Chapter 3 Damon
Damon
Present Time
This is my worst nightmare.
What I thought was going to be a productive trip that could land me a new client has turned into a giant clusterfuck.
I press my fingers against my eyes and heave a sigh, trying to drown out all the noise around me.
Too many people are talking at the same time, and the people behind the flight check-in counters look as if they want to resign right at this moment.
I get it, though. I’d resign too, if I were in their position, even if none of this mess is their fault.
Nobody wanted a snowstorm to stop all flights a few days before Christmas.
Mom told me not to take this trip. She said it was too risky and that I might not make it back in time, but I told her I had to.
My manager insists that I haven’t met my targets, and at this rate, I’m in big trouble if I don’t sign a player soon.
My roster needs work. He said it’s only adequate, and adequate isn’t enough when the rest of my peers are outperforming me in numbers.
“Hey,” a familiar, although slightly raspy, voice says. I snap my head up and come face-to-face with Ellis Donlan.
“What’s with your voice?” I ask. “Are you hungover?”
“I’m sick, actually. Thank you for noticing.”
Unfortunately, I did notice that easily. Even if he’s a presence I’ve been trying to ignore all day. Or all week. Honestly, I’ve been trying to ignore him ever since that unfortunate night two years ago.
How can I, though? He’s the CEO’s son, the agency’s golden boy, and he’s a damn thorn in my side is what he is. Every time my manager tries to make an example of what an agent’s roster should look like, Ellis’s name comes up.
Ironic, because when I met him two years ago, he said he didn’t even want to take his job.
Now look at him—all smug with his gorgeous auburn hair and his pretty blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses.
Even hidden, I know they’re pretty. I’ve seen them enough to know this, which is downright unfortunate for me. Ellis grins at me, tipping his chin up.
“You’re staring,” he tells me, too proudly, and I roll my eyes and look away.
As much as he irritates me, Ellis is terribly difficult not to look at.
I learned this lesson the hard way when I went against my own rules and very enthusiastically had a night of complete debauchery with him.
How couldn’t I, though? Even if I don’t usually do one-night stands, Ellis caught my attention the moment I laid my eyes on him.
I thought he looked like an angel—even when he opened that mouth of his and it turned out he wasn’t an angel at all. I was already all in. Hooked. I had no chance at all that night.
It’s too bad he turned out to be the type of person—agent—that I detest. I should have known, really, if I weren’t so mesmerized by his beauty.
I went home knowing he definitely wasn’t an angel, and the two years that have followed only made it more obvious what kind of person he is.
He’s cutthroat, quick, and swoops in to get contracts signed before you even realize it.
Like he did with his first clients—Westley and Vaughn, my best friends—he gets to know players personally, and that’s how he signs them.
Ellis is horrible at understanding hockey, which is fucking ironic considering his job description, but that’s never stopped him.
Just last month, Perez, who’s been with me, sat me down to solemnly tell me he wanted to switch agents.
He was going to have Ellis represent him instead, he had said.
I could do nothing but wish him the best of luck, at the same time resenting Ellis for taking my client.
I don’t know what he told Perez to get him to switch agents, but I can only guess that Ellis offered him a deal he couldn’t turn down. One that was probably too good to be true.
Ellis is a piranha.
I should’ve known that from the start, from how easily he used information that I foolishly told him about my friends.
I try to ignore his very large presence now, which proves to be more challenging than it should be. Even if he’s wearing shades, I know he’s staring at me. He always does. He seems to know it gets on my last nerve and never stops doing it.
Who even wears shades inside an airport?
Unlike me, Ellis looks unperturbed by the current state Buffalo airport’s currently in.
He doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the raging snowstorm, judging from the relaxed way he runs his fingers through his hair.
His stupidly beautiful hair flops right back into place because it’s apparently as perfect as every other piece of him.
“Dee,” he says. “Have you spoken to Heather?”
“Why?”
His shoulders shake as he laughs. “Guessing by how you’re not trying to hide my body in a ditch, I’m assuming you haven’t spoken to her, so—”
“You’re good, Ellis. I’ll call her myself.”
To his credit, Ellis relents and instantly goes silent. He cocks his head to the side and smirks.
I turn away and quickly pull my phone out to call Heather up. As I’m waiting for her to answer, I sense Ellis’s stare on my back.
I know I’m being grumpy, even more so than usual, but I’ve been on edge since I saw him at last night’s game.
I kept my trip to Buffalo on the downlow because I wanted to watch the Camrose Rams in action, and I wanted to gather my thoughts about some players without letting my coworkers know.
The college hockey team’s having a breakout year and I wanted to see it for myself.
I didn’t know Ellis, apparently, had the same idea.
When we spotted each other at the game, my mood dropped drastically.
It’s okay, it’s okay… as soon as I get out of here, I won’t see him for at least a few weeks.
“Heather,” I say when she finally picks up. “Please tell me you were able to find me a room for tonight.”
Her voice comes out even more high-pitched than it usually is. “I was. I tried my best, and I did find you a room. It’s… it’s at the Hilton, actually, and it’s a great room. Gorgeous. You’re going to adore it.”
“And you sound panicked, because…?”
“Please don’t hate me for this.”
Anxiety creeps into my chest. “What is it, Heather?”
“It’s the only a-available room in the entire city. I told them, and all the other places in the vicinity, to call me if another one becomes available, b-but… oh God.”
“Heather, what is it? You’re freaking me out.”
She exhales slowly. “There was only one available room in the entire city,” Heather repeats, much more calmly.
“And Ellis is also in the city. Listen, I know you two… don’t get along.
I’ve never asked why, but it’s not a secret.
But… you and Ellis are both the company’s responsibility, we can’t let one of you sleep in the airport and fend for yourselves, so, um… ”
Oh, God.
Please.
My hackles rise. A sour sensation creeps up my throat. I’m a smart guy, and I’ve binge-watched enough movies to know where this is going.
Heather murmurs, “You and Ellis will have to share a room until another one becomes available.”
“…Fuck.”
“I’m so sorry. I tried my best, I really did, but thousands of people are stranded and…”
Slowly, I turn my head to where Ellis is still standing.
I’m unable to hide the horror from my expression.
Heather’s rambling becomes a faint noise in my ears.
Everything else around us from angry passengers to crying toddlers lull to a silence.
It’s my brain’s way of protecting me, I guess—it can’t take this goddamn news and has simply decided to stop functioning altogether.
Ellis smiles. Sweetly. “Guess Heather’s told you the exciting news, huh?
***
Despite it being so last minute, I’m glad Heather was able to find us a room, and at the Hilton no less.
We were lucky a cab was able to take us here despite the raging weather, and Ellis is even luckier that I didn’t push him out of the vehicle because he wouldn’t stop yapping.
His voice is a raspy, scratching sound that makes my head ache.
When I turn to him to glare, he only gives me a wide smile.
My eyebrows furrow at the way he’s got sweat on his forehead and how his hair’s damp and plastered to his neck. What the? Before I’m able to ask if he really is sick, the cab pulls into the driveway of the hotel, and Ellis quickly gets out.
“Please wait here,” I mumble when we get inside—mostly because he’s starting to stagger in his steps, and I’d rather not deal with him passing out.
He, of course, can’t follow a request to save his life and follows me to the massive check-in counter.
The woman in a pencil skirt manning the check-in counter gives both of us a once-over. And despite what Heather’s told me, I still want to try my luck, so I ask her, “Do you have a room for one?”
“Good evening! No, sorry. We’re fully booked. Unless you have a reservation, you’re out of luck.”
Behind me, Ellis lets out a soft huff of laughter.
I close my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out.
“We have reservations,” I mutter. “It should be under Damon Marks and Ellis Donlan.”
She taps around on the old computer. “Welcome to the Hilton, Mr. Marks and Mr. Donlan.”
We’re both handed our own keycards. The entire walk to our room, Ellis goes on a long-winded monologue about how he’s a big fan of the hotel’s interior. It’s fabulous, he says. Reminds him of his own apartment.
It takes everything in me not to give him any type of reaction.
“Love this room. Love it,” he says, as soon as we make it inside. “Absolutely gorgeous.”
Ellis is right, but I don’t tell him that.
It really is gorgeous, and… too damn romantic.
The room’s massive and the windows are framed with heavy-set curtains and give us a view of Buffalo’s snow-covered skyline, the television’s turned on to an infomercial about the hotel’s facilities, and there’s an actual wooden desk with an office chair that I could probably use to knock off my reports for the year. That’s a plus, at least.