Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
Alexander
“Is this a joke?” I stare at the tall blonde woman standing in front of me. “Who the hell sent you here?”
“I’m not joking,” she says, her voice trembling. “I told you that my boss, Buck Remsen, asked me to contact you. He represents Trey Hale.”
I didn’t believe it the first time she said it, and I sure as hell don’t believe it now.
This woman tapped on my shoulder as I was waiting for my double shot of espresso at a café around the corner from my apartment.
I skimmed her face and the light blue sweater dress she’s wearing trying to jog my memory into giving me a name. Her name.
I assumed I’d met her at some point in the past, but as soon as she started talking, I realized that I’d never seen her before.
She introduced herself as Melody something-or-other. I didn’t catch her surname because the barista barked out “Alex” and I reached for my order.
Melody went on to explain that she had a surprise for me.
I waited with bated breath and raised brows for her to continue.
She tripped over her own words as she spit out that her boss arranged for a day at the ballpark for my nephew.
I didn’t hear anything after she said that she heard that my Trey Hale jersey was stolen and that a guy named Buck wants to replace it.
She mentioned tickets to a game and a personalized baseball jacket.
If this is legitimate, it’s going to paste a permanent smile on Alvin’s face and cement my position as the best uncle who ever lived.
“I left two messages with your manager yesterday.” Melody sighs. “You’re a tough man to get in touch with, Mr. Donato.”
That’s by design.
I’m glad to hear that Vito, my manager, is doing his job and acting as a buffer between anyone I don’t personally know and me.
I sip the coffee, debating whether or not Melody is indeed here to offer me the experience of a lifetime for Alvin, or if she’s a friend of the thief who stole my jersey. Given the proximity of this café to my apartment, I can’t be sure.
I’ve been irritated since Jack and I came up empty at the club on Friday night.
I’ve spent the three days since immersed in work, while Jack hit up every store in the five boroughs that sells sports memorabilia.
I didn’t ask him to search for the stolen jersey, but he knows how much my nephew means to me. Unfortunately, he struck out.
The blonde clears her throat, so I face her. “How did you find me?”
Her gaze darts to the line of people waiting to place their orders. “I joined your online fan club yesterday morning. I read through every post.”
I know a fan club exists. I’ve never taken a look at it. I focus on the job, and the benefits that come with it, which often includes the company of a beautiful woman for a night.
Beyond that, I don’t give a fuck what people are saying about me.
I grew a thick skin after my first solo cello performance in Berlin years ago.
The reviews tore me to shreds. I trashed my dressing room, downed a bottle of whiskey and vowed never to let another person’s opinion impact my craft again.
“Someone posted that they saw you in here yesterday morning around this time.” She shrugs. “I thought it was worth a try.”
It’s a plausible explanation, but I’m still skeptical.
I call her bluff because I need to move my day forward and I can’t do that standing in this café. “I want to talk to your boss. Buck? Is that his name?”
“Buck Remsen.” She smiles. “If you give me your number I’ll have him call you…”
“No.” I narrow my eyes. “Give me his number.”
She spits out a ten-digit number before my phone is out of my pocket.
“Repeat that.”
She doesn’t hesitate. She relays each number to me again, slowly and clearly.
“I’ll give him a call,” I say after I program the number into my phone under the contact name Buck.
“He’s in the office all day today if you’d rather speak to him in person.” She eyes my coffee cup. “I’m heading back there after I grab a latte. We can share a ride.”
“Where’s the office?” I ask because there’s zero chance in hell that I’m getting in a cab with her. I’m still unsure if this Buck character is real.
“Lexington and Forty-Sixth Street.” Her gaze scans the large menu board behind me. “It’s the Remsen Agency building. You can’t miss it.”
I head straight for the exit.
It’s time for a quick online search of Buck Remsen. If he checks out, I’ll be shaking the man’s hand within the hour.
“My ex-wife would have killed for a chance to meet you.”
It’s not the greeting I was expecting from Buck Remsen, but I’ll take it. The gray-haired man is indeed Trey Hale’s agent and if the evidence I found online of that wasn’t enough, this office is.
There are framed photographs of Buck with some of the biggest names in sports today, and yesterday. The picture of him and Hale is front and center.
His reputation for being cutthroat in negotiations on behalf of his clients was evident in the two archived New York Times articles I read on my phone during the cab ride over here.
If he had any experience in the realm of the arts, I’d be tempted to fire my representation and convince him to take me on.
“You’re not an easy guy to track down, Alex.”
I don’t mind the familiarity. Hell, I welcome it. This guy has a direct connection to Alvin’s hero. It seems that Melody was speaking the truth back at the café.
“I’m a busy man.” I laugh. “You can relate, Buck.”
“One day.” He holds a hand in the air. “One day I’ll leave this earth. That’ll be the day I relax.”
This guy is hardcore to the extreme. I try to carve out time in my schedule for relaxation at least a few times a week. My frequent visits to Phoebe’s place usually top the list when I have a spare hour or two.
I cut to the chase because I came here for one reason only and that’s not idle chatter. “When I spoke to Melody she mentioned a surprise for my nephew.”
“What’s his name?” He lifts his chin in the air. “I need the kid’s name.”
I don’t question what for because this guy represents one of the greatest pitchers to ever take to the mound. “Alvin Costa.”
He reaches for a pen and a pad of paper sitting on his desk. He writes down something. I’m going to assume it’s Alvin’s name. I take that as a good sign.
“Look, Alex.” He leans his hand against the desk. “I’m going to be straight with you.”
I cross my arms over my chest and nod, unsure of what he’s about to say. “Please. Go ahead.”
“When Trey found out that the signed jersey you bought for Alvin was stolen, he wanted to step up and do the right thing.” He glances at the framed photograph of him and Trey. “Trey loved the game when he was a kid too and he knows how much the jersey will mean to Alvin, but he wants to do more.”
“More?” I question.
“We want to get Alvin down to the park for the first game of the World Series.” He clears his throat. “I’m talking two club seats, refreshments, the jersey, a team jacket, some pennants. Hell, we’ll give the kid a ball signed by the team.”
I sense a but coming.
Buck delivers it with ease. “All we need from you is twenty minutes with Trey and a few dozen cameras. You bring Alvin to the locker room before the first pitch is thrown, we do a quick interview on camera for the local news, snap some pictures and you’re free to enjoy the game with your nephew.”
I get it. They want the opportunity to showcase Trey Hale’s benevolence. “I’ll have to run it by Alvin’s mom, but I don’t see a problem.”
He claps his hands together. “Looks like Alvin’s going to have a birthday to remember. I’ll need your direct number so we can arrange all the details.”
I text a simple, thank you, to the number Melody gave me at the café.
Buck’s phone beeps. “Got it. I’ll be in touch, Alex.”
It’s my cue to leave, but I’m not about to. I welcome the effort he’s putting in to make Alvin’s birthday one for the record books, but I want to know who the hell is behind this.
I wait a beat and then casually ask the question I’ve wanted to know the answer to since I walked into this office and saw the picture of Hale on the wall. “How did you hear about the stolen jersey, Buck?”
He glances at me. “Does it matter?”
It shouldn’t, but it does. Jack would have told me if he had a connection this close to Trey Hale. He knew I was on the hunt for an autographed jersey for months.
The only other people who know that a one-night stand left my place with the jersey are the women who work at the lingerie boutique and the half dozen customers who were there the morning I stormed in with those panties in my hand demanding answers.
“It matters,” I answer succinctly.
“I gave her my word that I wouldn’t bring her name into this.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “She’s close to Trey, so I don’t want to rock the boat. He puts family first. He’ll have my head if he knows I broke my promise to her.”
Her.
“They’re family?” I push for more.
He nods. “That’s all you’re getting out of me.”
It’s not enough, but I sense that his loyalty to Trey will outweigh the two tickets to a performance of the symphony I was about to tempt him with. I’ll still have the tickets sent over to him with a note thanking him for what he’s doing for Alvin.
“Fair enough.” I pocket my phone.
I’ll have to figure out the identity of the mystery woman on my own.