Chapter 3 Angel
With a racing heart, I heard him leave the parking garage, the screech of his tires his parting goodbye.
Sitting in my car, I checked the locks again, ensuring I was secure within the confines of my SUV. My fingers shook slightly as I clutched the card in my hand, a small, seemingly innocent business card that had been attached to the box that had been sitting at the front desk for me.
Twelve roses sat in the box beside me. Dead roses. Roses that had been dead for some time, but carefully handled so they were intact. Reading the words again, I tried to think who would send this to me.
Everything beautiful dies.
Was it a warning? A joke? Licking my lips, I looked toward the exit to where Onyx had recently driven. Was it him? He left ages ago, so was he waiting to see my reaction?
No. He didn’t play games, well, he did, but not this kind. If Onyx wanted to warn me, he would do it by looking down at me, with his perfect sneer and emotionless eyes.
Shoving the card into the box, I closed the lid and started the engine.
I didn’t need this. It was probably a joke.
A bad one, but I represented some really high-strung clients.
It was probably a joke. Or one of my guys was thinking about their long-time career in a sport that was riddled with injury.
I mean, dead roses, everything beautiful dies?
They were sports players — they had a limited time in the industry to make their money.
I had a number of clients, basketball players, and football players.
Nothing was permanent in sports except the broken bones you collected along the way.
Driving home, I decided that it was a symbolic gift, not really meant for me. I would think of who had been especially morose lately and put out some feelers to ensure they were okay.
A happy client was a productive client after all. A productive client meant revenue for them and for me.
Home was in 12 South, and even though it was a short distance from the office, I worked late most nights, and despite my neighborhood being one of the safest, that lingering fear from college still hung over me like a bad cloud.
Which frustrated me more than anything because that night, I had been fine.
It hadn’t happened to me because the Devils had stopped it.
Onyx had stopped it.
Parking in the drive, I groaned out loud as I thought about him again tonight. He was like a persistent headache today, constantly having and holding my attention.
Getting out of the car, I walked down the drive and put the flowers and card in the trash. Hesitating, I ended up reaching in and retrieving the card, tucking it in my jacket pocket before I got the rest of my stuff from the car and heading inside.
My home was a neat, compact, two-bed, one-bath, single-story property that I got at a steal because the previous owners were very soon to be parents again of their third child and had not only run out of space, but they had also needed to run out of Nashville.
He’d gotten a new job, and they needed to move quickly before baby number three stopped mom from being able to do too much.
His new job and subsequent pay raise meant they were negotiable on the price, and I was ready to move in with all my finances in place, and I was skilled at negotiation.
The house had some wear and tear, but I was handy at DIY and loved a project.
My current project was staring at me as I placed my purse and work stuff down.
I was replacing the kitchen units, and although it wouldn’t take long, my stove was currently out of use.
The flowers had thrown me, and now I had no dinner.
Takeout it was.
An hour later, I was in casual clothes, waiting for my Thai food as I sat on the kitchen floor with a tool kit and a bottle of beer. The phone ringing caused me to jump, and I grabbed it off the counter, answering without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?” When no one replied, I checked to make sure I had connected, and seeing that I had, I also realized it was a blocked number, which wasn’t unusual. “Hello?” When no one spoke, I hung up.
My mom butt dialed me at least twice a week; it was probably a butt dial.
When the phone rang again fifteen minutes later, I checked the caller ID first. Blocked. Coincidence?
“Hello?”
Silence.
Hanging up, I put the phone on the counter just as my doorbell rang, and I yelped out loud.
“Christ, Angel, get a grip.” Scolding myself, I hurried to the door and, with a few careless pleasantries, headed back to the kitchen with my dinner.
Lying in bed later that night, my phone lit up with a message. I had forgotten to put DND on, and reaching over, I saw a text with a blurred photo from a blocked number. Staring at it, I tried to figure out what it was and, more importantly, who it was. This was no longer accidental.
Turning on DND and putting the phone face down on my nightstand, I tried to sleep. I’d get answers in the morning.
* * *
“Hey there, it’s Angel.” I tried to sound chirpy, but I was feeling pissed off.
I had nineteen clients, and my account was growing.
Well, it would be if Onyx could leave my client list alone for long enough.
Zeke was my last phone call of this morning, and none of my clients had sent me a “gift.” None of them were sounding down — in fact, the majority of them were downright perky.
“How you doing? You got news about that sponsor?”
No. Dammit, I needed to chase them. “Yes, I have a call with them this morning,” I told him as I scribbled a note. “I’m going to be quick as I know it’s practice for you soon, but you didn’t send anything to my office?”
“Send you? Send you what?”
Zeke was one of my older clients. He’d been snapped up right out of college twelve years ago and had been one of my first clients eighteen months ago.
His previous agent was encouraging him to retire.
Zeke played small forward, but age and injuries were allegedly slowing him down.
They weren’t. He was still on fire; he just needed to be seen.
After five years with the team that was ready to wind him down, I got him signed to a new team, selling them on the fact that his age and experience would help the younger guys on the team.
And the fact that his stats would rival a fresh-out-of-college rookie made him an asset, not a liability.
They argued his stats were poor in recent years, and I countered with the fact his team was only putting him in when they needed to win.
And then I let that settle in their understanding, and I walked away with an impressive contract for my twelve-year playing veteran. And he shone like I knew he would.
“Angel, you there?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was checking something,” I said as I rolled my eyes at myself. “I got flowers yesterday,” I added lamely.
“Oh, shit, did I miss your birthday or something?” He sounded confused. He had the right to, and the other eighteen had sounded equally unsure as to where I was leading with the “did you send me flowers” question.
“No.” I laughed at him. “Don’t worry about it. There was no card, and I just wanted to make sure that I thanked whoever it was that sent them.”
“Not me. I’ve got to go practice. You call me when you’re done with that sponsor call?”
“Absolutely.”
As soon as I was off the phone with Zeke, I was on the phone to the sponsorship.
They’d been avoiding my call, and I knew why, because they would most likely sign someone else and didn’t want to be upfront about it.
As my pen tapped off my desk while I waited to be put through, I saw Neil pass my office door. He looked my way and gave me a smile.
My PA had already told me Mr. Evil Incarnate, a.k.a. Onyx, was out of the office all day. The fact that my shoulders relaxed when she told me annoyed me more than I let on.
“I’m sorry, Miss Balan, I can’t connect you right now,” their middleman said to me as he took me off hold.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” I said as I sat up in my chair. “Tell them they either take my call or I put out a press release that states my client is the new face of your brand.”
“But he isn’t!”
“And how would you know?” I asked carefully.
“Um . . .”
“I think it’s time to put me through, don’t you?” I asked him as I placed the call on speaker and started to open up the draft contract.
An hour later, and after a very carefully controlled conversation with the brand’s legal team, I had one sponsorship for my client.
The terms were less than they had been, but they were still favorable.
I would have to work on Zeke to accept, but the good thing about the veteran players — they didn’t broadcast potential income until the legal part was finalized.
The flowers were a bust, but with a contract to finalize, I pushed all thoughts of mysterious flowers out of my head as I settled down to work.
My mom calling me mid-afternoon was the first break I took. I’d had the guys from finance in to check the numbers for Zeke’s sponsorship and the fees, and I had one of the other contract lawyers in to tweak a section for me. Zeke’s deal was looking good.
“Hey, mom,” I said as I took a drink of hot lemon. “How’s your day?”
As my mom told me about the neighbors’ marital problems and about the lady across the street whose dog died, I carried on proofreading the contract.
“And when are you going to land yourself one of these hotshot players?” she suddenly asked me.
“Never,” I reminded her. “And before you tell me the eligible bachelors who are potentially my clients, I’ll remind you that my clients are either married or players.
On and off the surface of their chosen sport.
” Tucking my hair behind my ear, I grinned as I checked that the door was closed.
“And I don’t need to marry them for their money, mom; I already take a hefty percentage of their income. ”
I heard her muffled giggle, but my mom was not to be deterred. “You could tell me all of your clients, you know. I don’t know why you have to be so secretive with me.”
I wasn’t secretive, and I was actually very open about who I represented, but just not to my mother.
She would have it all over social media, and although publicity was good, it wasn’t if your mom was playing matchmaker on socials.
We spoke for a little longer and said goodbye on the promise that I would call later.
Later that afternoon, I got a call from one of my more eccentric clients.
“Hey, it’s Angel,” I greeted.
“Need you to call the lawyers,” Clark said, and I could hear the slur in his words.
“What did the police say you did?” I asked as I stood, reaching for my jacket and throwing my tablet in my bag.
“Bitch changed the locks.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I fought the urge to snap at him. His wife changed the locks every off-season without fail because Clark was one of the aforementioned players. “Where are the kids?” I asked as I headed to the elevator.
“Her mom’s got ’em for the week.”
“Okay, you at the local PD?” I asked as I waited for the elevator.
“Yup, said I’m disorderly.”
“Uh-huh. Okay, I’ll be there soon. I’m making the call now,” I assured him. “Don’t say anything, don’t admit to anything, and for the love of God, do not speak to Sasha.”
“I know, boss woman. I know.”
If he knew so well, why had I gone through this with him three times in two off-seasons? Heading to the car, I called the police station nearest Clark’s home. The fact that I had it on speed dial was not something to boast about.
“Hi, it’s Angel Balan. I represent Mr. Fitzpatrick, can you put me through to the arresting officer please?” As I was transferred, I shot out a quick text to Clark’s lawyer.
“This is Officer Baldwin.”
“Hey, it’s Angel,” I greeted him like the old friend he wasn’t.
“He’s busted,” he told me dryly.
“So stern, officer.”
“Angel, he threw the garden furniture through the conservatory windows, and the barbecue in the pool. He smashed his wife’s car with a baseball bat.”
“You have proof?”
“I took the baseball bat off of him myself.”
Shit. “So . . . no witness?”
I heard his sigh. “When will you be here?”
“Twenty minutes,” I answered promptly.
“And his lawyer?”
Reading the text that I had just received telling me his lawyer was in court, I bit back a groan. “Might be a little bit longer.”
“Fantastic, I’ll be waiting.”
When I hung up, I called Neil. “It’s me. Clark’s been escorted to the local police station. I’m thinking drunk and disorderly, with some property damage.”
“Again?” Neil asked me with exasperation.
“He’s reckless during the off-season.”
“He’s a liability; you need to cut him loose.”
We’d had this conversation many times, but Clark was an excellent football player. “I have it handled.”
“Angel, when it starts to affect Saints Sports Management, it’s time to realize he’s just not good business.”
The fact was he was good business. He was an excellent player, the fans loved him, the press loved him, and his teammates loved him.
Hell, even the police were mostly relaxed with him.
His wife was a handful. I didn’t condone cheating, but the two of them had an explosive relationship.
Half the time, I think she did it for attention — and not for attention from him.
“I’ll let you know when he’s out,” I said to Neil instead.
“I’ll call Onyx,” he said reluctantly.
“Why?” I asked, probably more sharply than I should have.
“He needs to know. The press contacted him last time, and he knew nothing.”
“Pretty much sums him up,” I snarled as I hit traffic.
“I’ll pretend I never heard that,” Neil said, but I could hear his amusement.
“I’ll catch up later.”
This was all I needed. Me on his radar . . . again. As I drove to my client, I was already mentally preparing myself for the follow-up meeting with Neil and the asshole. I needed to be ready to spin this in a way that worked for me and my client.
But mostly me.