The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

3. Boss’s Orders

3

BOSS’S ORDERS

Maddox

Vance lets out a low whistle of approval from the other side of the video call.

“Damn. This is some serious progress,” my boss says as he reviews the list of brands Adriana and I’ve snagged for preliminary phone meetings in the last forty-eight hours.

Framed by a view of Central Park, Vance peers at the memo from yours truly. Adriana sits next to him, perched straight and tall, eager for his feedback too. I’m at my office in the heart of Los Angeles, squeezing a stress ball as I pace by the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Avenue of the Stars.

I’m not stressed. I just like to make every minute count. I’ve been busy the last two days, and it shows in the report I sent my boss and in the work Adriana and I have knocked out. We want him to be impressed, and he damn well should be.

“Sweet,” Vance says, clearly pleased as he counts off on his fingers. “You’ve got a water-bottle maker, a podcast network, and Bespoke. This is so Zane. All the stuff he loves.”

Yes, that’s how I work. “They’re all a good fit, and we’ve spoken with their CMOs,” I say, squeezing the red ball again. My grip strength is epic.

“The bottle maker is a more distant possibility. They’re trying to figure out if they have enough marketing firepower yet to invest in an athlete,” Adriana says.

“Understandable,” Vance says.

“The podcast network has promise, since they have big corporate ownership and, thus, deep pockets,” she adds.

“Bespoke, though, is the one we’re most excited about,” I say, tag-teaming our update.

Vance taps the screen with a query. “That’s the clothing brand that all the millennials dig, right?”

I laugh. “Technically, you’re a millennial too. Elder millennial.”

He shudders. “Pretty sure I’m Gen X. Maybe even baby boomer.”

He’s just north of forty, so no. “Bespoke focuses on the fashion forward generation of twenty- and thirty-somethings.”

“I’ve seen their ads on my phone. Love their clothes for, like, me before I got married and had kids. Anyway, this is fantastic, and I am a genius for hiring you two.”

Pride suffuses me. I love praise. Barely got it growing up, so here at work, I eat it up. But I can’t rest on this slice of praise pie. I’m one of the best sports agents in the country because I carved out a niche as a top matchmaker of brands and clients, and I don’t stop.

But I’m not the only one busting my ass. Adriana works hard too. “You do look like a genius, especially since Adriana has some kind of magic,” I say.

Adriana smiles like it’s no big deal. “Maddox reeled in most of them. I just helped out.”

“Well, I’m stoked for what you’re both doing. I can’t wait to tell Zane about this progress,” Vance says.

A knot of longing tightens in my chest. I’d love to be the one to give Zane the good news if a deal comes to pass. But this is Vance’s turf. He’s worked with him longer. He’s earned the right to deliver happy headlines.

Though, maybe not yet. “Let’s make sure we have something to share first. I’d like to move one of these brands further before you call him. Cart before the horse and all.”

Vance flicks a hand as if waving off his plan to jump the gun. “Fair point. I guess that’s another reason I hired you two. You’re so fucking reasonable and shit.” Then, he clears his throat. “Talk to me about Braxton Arrow. What’s cooking there?”

Ah, a lot, I hope. Braxton’s a kicker in need of a new agent. He racked up five stellar seasons with the New York Rebels and is eager to hire new representation. He’s an LA guy, born and bred, so I’ve been tasked with courting him.

“After I saw Zane, I had a call with Braxton, and we set up an early tee time,” I say, switching gears. “Nine holes tomorrow on his favorite course.”

“I bet you’ll have him signed by the eighth,” Vance says.

Adriana laughs but answers diplomatically, managing expectations. “Maddox is good, but I’m not sure Braxton is making any quick decisions.” She embodies my favorite trait in a co-worker—realism.

But Vance hardly seems bothered by that hill to climb. “Pfft. How can you beat the resources at CTM?”

My desk speakerphone crackles before he can say more, and my admin cuts into the call. “Maddox, I have Priyam from Bespoke on line one. You asked me to interrupt you.”

Wow. That’s fast. I talked to Priyam’s chief marketing executive just yesterday. I didn’t expect the CEO to call me himself, or this soon.

Vance’s eyebrows shoot sky high, and he waves goodbye, shooing me along. “Go, go, go.”

This is a damn good sign, but I keep my enthusiasm in check as I click over. “Hello, Priyam. Good to hear from you so quickly. How’s the family?”

We make small talk about his grandchildren for a few minutes, and then the London man says, “So about Zane Archer. Tell me more. I’m very interested.”

A full hour of fantastic conversation later—during which Priyam and I checked out Zane’s press shots from events over the last few years—the British man says, “Let me have my team put together some ideas. We’ll be back in touch soon.”

“I can’t wait,” I say.

The second we hang up, I’m beyond stoked to call Vance and deliver an update. I pace by the windows as I give him the news, finishing with, “He wants to meet with me when I go to London next week to see some of our international partners.”

Vance hoots. “I can’t resist. I’m going to have to tell Zane right now. And since he’s still in town tonight, you should take him out for a drink after the game.”

Tonight. Zane. Me. A bar.

That’s entirely too tempting. I survived a few daylight hours in Venice with him, but I don’t want to take chances with nighttime and alcohol.

“But we don’t have a deal yet,” I say, even as my heart rate speeds up as I picture seeing Zane.

“Who cares? Go to the game. Take him out. Let him know we give a shit about him. Wait! I know. Sebastian Lowe’s agent is hosting a little rooftop shindig over at Hotel M. Take him there. I’ll tell him to bring some of his teammates.”

A rooftop fête. Other people. That’s so much safer.

Still, my pulse thunders as I agree, racing when I hang up.

This is the problem—the way I react to him. I need to solve it before I see Zane tonight.

At the window, I stare at the courtyard below. Men and women in smart shirts and crisp slacks crisscross to the elegant restaurant in the center. Some of the sports and entertainment business’s biggest deals are made there over martinis and kale salads, hold the dressing.

That’s who I am. A dealmaker. An agent and an attorney. Not every agent is a lawyer. But if you are one, you have to follow the rules of the legal profession.

And attorneys don’t sleep with clients because it’s not fucking fair to the client. Undue influence and all. I won’t do that to Zane or to anyone else.

Every time I go into a meeting, I set my intentions. I’ll do the same for tonight.

Be the pro he needs. Focus on the deal. Treat him like a star.

That. Is. All.

Then, I text Bryan and tell him I have two tickets to the game tonight and he’s coming along.

Well, it’s best to show up with a friend. I don’t want anyone to think I have a thing for the first baseman—especially the first baseman himself.