Chapter 7 Angel
Onyx was out of the office for the rest of the week, so I didn’t see him, and on Friday afternoon, I packed up early, telling Neil that when I passed him on my way out, it was too sunny to be stuck in the office.
Which wasn’t entirely true.
It was sunny outside, but I had a flight to catch, and I didn’t want the office to know I was spending my weekend in Dallas in talks with my potential new client.
I had this meeting so wrapped up and low-key that I hadn’t even told Sally I was going.
She thought that I was going home to finish my kitchen renovation.
Last night, I’d packed my bag, but I had a few hours before I needed to be at BNA, and I hated eating at airports, so I made a quick snack, changed into more comfortable flying attire, and read over the draft proposal and contract.
The two-hour flight was relaxing, and I caught a cab easily to my hotel.
I usually liked to wander around and get the feel of the place; however, it was already after eight, and this hotel had a bar and a restaurant, but I could eat at the bar rather than the formal restaurant.
After unpacking my clothes for the morning, I headed down to the bar and got seated close to the TV.
Staff always wanted to put females in the corner or tucked away somewhere, but I genuinely enjoyed watching ESPNews, even when I wasn’t working. With my Kindle in my hand and a small purse, I happily sat at a small booth and ordered a glass of white wine.
As I waited for the menu, I fired off a quick text to my mom to let her know I had landed and was in the bar.
I may be twenty-eight years old, but I still let my mom know when I arrive at my destination, no matter the time and no matter the reason for the journey.
It was never a good idea to piss off the parents because you forgot to let them know you landed.
I also loved the idea that my mom thought a single female sitting in a bar with a glass of wine and a book was enough to attract an admirer.
Real life wasn’t as they portrayed it in the movies or the books.
I had eaten at many a restaurant by myself, and never once had someone sent me over a drink or tried to sit with me.
The majority of single travelers, if not all the single travelers, were content in their own space, enjoying their meal in solitude.
My cheeseburger was delicious, my skin-on fries crispy and seasoned well, and as I finished my wine, I was really tempted to have dessert, but having not been to the gym all week, I knew that was a bad idea.
However, the extra glass of wine was fine, or that’s how I was convincing myself as I ordered another.
Engrossed in my book, I thought the shadow that loomed over me was the staff. I was not expecting to look up and find an attractive guy looking down at me.
“Hi?”
“Hey, you mind if I share?” he asked me as he looked around the bar. “Place is kind of busy, and you look like you’re almost done?”
The bar was busier. I hadn’t noticed the uptick in noise because I was near the TV, and my book had been too good.
“Oh, sure.” I watched him as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “I did just order another glass though, so I’m not ready to leave just yet.”
“That’s okay,” he told me with a smile. “I don’t mind company.”
And although I feared it was a line, it wasn’t; he was merely being polite as he turned his attention to the TV and didn’t say another word to me as I waited for my wine.
He placed his order, which was a chicken wrap and curly fries, and I couldn’t hide my smile.
“Why are you laughing?” he asked me as the waiter left the table.
“I’m not,” I lied.
“It’s the curly fries, isn’t it?” He scratched his eyebrow as he looked over his shoulder, ensuring no one was listening. “I don’t get them at home, so if no one’s watching, I sneak them in,” he whispered conspiratorially.
“I’m not judging,” I told him as my wine arrived. “I don’t get this at home either.”
He laughed as I took a sip and held his hand out. “Gareth.”
“Angel.”
His eyes twinkled with amusement, and I shook my head. “You don’t need to say anything. I know.”
“It’s such an easy pick-up line,” he said with a grin. “Or a cliché stripper name, when you don’t look anything like a stripper.”
“Or a hooker’s,” I added with a laugh. “I’m neither by the way! Just a girl with parents who thought Angela was too conventional,” I assured him, and we fell into a comfortable silence.
When Gareth’s dinner arrived, I had almost finished my wine, and as he ordered another beer for himself, he asked me if I wanted another glass.
“Oh, um.” I felt uncertain and then thought about it. My meeting was at eleven tomorrow, Gareth had been nothing but polite, and I found myself agreeing but insisting my wine be put on my tab.
“You want one?” Gareth asked as he pointed at his fries.
“I really do,” I admitted as I leaned over and grabbed one. “Thank you.”
“Now I can tell myself that you ate them and it wasn’t only me.”
“One fry does not make a bowl of fries.”
“God, I know,” he said with exaggerated remorse. “So, what brings you to Dallas?”
“A break,” I answered. “Just for the weekend.”
“Nice. It’s nice to take a break.”
“It is, you?” I asked as I looked him over quickly. He was tallish with blond hair and an easy smile. His wedding band was quite happily on display, and I was under no illusion that he was hitting on me or going to try to.
“My dad died,” he said as he looked away.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told him.
He gave me the smile that most grief-stricken people have, the empty smile that knows you’re merely going through the common courtesy. “He died last month, and I can only bring myself to clear his place now. But yeah, it’s not the same being in Dallas and knowing Dad’s not here.”
“So, you stay at a hotel?” I guessed, and he nodded. “Makes sense to me,” I told him as I drank some wine.
“Doesn’t it though?” he said, and I could hear his hope that I didn’t think it was unusual.
“Absolutely, whatever works for you.” My attention was brought to the screen as the TV channel spoke about the upcoming baseball game. I didn’t represent any baseball players, but the agency did, and I noted that they were discussing a well-known player who was out of contract soon.
“You like the Mets?” Gareth asked me as he listened to the report.
“I like all teams,” I said easily. “I like the sport more than just one team.”
“Not a sports fan,” he said with misunderstanding. “Me neither.”
My wine was almost finished, and I was ready to call it a night. “Well, I’m going to head in for the night.” Holding up my Kindle, I smiled. “Got a chapter to finish.”
We said goodbye, and I headed back to my room, where I called my co-worker Glenn, hoping to catch him.
“Angel, it’s late,” he greeted. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, sorry it’s late, was watching ESPNews. Did you see Billy Finch is coming up for renewal?”
“Hmm, really?”
“Thought you might be interested,” I said as I took my boots off.
“I am. He’s a good player, completely underutilized, and his current agent is a complete douche,” Glenn said to me. “ESPN?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks for the tip, Angel, see you Monday.”
Twenty minutes later, I was in bed, the draft contract proposal in hand, and at some point, I nodded off, thanks to three glasses of wine.
* * *
My meeting with Ryan Carmichael and his father was planned for eleven. At ten thirty, Ryan Carmichael Sr. left me a voicemail to tell me they were canceling the meeting.
Standing in my hotel room, I listened to the message again.
Suspicion gnawed at my gut. Putting the phone on silent, I got in the Uber at ten forty-five anyway and headed to their house.
Two cars sat outside their modest home, and I recognized neither of them. As I waited on the threshold, I put my best game face on and greeted one very surprised, guilty-looking Carmichael Sr.
“Ms. Balan,” he said as he looked over his shoulder. “I left you a message.”
“A message?” I asked. “When?”
“Earlier.”
“Did you call to push the meeting back?” I asked him, feigning ignorance.
“No, we don’t need you.”
“And you decided this earlier?” I looked past him into his house. “You knew I was flying out for this meeting. Could you not have decided yesterday?” I waited for an answer, and as he fidgeted, I felt my irritation growing. “Can I at least come in? My Uber’s gone.”
I genuinely thought he would say no; instead, he nodded and pushed the door back to let me in.
As I followed him into his living room, I knew I would never control myself if I saw that black-haired fucker in this house. However, instead of Onyx, I was greeted with Ryan Carmichael Jr., with his leg propped up on a footstool, wearing a pretty impressive cast.
“Hey, Miss Balan,” Ryan said glumly as he pointed at his leg. “I fucked up.”
“Ryan!” his father scolded him.
“What happened?” I asked as I took a seat, not bothering to wait until I was invited to sit.
“He was intoxicated and walked a tightrope as a dare,” his father told me, and I could hear the anger he was trying to hide.
“How bad is it?”
“Two months in a cast. If we’re lucky, no surgery.”
“Two months. Your summer vacation just got boring,” I said to the younger Carmichael with a smile. “You got X-rays?”
“Yes,” his father told me as he crossed to the table and handed me a brown envelope.
Holding them up to the light, I saw the break. It was nice and clean. “Snapped it right in half.” I looked at Ryan and noted his utter misery. “Okay, so this isn’t what I wanted to see when I got here today,” I told him.
“I’m really sorry for wasting your time,” he sniffled.
“Is this why you canceled?” I asked his dad.
“Didn’t think he would be of interest to you now,” he said with a heavy sigh as he sat. “Didn’t want him to have any more disappointment.”
“Well, a break’s a break, but it looks clean.” Pulling out my tablet, I opened the draft contract. “You can still play, Ryan, as soon as you’re healthy again.”