The Winner Takes All (Complete Collection)

16. Here and There

16

HERE AND THERE

Maddox

For the next several days, my hometown keeps me busy. I zoom around Los Angeles, meet with clients, brands, teams. I have lunch with Ellie one afternoon since she’s in town for the week.

“Tell me the latest about your new show,” I say over salad at one of our favorite cafes near my office.

Her big brown eyes flicker with excitement. “Everything is starting to come together. I’ll be moving here in a few weeks as you know,” she says. “Thank you again for finding me that cute little home near you.”

“You’re going to love it,” I say.

“And I swear I am taking a break from bad boys when I move. Turning over a new leaf,” she says, lifting a hand like she’s taking an oath.

I arch a brow. “That’s a change,” I say, then tease, “But can you stick to it?”

She laughs. “The jury’s still out…So, let’s talk about you . I want all the details.”

I sigh, then shake my head. “Another time.”

“Why?” She pouts.

“Because I don’t want to get all caught up,” I say, speaking plainly, giving her the full truth.

She smiles sympathetically. “I get that.”

Later that night, in the dim light of my living room, I work on my client wish list. The one sure thing in this business is turnover, so I always want to have new clients to woo should the opportunity arise.

And I still need to court Priyam. We chat on the phone about ideas for Zane. The deal feels close, so damn close, but still far away.

“Will I see you next week in New York?” he asks one morning on the phone. I pace in front of my office window, staring at the throngs of Los Angelenos crisscrossing the courtyard as I clench and unclench my stress ball.

“I’ll be there,” I say.

“We’ll have to do that dinner. I owe you and Zane,” he says.

My face flushes at the mere mention of the man. Thank fuck I’m alone in my office. “That’ll be great,” I say. But it’s time to push, so I don’t end the conversation on dinner plans. “What do you say we finalize this deal before dinner? What do you need from us to make that happen?”

Priyam laughs warmly. “Let me show the term sheet to my daughter. She’s my VP now. Someday, I’ll retire, and I want her to be ready to handle the marketing. I promise we’ll get it done soon.”

I just hope we sign it before he retires.

He says goodbye, and my shoulders slump. But I need to tell Zane something. I owe it to him. I fire off a text.

Maddox: Just talked to Priyam. It’s looking good. He’s reviewing the deal points with his daughter. Save the date next week in New York for dinner.

Then I add the time and the day. A few minutes later, he responds.

Zane: And I didn’t feel any pressure to write back and say fuck yes!

Maddox: Hopefully we’ll know more next week.

Zane: Exciting! I can’t wait to tell him how my coaching gig with my niece’s team went.

Right. He had that last weekend. I forgot to ask.

I draft a reply— How did it go? Future career for you? —but I don’t send it. Zane worries about his future. I don’t want to say anything that’ll set off his fears of him not having a future in baseball. I hit erase and start over.

Maddox: I bet you were the most enthusiastic first-base coach ever.

Zane: Pretty much. I had a blast. What a way to spend a day off. Sunshine, family, softball…

My heart aches. I wish I could go there with him and watch him coach his niece. Go to meet his brother, get to know the people Zane loves. I’d do my research, pick a restaurant in Sacramento after the game—a cool and trendy but still kid-friendly place—then take them all out to eat. It’s a small thing to pay the bill, but I love picking up the tab and making my clients feel like kings and queens.

Except, I don’t want to go to Sacramento as Zane’s agent. I want to go as the man who treats Zane’s family to dinner, then goes home alone with him—with the guy, not the baseball star.

Maddox: It sounds like a great day. I’m sure Priyam will enjoy hearing about it. I know I will.

That barely scratches the surface of the truth. Hell, it feels like a bald-faced lie. But I send it anyway, and quickly, he replies.

Zane: Will you pick the restaurant? From among all your favorite cuisines?

Maddox: I will. See you then.

Zane: See ya.

I can read Zane as clearly as I could the night I met him. He’s trying to show me he can be business-y and friendly. He’s worried for me. He’s trying to protect me by being… Super Client . My heart swells a little bigger for him. His care for other people might as well be written on a neon sign flashing above his head.

I just wish…

Eh, it doesn’t matter what I wish for.

This wish can’t come true.

That night, I take Braxton to an LA Bandits game. Boutique touch, indeed. We don’t talk shop once. We chat about the upcoming baseball All-Star Game here at this park in July, and his wish to see it since he loves baseball too. We talk about his friends from high school. He’s still close to them, he says. He never mentions a girlfriend or a boyfriend, and I don’t ask.

When I return home after the game, Bryan’s camped out on the couch, watching something on his laptop. He hits stop at lightning speed the second I walk in.

“I told you I don’t care if you watch porn,” I say drily as I kick off my shoes.

“Wasn’t porn,” he mutters, then closes the laptop.

Color me intrigued. “Better than porn? This I’ve gotta hear.”

“It’s nothing,” he says.

“It’s definitely something.” I smile.

He sighs. “Just something a…client sent me.”

I cough, muttering, “Euphemism.”

He rolls his eyes. “If it were porn, I’d watch it in my bedroom.”

“You mean the guest room?” I tease.

“Seems nice on the outside, cruel on the inside,” he says.

“Do I? Seem nice?”

“Ha. Fair point.” Bryan pauses, seems to study me. “You okay? You’ve been working even harder than usual this last week.”

“It’s been a busy week,” I say, but that’s hardly the full truth. “And I’m trying to steer clear of my feelings for Zane.”

It’s a relief to say that. I’m glad I can tell Bryan.

He shoots me a sympathetic smile. “I hear ya,” he says. I hear too what’s unsaid, but understood— I’m here for you no matter what.

But there’s nothing more to say, so I thank him, head to my bedroom, and strip out of my clothes. Next week, I’ll see him with Priyam. That’ll be a new test—how I handle myself with Zane after .

After I’ve seen him mostly naked.

After we’ve messed around.

After I’ve let him into my desires.

I hope I pass.

When I land in New York two days later, my phone blinks with a text from Braxton.

Braxton: How’s it going? Thanks again for the game. I was talking to my good friend Ronan about the whole agent thing. He’s been my go-to guy for years. Since way back in high school.

He wants to meet with you. He’s in Los Angeles, but he’s in New York right now for work. I know you’re back and forth a lot so LMK if we can all meet there.

I groan privately as I walk through JFK to my waiting car. High school buds often have the biggest voices and the most uninformed opinions. But if that’s how Braxton rolls, that’s how I have to roll.

Maddox: As luck would have it, I just landed. I’ve got meetings with the New York office and with brands out here. You and Ronan in the mood for breakfast, lunch, dinner, drinks, ping-pong, or a round of pool?

Braxton: Dude! Are you gonna take me for everything in pool? I can’t resist. Let’s do pool.

Maddox: You’re on.

We set a time, then Braxton keeps on going.

Braxton: BTW, I told Ronan you repped Nate Chandler, Crosby Cash, Carter Hendrix, Mia Samms, and Lucy Laurent. And I just saw a report you’re handling Zane Archer. The dude is badass at the plate!

My face goes uncomfortably hot. I saw the same report this morning—in an industry trade publication that reported on my recent lucky socks deal for Crosby. The piece mentioned that CTM-er Maddox LeGrande is now working with many on the agency’s hefty client list, including Zane Archer, and Lucy Laurent, while he brought over Carter Hendrix, Drew Adams, and others .

It was a standard piece, but my skin prickled, nonetheless.

Quickly, I work out what to say to Braxton. Does he want me to crow that yes, I work with Zane too ? As I leave the terminal, passing security, I reply.

Maddox: It’s true. I’m working hard for him and everyone on my list.

But then I re-read it. What the fuck? I sound like such a suck-up. As I try to rewrite a reply, a kernel of guilt wedges into my rib cage. This is another consequence—me not knowing what to say about a client because the client jacked me off.

Finally, as I reach the street, I tap out a new reply

Maddox: He’s having a helluva season, isn’t he?

There. I hit send. It’s a thoroughly defensible message. Outside the busy airport I find my town car. The driver isn’t idling. He’s cut his engine and is simply waiting. See, Dad? I’m not such a jerk.

Except, as I slide into the backseat, I wince.

I kind of am a jerk. Here I am courting this young kicker, hoping to woo him to sign with us, and meanwhile, I’m fucking around with another client.

Braxton wouldn’t like that. Braxton would think I wasn’t paying attention to him. Mia might worry. So might Nate, Crosby, or anyone on my long list of other clients I brought from Level Up to CTM.

I drop my face into my palm. I’ve got to stay strong when I see Zane.

It’s past time to put him out of my mind in every way.

As the car weaves through traffic into Manhattan, I answer texts and emails about other clients. I stay busy all night focusing on everyone else.

The next morning, I meet Adriana in her office to catch up, and I’m as nose-to-the-grindstone as I can be. We dive into our client roster, reviewing all our open deals and the next steps.

“You’ve got the re-up for Enchanted Boards for Lucy wrapped up, right?” I ask. Lucy is a world-class surfer and her major sponsor paid top dollar to renew her deal.

Adriana gives me a thumbs-up. “Absolutely. I finalized it last night. They’re incredibly by the book, but no complaints. By the book is good, and the deal is done,” she says.

My jaw ticks.

By the book is good.

I’m not by the book anymore.

I open the spreadsheet on the San Francisco Hawks receiver we rep. His contract is coming up soon. “Let’s chat about Nate.”

Adriana takes off her glasses, leans back on the couch, and studies me. “Let’s talk about you.”

I whip my gaze away from the screen. “What? Why?”

She flaps her arm at me. “You’re a ball of tension, Mad.”

Mad . Fuck. Why is she calling me that? That’s Zane’s nickname for me. I shake it off, blinking. “Just all this travel. I didn’t sleep much.”

That’s a lie.

I slept fine last night after I jerked off, replaying my gym session with Zane yet again.

“Be sure to schedule in some shut-eye, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that tonight after I play pool with Braxton and his buddy from high school.”

Her eyes spark. “I want to come along. I’m a pool shark. How could you forget?”

Time to get my head on straight. “All the travel, I guess. Would be great to have you join us.”

I vow to do better and start by googling Ronan so I know what I’m dealing with. When I plug his name into the search engine along with Braxton’s, I find their high school yearbook pics and Ronan’s last name. A search for his full name easily yields his social media.

Ah.

Everything makes perfect sense now.

He’s a first-year law student.

That night at The Lucky Spot in Chelsea, I line up a shot then tap the cue ball lightly, sending the green ball into the corner pocket.

“Oh, man!” Ronan booms, his big voice matching his big bear of a body. He’s the protector type, for sure. “Again? You two are sharks!”

“I told you, man,” Braxton says, smiling. “He’s crazy good. Just like Adriana.”

My colleague blows on her red nails. “When you’re good, you’re good.”

Ronan grins. Even his smile is big. “Confidence, I like it. These two have it.” But then Ronan’s smile turns to ash. “But how’s your contract work? I don’t like some of the terms his last agent had him sign. I don’t want him to sign anything without a cap guarantee.”

Did he just Google ‘standard terms of NFL player contracts’? “I’d never let Braxton sign without a cap guarantee. I’d never let anyone sign without that,” I add, keeping my tone warm and professional. “We’d get him a full guarantee. That’s what we do.”

“Cool, cool,” Ronan says, as Braxton busies himself with studying his beer glass.

“I’ll want to land him a guaranteed base salary as well as a signing bonus and other incentives.” Like I’ve told Braxton already. This isn’t my first time on the wooing-a-client merry-go-round.

“We pride ourselves on our deal-making with teams and with brands,” Adriana says. “Maddox and I have already been talking to Madison Avenue companies we think will be a good fit.”

Ronan scoffs. “Everything’s a good fit for my man,” he says.

I bite my tongue. Now’s not the time for that spiel.

At the end of the night, Braxton shakes Adriana’s hand, then mine. “I’ll call you soon,” he says.

Then Ronan cuts in. “We’re going to make a decision in the next few days.”

“I’ll be ready,” I say, filing away the we’re . This guy definitely has his friend’s ear. Glad I made time for him too, since I feel like we’re one step closer to signing the most sought-after kicker in the NFL.

That should thrill me, but when I return to my hotel, my phone pings with a text from Zane. Instantly, I know what being thrilled really feels like.

Zane: I’m pretending you’re not in New York, ten blocks away at the Luxe.

I catch my breath. I knew he’d landed. I knew his series started tomorrow.

Maddox: How did you know I was at the Luxe?

Zane: You told me you usually stay there.

Maddox: I’m here.

Zane: And I’m over here.

But we’re not together. And I have to be okay with that.

Any day.

The offer will come any day.

When it’s finalized, maybe Zane won’t need me for much. Adriana could handle the fine details at that point. That’s her role anyway. I strike most of the deals. She executes on them when the papers are signed.

Sure, there will be other deals over the years, but soon, I’ll have the space to get over these messy feelings for my client.

A little distance will cure me.

That’s what I tell myself as I head to meet with Vance the next morning. He’s been out of town, but just returned, so we catch up at a coffee shop in Chelsea.

“And how’s my guy Zane doing?” Vance asks as he sets down his mug. “He’s in town for the Comets series and I’m seeing him tomorrow for lunch. I would love to have good news for him. I found that kid in the draft and snapped him up. Love him. Want to do big things for him.” He glances at the clock on the wall. The message isn’t lost on me. Time is ticking.

Guilt slithers through me. Over my feelings, over the deal, over the gym session. “Should come together any day.”

It fucking better.

“But will it?” Vance sits forward in his seat, his voice edged with frustration.

I’m embarrassed I can’t give him the answer he wants. “We played golf with Priyam in San Francisco. We have the dinner this week. It’s nearly a done deal,” I say. This holding pattern is wearing everyone down.

“ Nearly isn’t the same as done ,” he says coolly. I sit straighter. That’s the first time Vance has taken a tone with me. He presses the affable button so hard I didn’t even know he had a hard-ass one.

But I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I’m doing everything I can to close it,” I say evenly, careful I don’t sound defensive. “There’s only so much pressure I can exert on a partner. Too much and Priyam will run. Too little and he’ll wander away.”

Vance nods like he gets it. But then he tilts his head. “I know how negotiation works, Maddox.”

Oh, shit.

He’s hitting the ballbuster button. “I’ll reach out again,” I assure him.

He drinks some more coffee, then nods once more. “Good. Do that,” he says with a smile, but there’s nothing warm in his tone.

I’ve reached the end of his grace period.

After the meeting, my mind’s racing with possible reasons to lob in a call to Bespoke. When Vance leaves, I stay and flip through my texts from Zane, hunting for any little detail that’ll justify reaching out again to Priyam.

Scrolling back in the thread, past the parent convo, past the baseball tips convo, past the pic of his niece—so many conversations that made me feel like I was…gardening—I land on the photo of Zane in workout clothes and a purple bow tie.

An idea snaps into place. One look at the time and I might be able to pull this off. It’s ten-thirty, and Zane’s probably at his hotel. I send him a text and tell him my plan.

His response is speedy. I’ll have it to you in thirty.

At eleven on the dot, I’m still working at the coffee shop, tackling a contract for my Comets shortstop when Zane’s name appears at the top of my phone with the words look at this .

My pulse races, even though I know his message is very safe for work.

Man, I need to get it together.

My earbuds are in, so I click open the video. Zane fills the screen from his hotel room, wearing a fantastic tailored shirt—a stylish paisley print that’s trendy and sexy at the same time.

“Hey there, friends…If you’re like me, once upon a time you were all sorts of confused about one of these bad boys.” He holds up a purple bow tie, letting it dangle by his face.

“I mean, does it go like this?” He wraps it messily around his neck, frowning.

“Or maybe like that?” He attempts a crude knot.

“Nope. But let me tell you, you can tie a bow tie in a few simple steps.”

Then he moves through the steps easily, giving tips as he goes. When he’s done, he adjusts the tie, flashing a warm grin at the camera.

Then he holds up a finger.

“But listen.” He beckons the viewer closer, then stage whispers, “This’ll be our little secret, but I know some of you are still struggling with a basic necktie too. Some dudes are having their moms and dads knot their regular ties in advance before they put them on. Guys, we can do better. Let me be your tie guide.”

He reaches out of camera, then returns with a…burgundy tie. Just like the one I wore when I met him. He lets the fabric graze across his hand as he shows off the tie to the viewer, touching it almost…reverently.

My chest heats, and the pull I feel toward him is tremendous.

“This is my favorite color,” he says, his tone a little sensual but never inappropriate. For a second, something like longing flashes in his eyes. It’s so alluring, not only for me, but for anyone watching, like he’s inviting viewers into his home as he gets dressed for a night out. “And here’s how you tie a Windsor knot.”

I tug on my collar. Shake off the lust. And watch the rest of the video, savoring the scent of coffee beans, smiling like I have a winning hand in Vegas.

When the how-to ends, I text him back with a thank you and send it to Priyam. I finish some other work, then half an hour later I shut my laptop, tuck it into a messenger bag, and leave the shop. This is my goddamn deal to close and I’m not waiting another minute. Once I’m outside, walking down the block, I call Priyam. “What did you think?”

“This video is absolutely delightful,” he says. “And magnetic too.”

“It is, and that’s Zane. And I want you to have first crack at Zane Archer,” I say, cutting to the chase. I like the British man. I want to make him happy. But the time for dawdling has passed. “He’s a rising star. He’s having a helluva season. Someone else is going to snap him up if you don’t,” I say, slowing my pace before I reach the busy avenue. “He can only rep one menswear brand. I want it to be yours. Do you?”

The line goes quiet. Priyam lets out a thoughtful breath. “There’s something about him. He’s just kind of…”

“Irresistible,” I supply. “He’s irresistible.”

“Yes! That’s it.”

But that’s still not an answer, so I push once more. “So, can we finalize this deal today? I don’t want someone else to scoop him up.”

Priyam doesn’t dillydally this time around. “Give me an hour. I’ll send you a contract.”

The instant I leave my next meeting, I pounce on my phone. There it is. It’s a fucking contract, and it’s gorgeous.

Zane is going to lose his mind. And so is Vance. When I call my boss to tell him the good news, he hoots. “Knew you would do it. You’re my closer,” he says, and Vance has returned to his nice guy routine. I’m not bothered by the tough guy act from earlier—it’s part of business. Though it surprised me, I’m glad I know he’s got that knife’s edge when he needs it. Always best to understand who you work with. “And guess what? I have a date with the wife tonight to take the kiddos to the playground, so I’m going to let you get to have all the fun.”

I blink, surprised once again. “What do you mean?”

“Ordinarily, I’d tell the client, since he’s been my guy forever,” he says, like they go back decades when it’s more like four years. “But I want you to experience the bear hug he’ll give you. Do it in person. As soon as possible, since first pitch is at five-thirty.”

I gulp, then gird myself to face the object of all my desires.