Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
There’s nothing I hate more than being wrong. And I was wrong.
“You have nine thousand followers!” Brett hasn’t stopped refreshing my social media page since he walked into my office an hour ago. “Some of these people have blue checkmarks.”
“You have a blue checkmark, and that means nothing to me,” I mutter.
He scoffs. “Pro athlete, Shay Shay. Many consider me a big deal.”
In the basketball world, Brett Reynolds is a big deal.
First-round draft pick, former college star, and everyone’s go-to brunette when they need a Pinterest model, but I can’t let his head get any bigger than it already is.
This meeting should’ve been short, only to discuss the toothpaste endorsement and his goals for the upcoming season, but my moment of fame is way more exciting to him.
Within six hours of saying goodbye to Cade and Violet at the farmers market, the news of Cade’s new representation hit the press.
Adri shared the photo of us looking like a happy little family.
Then my mother called with a quick congrats and a reminder to stay focused.
Dad called next, his excitement bursting through the line.
The next morning, Winston emailed the link to the entire agency to congratulate me on the announcement.
Five days later, and things are still insane.
Brett props his feet up on my desk, revealing tanned calves. “Did you read the article?”
I swipe his sneakers off and recoil. The headline made me nervous.
The Rise of Female Sports Agents? Finally!
Brett clears his throat dramatically before he reads, “Golden boy and shortstop for the Carolina Pilots, Cade Owens, has found representation in an unlikely but incredible place. Shaylene Turner, junior agent at Permian Sports Agency, is a rising star. Many know her as the elusive Angel Devil of Clear Lake University, with a sweet smile and deadly slide tackle. Her client list is stacked with stars like Brett Reynolds and Lionel Stiller of the NC Grizzlies. With a knack for negotiation and fighting for her clients, we look forward to watching Shay shine.” He grins.
“Sounds like this Summer woman adored you. Listed all your socials too.”
I owe her for the boost. Athletes and sports teams started following me immediately, along with an influx of baseball fans.
Cracking open an energy drink, I let the caffeine bolster my confidence and open Instagram.
My jaw unhinges when I see that Cade’s number of followers has tripled since the article was released.
His posts are scarce, dating back to college, and each one has new comments asking if his sister needs a sister-in-law.
Women are so funny.
Then I click on my profile and find some not-so-nice comments.
@gopilots629 a girl??????? ew
@baseballfanboy_ don’t get why he wud leave Jon for her
@darkestpilots5 won’t last long
Brett looks up and grows serious, which is not like him. “What’s wrong?”
Waving away the feelings, I force an airiness into my voice. “I think I’m being judged.”
He leans over my desk and snatches my phone. “No more social media. Don’t let keyboard warriors who don’t even know proper grammar get you down.”
I knew I wouldn’t get a lot of support as a female agent, considering I don’t even get it from the men in my field, let alone my office, but I didn’t expect my bubble of privacy to be popped in such a public way.
After nibbling the skin around my fingers, I reach into my desk for a Hello Kitty Band-Aid. “People are going to keep saying nasty things.”
“Yeah, they will. Sadly, it’s par for the course.” Brett’s laugh is sad. “But there isn’t a single person who can take away what you’ve accomplished as an agent. You’re the one who made sure the Grizzlies picked up my third-year option.”
I squeeze the trophy-shaped stress ball Brett gave me before our meeting. “No, you did. It would have been a loss to the franchise if they’d traded you away.”
“But who reminded them of that?” He points at me.
“You built a buzz around me. You stayed in contact with the front office and got feedback that paid off. You had my back, and not only do you have mine, but you have all your clients’ backs.
” He stares out the tiny window. “I heard you’re going to physical therapy with Deshawn Miller. ”
My eyes fly to him. “How do you know that?”
“Athletes talk.” To provoke me, he swings his legs back onto my desk. “People like you. Not that bastard Tr—” Brett’s lips zip as my phone rings.
Giving him a sympathetic smile, I hold up my finger and answer. “This is Shay.”
A grunt. “Five minutes, Turner.” Then Trevor hangs up.
Our Friday babysitting meeting isn’t for another twenty-five minutes, but duty calls.
Standing, I gather my laptop, all-client binder, and pom-pom pen. Brett walks to the elevator with me, and I wait for him to leave before starting my death march to Trevor’s office.
The repugnant scent of his cologne suffocates me when I step inside.
“About time.” He grunts. “You aren’t getting paid to hang out with clients.”
I leave the door cracked, hoping someone will walk by, hear the way he speaks to me, and stand up for me. The cold shoulder he gave me before has turned into a blizzard since I became Cade’s agent.
Keeping my voice even, I take a seat. “Brett and I were discussing an endorsement opportunity, which is part of my job as his agent.”
Trevor clears a minuscule space for my computer. “Tee time is in an hour, so make it quick. How’s Miller?”
I flip through the three-ringed binder, searching for Deshawn Miller’s tab. The power forward for the NC Grizzlies was one of Trevor’s favorites, but after a torn meniscus during the offseason that required surgery, things changed.
“His procedure was last week. Physical therapy is slow but going. He has a great doctor—”
“Timeline of return?”
I flip to the next page. “Dr. Pope says there’s no estimated time right now. Historically, it shouldn’t take more than three to four months.”
“Damn.” Trevor runs an agitated hand through his hair. “I need him to be good for the season. Miller is a damn good paycheck.”
“He’s also a human,” I bite back. Deshawn deserves a better agent than Trevor Caldwell, and I’ll never let Trevor speak about him, or any of his clients, like they’re nothing more than dollar signs.
He levels me with a fierce glare but doesn’t fight back. “What about Garrett Blane?”
“He won’t be deciding on an agent soon, but I think I have a chance.”
“Yeah. Whatever you say.” The gold watch on Trevor’s wrist sparkles in the light as he checks the time. “Updates on your clients.”
Ignoring the dig, I push forward. “Holly’s speaking with a podcast next week to discuss her journey to the pros.
Brett signed a toothpaste endorsement this morning.
Lionel is home from vacation, and we’re going over his game plan for the season soon.
Victoria’s acclimating well to the new team.
Delilah is playing well, as always. And I’m meeting with Cade next week to discuss what he wants from this partnership. ”
Blond brows wiggle. “I can tell you what he wants out of your partnership, and it has nothing to do with baseball.”
Sitting on my hands is the only way to stop myself from reaching over the desk and strangling him.
“By the way,” he continues, “Levi’s old position of intermediate agent is open, and Winston wants it to be filled internally. No interviews. Only a letter of intent and a good track record is needed. The committee is looking for someone to make Permian proud.”
He stands and ends our meeting, but I can’t move. This could be my chance to finally rise in the ranks and be the agent I’ve worked so hard to be. There are only four junior agents, and I have the most clients out of all of us.
I must smile because Trevor sneers. “Don’t kid yourself, Turner. You’re not ready.”
My resolve snaps. I spent too many years listening to my mom discuss sports law, working for free in the CLU sports marketing department, and shadowing sports agents to be told I can’t possibly dream of moving up. It’s especially condescending since I do his work.
But instead of giving him a piece of my mind, I remind myself Trevor isn’t worth it.
I’m halfway out the door when he speaks again.
“And control yourself around Cade. Don’t embarrass Permian.”
“Stupid.”
Swing.
“Misogynistic.”
Swing.
“Sexist.”
Swing.
“Asshole.”
The machine stops with a sad sputter. I toss the bat aside and gather the scattered baseballs, continuing to mentally rip Trevor into shreds.
Batting cages are my favorite way to release feminine rage.
“Late night, huh?”
The classical music blasting in my headphones has nothing on the southern drawl that cuts through the staccato notes.
“Jimmy! What are you doing here?”
“I was gonna ask you the same thing.” The gap between his front teeth is on full display when he grins. “Giving you my spare key doesn’t mean I can’t come check on my favorite girl.”
Jimmy Teaks owns Slim Jim Batting, the only batting cages in Clear Lake, along with teaching and coaching varsity baseball at Bryan High School in Cade and Kenneth’s hometown. Hours spent under the sun during baseball season have deepened the rich sepia tone of his skin.
“Bad day?” he asks. “If your colorful language is a hint, I’d guess Trevor was a real pain in your derriere today.”
I groan. “Understatement of the century.”
When I stumbled upon Slim Jim Batting as a college freshman, I was running away from yet another dinner invitation from my randomly assigned roommate, and now best friend, Mallory.
Thirty minutes after sneaking out of our dorm room to avoid her, I was swinging a bat with a man who was old enough to be my father.
“You think becoming friends with Mallory could be a distraction?” Jimmy had asked, feeding baseballs into the machine.
“Maybe. I don’t know.” I swung at a ball. “College is about soccer and setting myself up for a successful career. Friends aren’t something I can control. What if she decides she doesn’t want to be my friend someday? Then I’m hurt and unfocused.”
Jimmy chuckled. “Don’t you think that’s a sad way to live?”
“Nope.” I swung harder. “It’s smart.”
He turned off the machine, walked over, and ruffled my braids. “Give your roomie a shot. She may change your life.”
It took some time to accept Mallory’s friendship, but Jimmy was the reason for that. She thanks him every time they see each other.
He holds a sheet of paper against the cage. “You wouldn’t believe my surprise when I opened the newspaper and found a photo of two people I never thought I’d see together again.”
My eyes roll at the image of me, Cade, and Violet. “Nosy old man.”
“Nope. Just an old man who still reads the newspaper.” He chuckles. “When were you going to tell me you two were talking again?”
Running into Cade at Slim Jim Batting sophomore year was weird. The batting cages had become my solace, and it felt like watching an intruder in my home, acting as if he belonged there. Possessiveness took over as I watched him and Jimmy—my Jimmy—chatting.
Little did I know, Cade and Jimmy weren’t strangers. Jimmy was his former coach and teacher turned mentor. I was the intruder, but they never made me feel that way.
“First of all, we’re not talking. We’re working together.” Each word is emphasized so he realizes this isn’t fun for me. “And I thought you knew.”
“Nope,” Jimmy says. “Haven’t seen or talked to Cade since he left.”
My chest tightens. “What? You haven’t spoken to Cade in almost two years?”
A shadow crosses Jimmy’s usually joyous face. “Pro ball is a different kind of monster. It can be a lot on the young ones, but he’ll come around. I’m sure of it.”
Sadness tears its way through me. For Jimmy. For Cade.
“Jim—”
“It’s okay, dear. I know you aren’t happy about it, but it’s nice seeing you work together. If anyone can scare that monster away, it’s you.” Jimmy opens my cage. “Come on. It’s time for you to get some sleep. Go get your stuff from the office.”
I pick up my gym bag and jog to the office across from Jimmy’s. The wooden desk is chipped, the room smells like mildew, and the floor’s a little uneven, but I love working here and hitting balls in between.
Beats working at Permian or going home to an empty house.
Once we’re outside, Jimmy ruffles my braids like always. “Don’t let those men get you down, Shay. You’re too good for that. Give ’em hell. You hear me?”
I nod. I’m going to give them hell, and that promotion will be mine.