Chapter 54 Cassie
Cassie
“I’m gonna puke.”
Noah leans over where he sits across from me in my office, planting his hands on his knees with a groan.
“You’re not puking.” I walk around my desk and rub a sympathetic hand over his back. “No one is puking today. This is just one last meeting with the GM. We’re going to close the deal, I can feel it. That’s why he asked you to attend.”
Noah lifts his head. He does look a little green. “It’s okay for you. You’re so calm. I bet you never get nervous.”
Calm? I hold back an anxious giggle.
I’m glad I’m projecting calmness. In fact, I’m wearing my very best pink blouse and cutest skirt and heels, the outfit that makes me feel like I’m a superhero whose power is Crushing Deal Negotiations.
Noah, meanwhile, is in a suit that’s a little too big for him with white sneakers, looking kind of like a giant overgrown kid.
The team’s front office called me last week to discuss extending Noah’s contract.
This is huge for Noah; I know the team wants to lock down their future star, but I want him to get the best deal possible.
He’s going to be bringing a lot to this team for years, so I want him to get a contract that reflects his value.
I’m a new agent and I’m already doing my first gigantic deal negotiation. But I quickly went from terrified to excited once the process started. Like a rookie hockey player finally getting minutes on the ice, I’m finally getting my shot at the big leagues.
The GM and I have been going back and forth for a week. I’m armed to the teeth with analytics, an argument about getting a deal done before the salary cap inevitably rises, and a whole narrative about Noah’s future trajectory as a franchise cornerstone.
The GM is coming into the office this afternoon for a meeting. He asked for Noah to be there.
“You’ve done scarier stuff, Noah,” I gently remind him. “You made the jump to the NHL and lived up to every expectation. You took the initiative to launch a whole mental health awareness campaign during your first ever season.”
“I did all that,” he mumbles, sitting up straighter in his chair. “That’s true.”
Over the last few weeks, I organized a meeting with the front office to discuss Noah’s journey of dealing with anxiety and how he wants to talk about it more publicly. They were even more supportive than I could’ve hoped for, effusively praising Noah for his strength.
As Noah’s agent, I’m overjoyed to help him with this. As his friend, I’m over the moon with pride at how much he’s grown in one season.
I coordinated with the team’s PR department, and Noah decided on a video interview with a trusted sports outlet to discuss his experiences this year and the stigma around openly addressing mental health in sports.
I breathed a huge sigh of relief when it aired.
Because the response was overwhelmingly, passionately positive. New England’s fans fell in love with Noah even more, for his courage and honesty. And best of all, he hasn’t heard from the Shark since.
“So just let me do the talking,” I tell him gently, “and I promise we’ll walk away with a fantastic extension for you.”
Noah breathes out in a long, shaky sigh. “Okay. I trust you.”
My phone vibrates, and I glance at the screen. The GM has arrived at the office.
“Good.” For once, I’m filled with the sort of confidence I once only dreamed I would ever feel. I smooth down my skirt and smile brightly. “You should trust me. Now come on, rookie. Let’s go write the future of New England hockey history.”
Two hours later, the GM has just left the building, and Rick is spraying champagne across the office bullpen.
I shriek a laugh, trying to dodge the spray.
“Holy shit, Cassie!” Rick booms to the room. “A max length contract for the kid. Eight years and a big, sexy signing bonus. Long-term security for the team’s star.”
I don’t think my heart rate dropped below one hundred BPM during the whole meeting.
But I didn’t let it show for a second.
My coworkers join in with the cheers as Rick passes around glasses of celebratory champagne.
“Proud of you, kid,” he says, pouring me a glass. “This deal is huge for the agency.” He leans in, a good-natured smirk on his face. “If anyone asks, I taught you everything you know. You got that?”
I take the glass with a smile. “Hmm, how about we negotiate that down to fifty percent of everything I know?”
He barks a laugh, loosens his ugly yellow tie, and clinks his glass against mine.
I catch sight of Spencer glowering at me from across the bullpen. I pick up another glass of champagne and bring it over to him.
“Peace offering. Not poisoned.” I hand it to him, and he hesitantly accepts it.
“I still can’t believe you bagged Noah Roy,” he grumbles. “How is that fair?”
He’s clearly seething inside. I tried not to laugh when I saw Spencer’s client list on my return to Legacy Sports: it’s all the small fry, end of career clients Rick wanted off his own plate. Meanwhile, I’m representing the NHL’s newest up-and-coming superstar.
Okay, it’s a little satisfying seeing Spencer humbled after all his taunts over the years.
But I’ve lost enough times in my life that I’ll never be a sore winner. That’s not how I do things.
“Look, Spencer. I know there are no ties in hockey, but we’re both agents now. We both got the win. Maybe it’s time to put aside our differences and settle for a truce?”
He makes a face like he’s dying inside, but he accepts my handshake. “Fine. Whatever. Truce.”
He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like congratulations on the deal, which isn’t exactly the most overtly friendly gesture, but it’s weirdly touching.
Noah appears from the conference room. He ducked out after the meeting ended to call his mom with the good news.
“You did it,” Noah grins. He’s practically vibrating with excitement. “Thank you, Cassie. This is a better deal than I could have dreamed of. I get to stay a Nor’easter for nearly a decade.”
“We did it.” I smile, taking a sip of champagne.
But the champagne quickly sloshes out of my glass because Noah grabs my arms and hops up and down in his sneakers, spinning us around.
Sure, I’m a real agent now, but my professionalism has its limits. I join him jumping up and down like giddy kids at a birthday party.
Because although I’m overjoyed to have gotten Noah the money he deserves, we all know it’s about more than just money.
Hockey is about more than that.
Getting a big contract is about more than that.
It’s about building a legacy, about having a team around you, about putting down roots and finding a home.
Just like Cole has done.
Just like I have, too, with my strong, icy, fiery goalie.
Cole is waiting outside the office when I finally leave, leaning against his car. The sight of him still sends jitters of warmth and desire through me: his towering height, the broad muscles of his shoulders, the deep glint of his green eyes under his dark brows.
“You fucking did it, baby,” he says, striding up to me, enveloping me in his arms, and covering my face with kisses.
He lifts me up, spinning me around, and when he kisses my lips, deep and hot, I know for sure this is the most perfect ending to the best day of my life.
I feel like I could take on the whole world in a negotiation room if Cole were by my side. Life feels so different having a man who celebrates my wins as if they’re even bigger than his. Who puts me before himself. Who never asks me to come second.
The next day, Cole walks into my bedroom, takes something out of his bag, and casually places it on the wall on an empty hook.
“What is that?” I get closer, and Cole steps aside.
My stomach flips in a joyful somersault.
It’s a cutout of the announcement of Noah’s contract in a beautiful frame.
“You ever feel like you don’t belong, Cass,” Cole says, firm and warm, “then you look at this. Remember who you are. Framed and behind glass.”
My heart feels like it’s going to burst. There it is, up on the wall, clear as day. Cole slides his big arms around me, pulling me against the firm muscles of his chest as we look at it together.
I know what an ugly, sneaky creature imposter syndrome can be, how it can crawl into your head and make you believe you’re less than your true worth.
But even the worst imposter syndrome can’t argue with words printed in bold, permanent ink.
And there it is, in ink forever: The blockbuster deal was negotiated by his agent Cassie Wells of Legacy Sports.