Never In My Wildest Dreams: A Calamity Falls Small Town Romance, Rengades (Hockey), book 4 (The Rene

Chapter 1

Booker Hayes leftthe morning meeting with a playful shove, a few slaps on the back, and a chorus of approval from his colleagues.

“Fuck yeah, man.”

“You’re taking me out to dinner with this year’s bonus.”

“How do you score a deal this big and be so damn handsome, ya fucker?”

He smiled and headed straight for his office. He had to call his client and let him know about the deal he’d negotiated for him.

He’s not going to believe it when he hears the final number.

Closing the door behind him, he pulled out his phone, but his thumb didn’t push the Call button.

Because he had a predicament. While it was his job to represent his clients in business, legal, and PR matters, he was also a man. With a conscience. And his gut told him this deal might not be in Ginty’s best interests.

So, you present it and hope he doesn’t ask for advice.

Without a doubt, Ginty’ll be blown away. At thirty-two, the hockey player was at the top of his game. Not many had the endurance to play eighty-two games a season and most got sidelined with injuries. Over time, small ones compounded and became major ones. Ginty’d been lucky.

Of course, he expected a good deal. Just not the one Booker got him. It had taken a few months of negotiations, but in the end, he’d knocked it out of the park.

Telling him about it was the easy part. But he knew his client. Ginty would ask his opinion—that was the kind of relationship they had.

His advice, though, would go against the best interests of the agency.

Conflicted, he strode to the window and gazed twenty-two stories below at the rush of traffic on Fifth Avenue.

The door flew open.

He didn’t even have to look to see who’d barged in. Only his boss wouldn’t knock.

Slowly, Booker turned. He dreaded the steely-eyed look he’d see, the singular focus. Marcus was a legendary sports agent. Feared by owners, coaches, PR teams, and marketing managers, he’d scored the highest deals in the history of sports management, and he cultivated that spirit in his firm. It was the reason they were the biggest in the industry, with billions in revenue.

Booker was just as driven—which was why he’d gotten the coveted job straight out of law school—and he loved it. He thrived on negotiating the best outcomes for his clients.

Morning sunlight glinted on his boss’s hundred-thousand-dollar watch, a gift from a Hall-of-Famer quarterback. “You make the call?”

“Not yet.”

His boss tensed. “Is there a problem? You got him ninety million over five years. Highest cap hit in the league.”

Booker gave a curt nod. “No trade, and no movement.”

“Issues?”

“None we can’t overcome.” Booker’s stomach twisted.

“Then, why haven’t you made the call?” His boss held his gaze, firm, steady—and lethal.

But Booker wasn’t intimidated. Because he knew Marcus’s other side. Countless times, he’d taken Booker out to dinner and invited him into his home. The man was more than a mentor. He was like a father to him.

So, talk to him. Tell him. “You remember Ginty’s first year at Boston College? When his brothers moved into his house and smoked pot all the time?”

Marcus stood still as a boulder, his expression and every muscle drawn tight as a drum.

But that was what made him a great negotiator. He’d taught Booker to do the same thing. “He almost got kicked off the team because he couldn’t pass the drug test.”

Still, not a single muscle twitched on his boss’s face.

“The dollars are good, but I can’t shake the fact that Boston’s wrong for Ginty. His family’s going to bring down his performance and his career.” He watched the tension in his boss’s features harden, his lips pulled into a taut line. “It’ll end up bad for him—and us.”

“Fuck his family. Time kills deals. Close it right now.”

You’d think I’d be used to it now. The way Marcus could take him out for dinner, fill him with brilliant advice, treat him like a son, and then in the office, turn brutal.

His boss ran the largest sports agency in the world. He had to think about the bottom line. But underneath that, at his core, he was a good man. He would play devil’s advocate, and that was what Booker needed to help him see this situation clearly.

He knew without a doubt if he closed this deal, they’d make him a partner. And he wanted it so badly it consumed him. In a shop like this one, with literally hundreds of agents, it was like winning the lottery.

He wanted it, but… He shoved his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “It’s a good deal, but we shouldn’t ignore this issue.” The older man radiated a force—an insistence—that made it difficult to hold on to his train of thought, so he turned away. He needed space to think this through.

“His personal issues don’t come into play when we’re negotiating a contract. He didn’t choose our agency because he was looking for a father or a priest. He signed with us to get him the best deals. Which you’ve done.”

Booker wanted the partnership. Of course, he did. But not at Ginty’s expense. “You remember his mom’s hit-and-run?” Not only had she stolen her son’s car, but she’d hit a kid on a bike. “Ginty got arrested. His dad uses him like an ATM.” The more he recounted, the more confident he became.

“Booker.” Finally, his boss’s tone softened.

See? He’s a good guy. He gets it.

“I appreciate your concerns.” The man came around the desk. “But this is not your decision to make. Our job—our obligation—is to secure the best deals for our clients. You’ve done that.”

Booker bristled. “My job is to be his adviser. We help manage our clients’ careers.” He didn’t want to give up a deal this good, but he knew right from wrong, and if Ginty asked for his opinion, he had to give it.

“I hear you,” Marcus said. “I get your concerns. But at the end of the day, our clients hire us to get them the best contracts and the best endorsements. And Ginty? This is probably his last one. You know better than anyone the dangers of hockey. He could be off the ice tomorrow. The best thing you can do for him is to make sure he’s financially secure.” His big hand cupped Booker’s shoulder. “And that’s what you’ve done. Now, get him on the phone and tell him about the deal. I want his signature on that contract by noon.”

Phone still in his hand, Booker glanced down at Ginty’s name on the screen. “I’m going to let him know about the deal.” And then, he looked his boss in the eyes. “But if he asks my advice, I’m going to give him my honest opinion. Because I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t do that.”

His boss’s spine went ramrod straight. “You do that, and I’ll fire you.” And with that, he strode out of his office—leaving a chaotic energy that had Booker’s head spinning.

He didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He’d been Booker’s mentor from that first interview.

Would he do it though? Would he actually fire me?

Automatically, he skimmed his contacts and found his dad’s number.

But one second later, reality slammed into him.

Dad’s gone.

I can’t talk to him.

I can’t get his advice.

His stomach plummeted, and his heart squeezed so hard it hurt. It never got easier. His dad had been gone years now, and he was still the first person Booker wanted to talk to. And every time he remembered the loss, the hurt nearly dropped him to his knees.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes. In that moment, he could see his dad’s ruddy cheeks, that gentle smile. And he knew exactly what advice he’d give.

Can you live with yourself if you lie to Ginty just to get that corner office?

That was all it took for the uneasy feeling to go away.

No. I can’t.

Pulling up Ginty’s number again, he hit Call. As he waited for his client to answer, his stomach churned, and his heart raced. I’ll fire you. Marcus had never talked to him like that.

After several rings, the call finally connected. “It’s Ginty. Leave a message.” But it was just a recording.

“Hey, man. I’ve got some news on that contract. Give me a call.” It was probably a good thing his client hadn’t answered. He didn’t want to talk to him in the office.

Better to make the call from home.

Grabbing his briefcase, he started for the door. In case things went sideways, though, he should probably take the signed baseball from his first deal, the puck that got Ginty’s team into the playoffs, and the brass scale of justice his dad had kept on his desk throughout his entire career as an attorney.

Well, wait. He had to play this carefully. If he took anything, Marcus would notice. Best to leave it. If things went south, he’d have George grab them.

But his gaze lingered on the scales, and he snatched it up and stuffed it in his briefcase. It was the only thing that really mattered.

As he and his mom had sorted through his dad’s belongings, she’d asked him to take whatever he wanted. That was the only thing he took. Tarnished, dusty, and given to his dad by his father, it encapsulated the character of the Hayes men.

Another blow struck him right in the solar plexus.

I’m not a Hayes man.

The truth sent a prickling sensation down his spine.

But he wasn’t going to think about that now. He had to handle this situation with Marcus.

His boss had drawn a line in the sand, and Booker knew from experience the man never walked it back. He either followed orders, or he’d be punished.

Even if Marcus didn’t fire him—though he certainly might—he’d pull the partnership, just to make a point.

Glancing at his laptop—owned by the firm—he wondered if he had anything incriminating to delete. Nope. He didn’t live his life like that. Any transmission sent, any correspondence—everything he did was aboveboard.

He pulled his overcoat off the hook and headed down the hallway.

Vaguely, he heard someone call his name, but he didn’t break stride. Only after the elevator ride, when he reached the marble-floored foyer, did the voice get stronger.

“Booker.”

He spun around to find George hurrying toward him, out of breath. “Jeez, I thought I had to tackle you. Were you fired?”

“No, why?”

“Because Marcus stormed over to his assistant and told him to ‘put a file together on that Detroit kid.’”

Something cracked inside him. “Fuck.” Marcus would actually do it. He’d fire him.

Any hope he had of staying with this firm died in that moment.

“What’s going on?” George asked. “Why’s he taking your prospective client?”

“He wants me to do something I can’t do. And if I don’t, he’ll fire me.”

George’s eyes went wide. “So, you’re quitting?”

“I haven’t decided, but it looks like I’ll have to.”

“This is about Ginty, right?” George asked. “The whole Boston thing?”

“Yeah.” He should’ve known his colleague would put the pieces together. They’d known each other eleven years—through college, law school, and now Elite.

George’s gaze dropped to his briefcase. “If you’re not quitting, then where’re you going?”

“I have to talk to Ginty, and I can’t do it in the office. But now that I know Marcus is making a grab for the guy I’ve spent the last year developing a relationship with, I don’t think I can stay here.”

“No, you can’t.” A wicked grin cracked his friend’s features. “This is it.”

“What?”

“We always talked about going out on our own. Remember that ethical agency we formed in our law school focus group?”

“Yeah, but we’re not ready. Neither of us has made partner yet. We’re too green.”

“You just landed a ninety-million-dollar deal.” George smiled. “No one’s thinking you’re green.”

“Landed it—and then advised against it.”

“Which is how we’ll stand out. How many players have gotten screwed over because of their agencies? Because of greed? Your clients are loyal to you because you care about them.”

“Maybe, but I still think I should make partner first.” And he did have a standing offer from a firm in LA, so he could make his name there.

“Anywhere you go, it’s just going to be the same thing. Come on, Booker. Let’s take our shot.”

“I’ll think about it.” He had a lot to consider.

“Don’t sit on this too long. We’ve got to act fast. If you get fired, you’ll get a severance package, and then you’ll have to abide by the non-compete. If you quit, you can take Ginty with you wherever you go. And you can sign the Detroit kid before Marcus wins him over with his bullshit campaign.”

“You make good points, but I need time.” Marcus had hired him right out of law school. He’d taught him everything he knew about this business. I wouldn’t have a quarter of the success if it hadn’t been for him.

“Okay, but just listen to me,” George said. “Right now, you have the advantage. It wouldn’t cross Marcus’s mind that you’d leave him. And not just because he keeps dangling that partnership, but because he’s made himself out to be your mentor.”

The back of Booker’s neck prickled. Made him out to be? “What do you mean?”

“He does it with everyone. It’s part of his schtick.”

Booker’s chest tightened. As far as he knew, no one else from the agency spent the weekend with his family on Martha’s Vineyard. No one else had visited Marcus’s wife in the hospital last summer.

“Like any good agent, he’s got the ability to read us, to figure out our weaknesses. And then, he takes advantage of it.”

Marcus had hired him months after his dad had passed. Not long after he’d learned the truth of his paternity. He couldn’t have been more vulnerable.

Fuck.He’d fallen for that shit, hadn’t he?

“Look, Christmas is in two days,” George said. “Take some time off, think about it, and I’ll call you on the twenty-sixth.”

“You do realize, if I leave, the partnership goes to you.”

“See, that’s all bullshit. He says it’s a meritocracy, but it’s a cult. You do what he wants, you get rewarded. You go against your conscience and get Ginty’s signature, you get the corner office. Marcus thrives off power.”

“How do you see him so clearly?” And why don’t I? He didn’t like that he could be so easily manipulated.

George smiled. “The first client he stole from me, I bought his line about needing a seasoned vet to handle someone that big. The second client…it didn’t sit right. The third sent me into a tailspin. But I wasn’t about to leave the top agency in the world, so I had to adjust my attitude. I don’t want to do that anymore.”

“He never took any of my clients.” Until now.

“We have different vulnerabilities. He knows how to play me. Also…” George grinned. “Don’t forget Caleb and Andreas went out on their own last year. They’ve got the office space, the LLC. They’ve even got the printers, for God’s sake. All we have to do is walk in and arrange the plants on our desks. And most importantly, we can take our top clients with us right away. Four of us are stronger than two.”

“You’re very convincing.”

“I know.” George laughed. “Happy holidays.”

“Yeah, same.” Booker continued across the lobby toward the revolving doors. He felt sick to his stomach. George had peeled off the veneer of mentor and father figure, exposing an ugly truth. He didn’t like that his boss had so easily figured out his vulnerabilities, but he liked even less that he’d fallen for it. It made him feel weak.

So, maybe George is right?

If I take control of the situation, no one can play me.

But no, he couldn’t act rashly because his feelings were hurt. He needed more time at a gold-plated firm before he could go out on his own. Probably best to take the open offer from the LA firm.

Once outside, the brittle, icy air slapped him in the face. With the towering buildings blocking the sunlight, New York City in the winter could be bitterly cold. After hailing a cab, he slid inside, gave the address to the driver, and brought out his phone again. He needed advice.

He watched the stream of pedestrian traffic. A woman pushed a double stroller, a thick scarf wound around her neck. A power couple dressed in suits and expensive shoes bent their heads down against the wind. A cluster of school-age kids wearing uniforms talked animatedly.

The world marched on, and he couldn’t have felt more alone. I have no one to talk to.

It was in moments like this that he missed his high school friends the most. How many times did they solve the world’s problems by hanging out and shooting the shit?

They probably thought their best times together were snowboarding glaciers or BASE jumping. He smiled when he thought of the not-so-great time they’d tried to skate on the frozen Snake River. He’d tried to warn them about moving water, but they were having too much fun to listen. He’d gone along with it anyhow because he’d lived for the adrenaline rush.

Until it all came crashing down around him.

But really, his best memories were of them hanging out. Sitting around a bonfire, talking about everything and nothing at all.

Since then, he’d gone to college and law school, worked at Elite Sports Management, but he’d never had a group of friends like that.

By the time he got back to his apartment, he was pretty set on taking the LA job. He’d put too much time and money into the Detroit golfer to lose him to Marcus. And he would. Why would anyone trust their career to a guy at a start-up boutique agency when they could have Elite?

He’d be damned if he’d let Marcus nab him.

He didn’t want to leave New York, but it would take months of interviews to find a new place, and he needed to be settled right away.

“Morning, Mr. Hayes.” The building’s concierge did a decent job of hiding his surprise at seeing him home this early. “Hope you’re going somewhere warm for the holidays.”

The last thing on Booker’s mind was Christmas. With his mom out of town, he’d figured he’d work straight through. But now, Marcus might stop by or call him into the office. He’d probably invite Booker over for Christmas dinner—just to keep the pressure on.

He had to think, and he couldn’t do that here. He needed to get the hell out of the city.

And he knew just where he wanted to go.

Decision made, he said, “Just the opposite.”

“You going skiing?” the concierge asked.

No one knew about his cabin in Wyoming. Not even his mom.

He cracked a grin. “I’m going to smoke cigars in front of a fire.”

Completely and totally alone.