9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Jackson
I ’m in the middle of proofreading an email for the third time when my work phone starts ringing. When I see it’s a blocked number, I feel my brows furrow as I bring it to my ear.
“Jackson Jones.”
Someone lets out a relieved breath on the other end.
“Jones, thank fuck you answered.” Rome Booker’s voice sounds through the other end and a million bad thoughts run through my mind as to why he would be calling me through a blocked number.
The only downside to being a good agent is all the damn spoiled kids want me. I work for the sports agency, Athletics Prime. When Sire and August signed me as their agents and my first check cleared, I was ready to quit since I didn’t even need the job anymore, but I love what I do and the Hale brothers were my friends long before my clients, so quitting wasn’t an option.
This kid, however, makes me question how much I love this job.
“What’s up, Booker?” I lean back in my seat as I prepare myself for today’s bullshit.
“I got arrested. I’m at station—”
“Why are you calling me ?” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “I’m your agent, not your criminal defense attorney.” I shake my head at my words. “Why did you get arrested?”
He lets out an annoyed breath before yelling at someone. “Back up!” He shouts a few foul words and I bury my face in my hand. I can’t catch a break with this kid.
“You there?” he says to me now.
I look around for where the fuck I would’ve gone. “Yes, I’m here, Rome. What did you do?”
“I got in a bar fight,” he says as if it’s absurd to get arrested for such a thing when I’m sure he was at fault.
I glance at my watch before shaking my head. “It’s not even 2:00 p.m., Rome. You’re not even twenty-one.” The disappointment seeps out of me as my mind runs through what I’m going to do with him.
“Why did you call me?” I ask again.
“First of all, it’s 5:00 p.m. somewhere. Second, I don’t have anyone’s number memorized, and had your card in my pocket for some reason. Third, the legal age to drink is subjective.”
“It’s quite literally not .”
“Agree to disagree. Listen, come pick me up, my cell smells like a pig’s pen.”
I rub my temples as I decide whether or not I should leave him in there and he must hear my thoughts through my hesitation because he goes on.
“The people in here already recognized me. Do you want word to get out that I got arrested? You said we needed to work on my image.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t mean to go—” I decide to stop wasting my breath and shut my laptop. “I’m on my way.”
He tells me where he is and I hang up on him as I stand from my seat and walk out of my home office.
Belle and I officially moved into our new house and my first day working from home was going great, but I can never have a perfect day with clients that behave worse than my five-year-old.
The entire ride to the police station I go over in my head what I’m going to say to this kid to make him listen, but as I imagine his response, none of them are what I want to hear.
When I walk into the police station, a few officers stand straighter at the slight glance at my suit. I walk to the front desk and the officer stands from his seat. “What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to pick up my client, Rome Booker.”
It’s clear he knows exactly who that is as he gets the necessary paperwork. I head out when I’m done and lean against my car as I wait for him.
After a few minutes, he strolls out of the police station carefree with nothing more than a busted lip. I let out an annoyed breath as he smiles when he sees me.
He throws his hand up. “Jones.”
“Rome,” I mumble disappointedly.
He tilts his head to the side with a knowing look. “Aww, come on. Cheer up.”
I stare at him for a beat and when I don’t cheer up , his smile fades from his face.
“You get arrested again, and we will no longer be working together.”
His brows furrow as he searches my eyes. “We have a contract?”
“Sue me,” I deadpan before nodding for my car. “Get in.”
He does and I walk around for the driver’s seat. While I’m bluffing about quitting as his agent, he doesn’t know that and seems to believe me.
When I slip into my seat, he’s glancing around the car. “I didn’t know they had pink interiors in Durangos.” He nods to himself.
“They don’t.” I start the car and he doesn’t say anything as we drive off. I had the car customized because Isabelle wanted us to have a pink car, and while I’d drive a pink car, I was able to negotiate with her so we have pink seats that match the two pink stripes on the outside of the car.
Rome looks around the back seat and he must notice Belle’s car seat before his head snaps to me. “You have a baby ?” He says it as if I kidnapped my own kid.
“A daughter, yes,” I reply dryly and I feel his eyes on me as he tries to figure something out.
“How old are you?”
I glance at him as he gives me a once-over.
“Thirty-two.” I turn back to the road and in my peripheral I see his gears turning.
“That’s a big car seat.”
“It’s the perfect size for a five-year-old.”
“She’s five ?” His eyes bulge again. “You had a kid at twenty - seven ?”
I let out a short breath in annoyance as my brain tries to figure out what’s so hard to grasp about that.
“I can’t imagine having a kid in eight years.” He shakes his head to himself and I don’t tell him to not have a kid because, at this rate, he’s doing the opposite of everything I say. “She was an accident, wasn’t she?”
“Excuse me?” I turn to him now and he puts his hands up in defense.
“I’m just saying.” He shrugs. “I don’t see a ring on your hand, and you’re definitely the marrying type. Considering you’re not with your baby mama makes me think she was an accident.” He shrugs again as he looks out his window, his head laid against the seat.
“At least you only have to worry about her on weekends.”
I feel my eyes narrow as I study him and right about now, I wish those buttons in cars that eject people through the roof were a real thing.
“I don’t only worry about her on weekends. I have full custody. And just because she wasn’t planned doesn’t mean I didn’t want her.” I shake my head at him. “Twenty-seven isn’t even insanely young to have a kid—you know what? Stop talking about my baby.” I shut him up.
I keep driving, and when I get an email with his name in the subject, I quickly read it at the red light. I let out a scoff at the end of it before tossing him my phone. “I hope this is a lesson learned.”
He scans the email from a brand stating they no longer want to work with him and I can see him shaking his head in my peripheral. “They can’t do this.”
“They can and they did.” I shouldn’t feel as good as I do, but I do. He was really excited to work with Lululemon because he was apparently attracting more girls, but this is a great punishment after his arrest clearly made the headlines so quickly.
Rome is the hottest topic right now in college baseball around the country. He gets a lot of press, but I’m not one of those believers in bad press being good press. Sure, we love his name getting out there, but not when every single thing that’s said about him has been bad for the last month .
“Can’t you do something to get them back?” he pleads.
“I can.” I shrug. “I’m not going to, though.”
“ Why ?” he asks as if he wasn’t in handcuffs less than an hour ago and I have no reason to not want to help him.
“Because you don’t deserve it. Get your act together and maybe you won’t lose brand deals.” When I steal a glance at him, he looks pissed, and considering I’m a dad to a kid who had a very long tantrum phase at two years old, I know he’s about to throw a fit.
“Well, you’re my agent and you work for me, so I’m telling you to fix it.”
I let out a scoff at his tone. “And I’m telling you no.”
He lets out a huff in defiance, and when he starts breathing harder, I put on my dad face and try my hardest not to laugh. After a minute of him huffing and puffing, he turns to me.
“Can’t I pay you more to fix this for me?” Brat.
“Your money doesn’t talk to me, kid. Until you get it together and start listening to me, I’m not doing anything for you.”
He crosses his arms before turning to look out his window and I really wish I could take a picture of him and show the girls who want to sleep with this childish boy . The drive to his campus is silent, and when I pull up in front of his dorm, he turns to me.
“I’m sorry I got arrested.” He doesn’t add more, but it’s clear he’s only apologizing because he wants his way. Isabelle has pulled this card way too many times for me to not notice.
“You should be.” I unlock the door for him but he doesn’t step out, instead, he changes the topic, another stunt that isn’t going to work.
“How’s it going with the Red Sox’s contract? Were you able to—”
“They’re not going to offer you more money, kid. We upped the deal twice,” I interrupt with the same thing I’ve been telling him all week. “A one hundred and ten million dollar contract for five years is a great deal.”
He opens his mouth but I beat him to it.
“There’s no news from the Dodgers. I know you want to sign with them, but they don’t want you. They didn’t make any offers. Maybe you should listen to me and stay in school. Recruits aren’t going anywhere, but once you sign, you’re less likely to get the team you want as a trade.” I could’ve delivered my words a bit nicer, but I need to pick up my kid from school soon and he doesn’t deserve my good mood after annoying me with his comments about my baby girl.
He nods before his eyes meet mine again. “You’re close friends with the Hale brothers, right? Like more than just their agent.”
“Yes?”
He nods in thought. “Can you get them to come watch me play?”
I study him but he seems very hopeful about this. “What is them seeing you play going to change? They don’t recruit for the Dodgers, they only play for them.”
“Right.” He nods. “They’re the best on the team and got recruited from this school.” He nods to his campus. “Maybe they can give me tips on what I’m clearly missing.”
I don’t tell him it’s discipline and brain cells and instead say, “I’ll talk to them. In the meantime, lay low. I’ll draft a statement for you to post on social media about what happened today. Don’t talk about it with anyone.”
He nods hopefully before thanking me and stepping out of my car.
I pull into Belle’s school just as they’re walking out, which means I’m early and it makes me feel good. It’s like the nicest fuck you to stick in the mud Ms. Rose.
As I’m walking over to the class, Isabelle is talking to a friend and doesn’t notice me.
Just as I reach her, Ms. Rose steps beside us. “Mr. Carter.” She gives my outfit a once over before her annoyed face meets mine again. “In Isabelle’s folder you’ll find a red card.” It nearly sounds like she’s happy about the news.
I glance down at Isabelle who has guilty written all over her face. Holding back a sigh, I look back over at her teacher. “What happened?”
“She was using inappropriate language today.” A smug smile grows on her face and I’m sure it’s because this is feeding her delusions that I’m a horrible father. “The first time this happened, last week, I gave her a warning, but since this was the second time, her red card needs to be signed and brought back to me. On the back you need to fill out the action plan for how we’re going to reduce the foul language.”
She gives me another once over. “Maybe reducing such language at home will help.”
I bite my tongue before finding the right words. “We don’t use inappropriate language at home.” That’s partly a lie but it’s not like she’d know. “I’ll talk to her.”
“That’d be great.” She holds her clipboard to her chest. “If it continues, maybe Mom can come in for a meeting?”
I force a smile. “It won’t continue.” I don’t remind her that Belle’s mom isn’t in the picture, once again, but I can see her nosy expression from a mile away as to why. That’s an explanation she doesn’t need, and since she’s so desperate to know, I make it my mission to not enlighten her on the details of my life.
“Have a great day, Ms. Rose.” Taking Isabelle’s hand I keep my gaze on her. “Do you have all your things?”
She nods quietly, and without sparing her teacher a second glance, I walk over to the car with her and strap her into the car seat.
When I’m in the driver’s seat, I let out a defeated breath before turning to her.
“I’m sorry.” She beats me to it, her eyes watering.
“Baby girl,” I start gently. “I really need you to be mindful of how you speak in school.” I focus on her, and while I can’t explain to her that I’m already on thin ice with these people, she seems to understand the sincerity in my voice.
“I just dropped my lunch and said oh shit, but I apologized right after.” She wipes her tears. “Are you disappointed?” she nearly whispers.
Taking a hold of her hand, I kiss it gently. “I know it was an accident, and I’m not disappointed,” I reassure her because I care more about the fact that her teacher heard and is going to give me hell for it. “Let’s just remember next time to not speak that way in school or at all.”
She nods before kissing my hand in return.
“Is Ms. Rose ever mean to you?” I watch her carefully, but she quickly shakes her head, her brows pulled together.
“No, she’s always so nice.” She shrugs. “She was even nice when she gave me a warning about no cursing.”
I focus on her for a beat before deciding to believe her. I’m starting the car when she quickly changes the topic and tells me about her Good Writer sticker.
“I can’t wait to show Lissy. She says I can have ice cream when I get stickers.”
I smile at how much happier she sounds and I can tell it’s for Lisette and not just the ice cream or the sticker she received at school.
At the reminder of Lisette, I stop by the store to get her my ‘please keep tutoring my kid ’ flowers because I forgot them the last few times I dropped off Isabelle.
I know she was joking when she said she’ll only accept the last bouquet as her feel-better flowers, but why not keep the joke running? I do have to find a real way to thank her for working with Isabelle though, because she refuses to let me pay her.
Since Sire had an away game today, she’s coming to our house for tutoring and it’s all Belle talks about on our way home.