Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Did you know procrastination kills forty people a year?
I’m kidding. There’s no definitive statistic, but I bet there’s been at least one death a year, and it isn’t going to be me. Which is why I’m sitting in my car twenty minutes before my first meeting with Cade.
When we stopped talking nearly two years ago, I assumed the worst thing that would happen would be walking down the aisle together when Mallory and Kenneth get married.
I never thought I’d have to work with him and act like I didn’t know personal things about him.
Like how he’s deathly afraid of caterpillars and butterflies.
Or how his sister calls him C.C., even though it reminds him of his dad.
Or how the stubble along his jaw felt against my neck, collarbones, and between my—
A robotic screech pulls me from memory lane. It’s ear splitting, but the assigned ringtone was chosen because the person calling me is likely to be crying when I answer.
“Morning, Holly,” I say. Grabbing the basket in my backseat, I start down the sidewalk.
Holly Trent, my adorably needy client, wails, “She didn’t know about the letters! All this time, he thought she was ignoring him. Isn’t that heartbreaking? I’d cut ties with my mother if she cockblocked me like that.”
Ah. She watched The Notebook.
Holly’s pre-game routine is unique. She’s convinced that if she doesn’t cry before a game, she’ll be more vicious than usual.
Even though I’m an agent who believes in stats and metrics, her theory has proven to be true.
Earlier this season, she watched The Last Song, sure it would make her sob.
It didn’t, and she ended up with a red card.
Following that debacle, I sent her my list of the saddest movies I could think of. I’m twelve for twelve on Holly’s tears.
“You and your weird rituals. Remind me why I work with you?”
She tuts. “Because your office is full of dicks, literally and figuratively, but you listened.”
Holly was my first client, signed a week after I became a full-time agent.
After tearing her ACL in a pickup basketball game, Holly went from high-profile star to forgotten.
She lost her agent, interested teams, and potential endorsement opportunities.
When she walked into Permian, healed and ready for a second chance, my colleagues passed on her.
I had no clue how my life would change when I stumbled into the normally empty restroom near my office and found Holly crying at the sink. After thirty minutes of talking to—and begging—Winston and Trevor, she was mine.
“Any fun plans for today?” she asks. I don’t know why she does this when she knows I’m working. I’m always working.
Before I can answer, the hostess appears. “Welcome to Velvet Yolk. Do you have a reservation?”
“Yes. Shaylene Turner.”
The raven-haired woman glides around the podium and beckons me to follow.
“Velvet Yolk?” Holly groans. “I’m so jealous! I heard it takes weeks to get a reservation. Please tell me you’re on a date.”
She knows better. “I took you to The Marlowe when I signed you, which was fancy too.”
“Oh crap. I forgot you signed a new client.” Her laugh is bittersweet. “Love seeing you grow, but I miss being able to blow your phone up.”
“Miss it? You’ve never stopped.” Thanking the hostess, I take a seat at the table in the back corner and drag my finger along the buttery yellow tablecloth. It’s more secluded than I would like, but it’ll work. “Did you see my email about the podcast?”
Her lack of response makes me assume she’s scrolling through hundreds of unread emails. I organize it weekly, but it’s always full.
After a minute, she shrieks, “Holy shit. Women in Sports wants to talk to me?”
“Of course they do. You’re Holly freaking Trent.” My eyes flick over the menu. “They want an answer by next week.”
“My answer is yes! Duh! Best agent ever.” She exhales. “Have fun at brunch and tell me if the Velvet Eggs Benedict is good. I heard it’s life changing, but I feel like that word is overused nowadays.”
After wishing her good luck for tonight’s game, I hang up and refocus. Today, I’m welcoming Cade to my team, even though I’d rather eat glass. Still, I’ll be professional. Nothing comes before my job.
Heart be damned.
During my time as an agent, I’ve crossed paths with many gorgeous athletes. Shemar Moore-level sexy, and if I can say no to a man who looks like an old-school Denzel Washington, I can control myself around the man who broke my heart.
“Hi, Shay baby.”
I jolt, banging my knee against the thick table as I take in the man standing in front of me. Cade looks at ease in a sleeveless black tank and dark denim. Damn him and his ability to be hotter than my celebrity crushes.
Empty tables surround us, so nobody heard his very unprofessional nickname for me. But I have to put an end to it. Now.
“Rule number one,” I say. “Don’t call me that.”
A tiny dimple appears in his cheek. “Noted. How about Agent Shay?”
The server appears before I can reject the unimaginative nickname. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Diet Coke, please,” I say.
“Unsweet tea for me,” Cade says.
“Wonderful. Are you ready to order food or do you need more time?”
I already know what I want, and by the look on Cade’s face, he does too.
We always researched menus before arriving at the restaurant.
It kept us from decision paralysis. I order the Velvet Eggs Benedict, and Cade orders the Lobster and Grits Amore.
This place may be a little bit fancier than where I took Holly, but I need to show Cade I’m all business.
Once we’re alone, I hand over the wicker basket. “This is a thank you from Permian. We’re happy you’ve joined our team.”
Cellophane crinkles as Cade digs into the gift. “Hmm. I didn’t realize Permian knew my favorite flavor of Laffy Taffy is banana, or that, while most people know I like sour gummy candy, I prefer sour gummy bears.”
My face flushes. “I made the basket, but it’s from Permian.”
“Well, give the agency my thanks. And thank you, Agent Shay.”
The moment my Diet Coke touches the table, I place the straw between my lips.
I could’ve gotten the luxury-gift option Trevor recommended, but that’s not how I roll.
Because Holly loves Queen, I found her a Freddie Mercury pin and vintage Queen record.
Brett loves mac and cheese and outer space, so I got him boxes of planet-shaped noodles.
When I found out Delilah likes silly posters for her apartment, I entered an online bidding war for Beyoncé and Brittney Spears Got Milk?
posters and won. Victoria loves Oreos, so she got a multi-year Oreo subscription. Lionel is picky, so he got a gift card.
Since it’s Cade, it feels personal, but it’s not.
Then he pulls out the last part of his gift, and wary eyes find mine. “Pink sticky notes?”
Every client gets a package, but I wish I hadn’t put them in there for him. It was one of our things. Sticking them to his car’s windshield. Hiding them in his textbooks. BYOB nights. I probably wrote him hundreds of notes, but they’re long gone now. Probably rotting away in landfills.
“Yeah.” I shove the memories away and cough. “For reminders.”
Artificial banana fills my nose as he opens a piece of candy. “You stuck one to my forehead sophomore year at the library. Do you remember what it said?”
“Stop talking,” I say, fighting off the warmth of that day. Our thighs were pressed together because it was the only table I could find.
“Exactly!”
“No. I mean yes, but no. I’m telling you to stop talking. We need to set rules.” Grabbing my personal stack of sticky notes from my purse, I scribble Rules at the top and underline it twice. “Rule number one: no talking about the past.”
“I thought rule number one is that I can’t call you Shay baby?”
I glare at his stupid smirk. “Fine. Number two is no talking about the past.”
He pauses mid-chew. “Is there a reason we can’t talk about it?”
“You’re joking, right?” Forcing myself to swallow my irritation, I take a drink before answering, “We had over a year to talk and didn’t. Now we’re here. We can’t be those people anymore, and as of today, we’re work partners, which means talking about the past and what we used to be can’t happen.”
Sadness isn’t an emotion Cade shows the world. But seeing his downturned lips and somber eyes? I suddenly feel sick.
Still, we can’t go backward. The rules will keep me and my job safe.
After swallowing the candy, he nods. “Okay. No talking about the past.”
Relief replaces my unease. People can’t find out we were more than friends. Not Trevor. Not the press. No one. That would be yet another reason on men’s lists to not take me seriously.
I can’t take back what I wanted in college, but I can move forward.
My stomach grumbles in response to the decadent smell of food, and I’m thankful for a distraction as our meals arrive, popping the awkward bubble surrounding us.
I grin at my plate, but when I spot the pickle spear, my smile disappears. Stabbing it with my fork, I stretch my arm across the table and drop it onto his plate. Now I’m ready to dig in, but Cade’s laugh distracts me.
“What?” I ask.
Perfect white teeth snap the pickle in half. “Thanks for the pickle. Just like old times.”
As a certified pickle hater, Cade always ate mine without complaint. Getting rid of old habits is going to take serious work.
“It won’t happen again,” I assure him, but it’s mostly for me.
“Hmm. What are the odds of that?”
“Don’t.” I point my fork at him. “Rule number three. No game.”
He holds up the half-eaten pickle in surrender, and I almost laugh. It’s impressive how good he is at pulling people into his orbit. Cade makes you feel seen, heard, and trust that he’ll always be there.
But he wasn’t for me.
One bite is enough to categorize this meal as life changing. Holly’s going to flip when I tell her it’s even better than she could imagine, rich and buttery with a hint of lemon.
He picks at the massive piece of lobster on his plate. “Are you coming to tonight’s game?”
I shake my head. “Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Do you want to? Feels like that would be an agent thing to do.”
He’s got me there.
“Sure,” I concede, but I won’t go alone. Yes, it’s work, but I need support.
I open The Quartet’s shared calendar. Mallory’s babysitting and Jo’s studying for medical school since she leaves soon. Adri’s all-day event makes me chuckle into my drink.
Invite me to something. I’m too sexy to be this bored.
Me
Want to go to a baseball game tonight?
Adri’s response appears immediately.
Menace to Society
Hot guys in baseball pants and I get to watch you work with your ex? Sign me up
Me
Not ex. Almost-ex
Menace to Society
Whatever you tell yourself to feel better! See you soon!
When I put my phone down, I realize how awkward this situation is. We finish our meals in silence, never getting to the other topics I planned.