly, “I’ll get it done.”

And still it calms some raging part of me.

“Anything else?”

“Find a way to be my agent without being my agent.”

“You want me to get an alter ego? Be Bruce Wayne in the streets and Batman in the sheets?”

I chuckle. “No, I seriously don’t want you to be Batman.”

“Catwoman and Selena Kyle?”

“Hell yeah.”

“I’ll shop for a black leather suit as soon as I get the chance. In the meantime, I need something from you. Just one thing.”

“Only if you use the B word again.”

“Can you help me, Batman?”

“Wrong B word.”

She laughs lightly. “I need you to give me something, baby.”

“I’ll give you anything.”

“I need to know who else knows about your attacks.”

Part of me wants to lash out. It wants to shut down, to tell her I don’t know what she’s talking about, but it’s a lie and I know it. She knows it. She just talked me down from an attack. How am I gonna go and tell her they don’t happen?

“Coach Reagan,” I answer immediately, not bothering to ask why she needs to know. I don’t have to ask. I trust her. “Head coach at UCLA. He’s always known.”

“I might have to call him.”

“You should. He likes you.”

“Let’s hope so. Now go kick some ass,” she tells me, her voice turning hard and familiar, the pit bull inside her rising up to fight. “I’m gonna go do the same.”

Ashford Agency

Los Angeles, CA

It’s a tall order, what Trey has told me to do. It won’t be easy. I’m going to have to throw everything I have into the fire and hope a Phoenix rises out of the ashes. I have to hope I’m smart enough, cunning enough, to pull all of the right strings that will untangle Trey and I from this mess. Whether we win or lose, by the end of this day my world will look decidedly different than it does right now, but it will be better.

It has to be better.

“I can’t believe the balls on him,” Hollis mumbles in amazement. He’s sitting on my couch staring at the walls, still stunned. “I knew he was a cutthroat, but his own daughter. His agency’s client!”

“Funny how your amazement is stronger that he’d screw his agency than his daughter,” I point out, leaning back in my chair. “Very telling.”

“It is what it is.”

“And what he is, is an asshole.” I take a sip of my beer, shaking my head sadly. “But I knew that when I came to work for him, and he’s still my dad. I still love him. I just don’t love working for him.”

“You’re seriously going to go through with this? You’re really going to quit?”

I look at him impatiently. “He fired Demarcus today without telling me. Without consulting me. That alone is enough to make me pack my bags, but what he did to Trey today… how could he mess with him like that hours before a game? He had to know what that would do to his head.”

“He was trying to rattle him.”

“Yeah, but why? He’s half his client too.”

“But Larkin is all his.”

My head falls back against my chair as realization hits me. “The goddam Dolphins. Larkin is on their team.”

“Bingo. And if Trey is rattled tonight and has a bad game while Andre Larkin shines, Brad comes out looking like the genius who signed the right guy.”

“Un-fucking-believable,” I groan. “All because of me. All because I pulled a paycheck out of his hands and he can’t stand it.”

“A paycheck you scouted and worked your ass off for,” Hollis reminds me.

“It doesn’t matter. Not to him. He’s harder on me than on anyone else because I’m his daughter, and he’s going to be harder on my clients than anyone else for the same reason. I can’t stay here. And neither can Trey.”

Hollis nods his head thoughtfully, taking a pull off his brown bottle. He licks his lips clean, releasing a long, tired breath. “Well, if you’re going, I’m going.”

I stare at him in shock. “Hollis, no. You can’t.”

“I can’t stay,” he chuckles. “Not with things the way they are, and not without you. Do you think I like anyone else here?”

“You live for our UPS guy.”

“There are other, hotter delivery men in Los Angeles. I’ll get my fix. Don’t worry about me.” He points a finger at my face. “You, though. There’s only one you, and I’m going with you.”

I nervously run my finger through the condensation on my beer. My skin feels feverish against the cool of the bottle. “And your clients?” I ask quietly.

He throws his head back with a laugh. “Oh my God, you are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?”

“What?!” I demand. “It’s a legit question.”

He chuckles, wiping at his eyes. “Yes, Sloane, I will bring my money makers with me.”

“That’s not how I phrased it.”

“Oh yeah, you were very tactful.”

I throw my cap at him. “Shut up.”

Hollis continues to chuckle as we finish drinking. By the time we’re done we’re both somber faced and ready, just in time for the call to come in.

“Sloane,” Rhonda pipes in over the intercom. “Mr. Ashford is ready for you in his office.”

“Thank you, Rhonda.” I sigh, running my hands through my hair anxiously. “I guess it’s show time. Did you talk to Kurtis?”

“I told you three times. Yes. He sent the e-mail and I forwarded it to your dad. Kurtis was very detailed about what he saw in the locker room.”

“Okay,” I mutter to myself, trying to stay calm. “Okay.”

Hollis stands between me and the door as I go to leave. He looks down at me with worry in his eyes but a stern set to his jaw.

“I meant it,” he tells me seriously. “I’m going with you. If this is for real, tell me now, because I’ll start calling clients while you’re in there.”

I nod my head. No hesitation. “This is real. I already talked to Berny Dawe. It’s in motion. I’m jumping ship and joining with the enemy.”

“Who, in this case, might turn out to be the hero.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to look like one standing next to Brad. It doesn’t matter anyway. I told Trey I’d get him out from under this agency, that I’d find a way to be his agent without being his agent anymore, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to get us both out.”

Hollis grins faintly, leaning down to kiss my temple. “You’re going to get us all out.”

My heels echo in the empty hall as I make my way down to my dad’s office. It’s miles away but I feel like I reach it too soon. I feel like I’m not ready.

My heart is hammering fast as my dad leads me into his office. It’s Sunday, the agency is almost deserted, but still he closes the door behind me.

“Do you want to sit down?” he asks as he parks himself behind his desk.

To look at him you’d never know what he’s been up to today. He shows no sign of guilt or remorse for the client he fired or the player whose focus he shattered. He doesn’t even look like Brad at the office. He’s dressed casually like he’s sitting down to dinner with me. I half expect my mom to walk in at any moment with a wineglass in one hand and her phone in the other.

Luckily we remain alone. What I’m about to do, I can’t do in front of her.

“No,” I answer him quietly. “I’ll stand.”

“Up to you. What’s on your mind, Sloane?”

I wring my hands together, trying to look uncomfortable. It’s not hard. “We’ve got a problem with Domata. Actually, a few problems with him.”

“The abortion being the biggest.”

“Obviously, yes.”

His face becomes stern. “Why didn’t you tell me about it immediately?”

“I wanted to find out how legitimate the threat was.”

“And did you?”

I nod heavily. “I did. I went to the girl’s apartment today to talk with her. She told me everything. She had the timeline nailed down, documentation of doctor’s visits to support it. She even showed me the receipt for the funds transfer from Domata’s checking account to hers. He paid for the abortion, just as she said. He also…” I sigh, looking away. Looking dismayed. “He bullied her into it. I heard voicemails. He was angry and vicious.”

“That doesn’t sound like him,” he comments, relaxing back into his seat. He expected a rant out of me. He probably thought this meeting was going to be about Demarcus, not Trey. He definitely didn’t expect me to come in and calmly start pointing out Trey’s shortcomings.

“I don’t think we know who he is. None of us do.”

“Including you?” he presses.

“Especially me. I thought I knew him, but I knew the numbers. I didn’t know the man. He’s darker than I could have imagined, and it’s not just the bullying.”

“What else did you find out?”

I honestly hesitate now. This part is not an act. What I’m about to tell Brad is a secret Trey has kept for years. A secret Coach Reagan kept for him, but this is what he wants. Trey wants out, and the only way I’ll get him clear of this agency is if he’s a time bomb waiting to blow up in all of our faces.

“He has panic attacks,” I tell Brad thickly, my body revolting against the admission. I clear my throat, pressing on. “He’s had them all his life. The coaching staff helped him hide it at UCLA because his talent was worth the effort, but they’re getting worse. They’re getting violent.”

Brad frowns. He wasn’t expecting this. He’s not sure which direction to go with it. “Who told you this?”

“Coach Reagan. He confessed everything after I went to him last week. I heard a rumor that Domata had lost his temper at practice. I asked him about it and he got very cagey, so I went to the coach and asked him if he’d ever seen anything like it when Domata was at the school. It took some prodding, but he finally confessed that he knew all about it.”

“How bad are they?”

“It used to be he would get short of breath, nearly fainting. It’s changed as he’s gotten older. It’s angrier now. More aggressive.” I nod to his computer. “Check your e-mails. We got a message from Kurtis Matthews, the tight end on Domata’s team. He told Hollis he saw Trey losing his mind in the locker room today in Miami. He was throwing things, shouting at everyone, screaming into his phone.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Brad scoffs, turning to his computer. “The kid is known for his composure.”

“Not off the field. His personal life is a hot button for him. His parents, his friends, his relationships. He hates feeling out of control, like people are running his life.” I glance pointedly at the wall where the stucco has been mended. It’s perfect, seamless, but I’m sure my dad still remembers that night and the damage Trey did. “I think you’ve seen him in action before.”

Brad follows my eyes. His face pinches, harshly shadowed by the glow from his computer screen. “Yes, I remember.”

“The abortion story is going to come out,” I tell him plainly, folding my arms over my chest. “Every word of it is true, and then some. It’s only a matter of time until the girl goes public, and then what happens? She paints him in a very ugly light. Larkin’s DUI is going to look like a Kindergarten time out when this shit hits the fan. No company will touch Domata. Not with his image destroyed and his career built on sand. He’ll be lucky if the Kodiaks don’t let him go at the end of the season.”

“This was your sign, Sloane,” he reminds me, his eyes scanning his email as he scolds me. “You fought for him. Are you suddenly done with him? One bump in the road and you’re ready to cut and run?”

“It’s more than one bump.”

He ignores me as he finished the email. Finally he kills the screen, turning his attention back to me. He’s disappointed. It’s written all over his face, but whether he’s disappointed in me or Trey, I don’t know. Probably both.

“His endorsements are dead in the water once this hits,” he tells me sternly. “My work with him is done, but what about you? He’s still a hell of an athlete.”

I purse my lips together, furrowing my brow in anger. “No. I don’t want to deal with him anymore. It’s only a matter of time before he implodes in the locker room or on the field. The coaches have to know something’s up by now and he’s either going to get benched, thrown off the team, or end up in therapy. No matter what, he’s off the field and I’m not looking for another deadbeat client to add to my roster.”

Brad nods, a small amount of appreciation in his eyes as he looks at me. “That’s a smart move. You’re not ready for this. You probably weren’t ready for any of this. I unleashed you too soon.”

I bristle at the accusation, along with the insinuation that he ever let me off leash. “You’re probably right,” I grind out.

“You’ll work with me more closely after this. We’ll scout clients together. I’ll show you the ropes, no more time with Hollis. He’s too soft. He doesn’t have the killer instinct, but you could if you cultivate it. I’ll show you how, but first let’s get a clean slate. Scrap this loser and start over.” He pushes his intercom, calling for Rhonda. “Come in here, Rhonda. Bring your notary stamp.”

I watch dispassionately as my dad rifles through his file drawer. He’s looking for the termination agreement, the document that he, myself, and Trey will sign to end our contract ‘amicably’.

“Can you get him to sign a termination?” he asks, pulling the form free and bringing it to his desk.

“I’m sure I can. He’s angry at the agency. He’s not thinking straight.”

“That’s exactly what we need. Emotional people make emotional decisions. And what are emotional decisions?”

“Stupid decisions,” I recite dully, remembering my lessons.

“That’s right,” he commends me, looking up from his desk as Rhonda breezes silently into the room. “You’d be smart to remember that.”

“I will.”

I walk to the desk to stand across from him. I try to keep my eyes off the agreement on his desk but it’s hard to look away. His pen dangles in his hand, moments away from giving me, from giving Trey, exactly we want. I’m terrified I’ll tip my hand. I’m terrified I’ve played it all wrong, that it won’t work, but worst of all I’m shaking in my shoes, shitting my pants scared that it will. That this is happening and I’m conning my own blood.