Chapter 2
Val
You know those days—the ones where anything and everything can and will go wrong? Yeah, today is turning out to be just that epic.
I set the cardboard coffee carrier down on Stella’s desk.
“What happened to you?” she asks.
“DC pedestrians.” I stare down at my freshly stained white blouse.
She snorts, then covers her mouth at my glare. “I’m sorry, Val, but you have to admit that’s a little funny.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Did you at least bump into a handsome guy? That could’ve been your meet-cute.”
I fake a shudder. “Please no. It’s not cute getting hot coffee all down your white blouse, especially when it’s freezing out.”
Of course my drink would be the only one to spill. Guess I should’ve waited until I got to work before trying to drink it. How the coffee managed to find the perfect opening in my buttoned peacoat and splash all down my front is a mystery.
“Do you have a change of clothes in your office?”
I nod. “Going there now.”
“I’ll hand out the rest of the coffees.”
“Thanks. You’re the best.”
I stroll down the hall toward my office. I’m not a sports agent like my dad, sisters, brother-in-law, and the other two agents in-house, but I still get my own office because of my title as project manager. Being one of the boss’s daughters probably helps too.
“Val,” Jackie yells for me from her office.
I hold up a finger for her to give me a moment, but my sister motions for me to get my rear in gear. Bossy older sisters. I blow out a breath and stop in her doorway.
“Yes, Mac,” she speaks into her cell. “We can make that happen. DeVante will continue at the same level of performance.”
I mentally scour our list of clients and pull up the player information that belongs to DeVante Smith.
He plays for the District’s baseball team and is currently in negotiations for the upcoming season.
However, that doesn’t explain why Jackie flagged me down.
I tap on my smartwatch, and she holds a hand up, mouthing, Wait a minute.
Can I stick my tongue out at my older sister?
Doesn’t she know this coffee on my shirt turned cold a couple of blocks away from the office?
More than likely she’s oblivious to the brown stain more horrendous than a newborn’s first bowel movement.
I still remember when my precious nephew granted me that terrible short straw.
Why do aunts have to be hazed by way of dirty diapers?
I shift on my feet, and Jackie’s gaze darts my way. Her gaze freezes.
“Uh, no, sorry, Mac. Yes, I’m listening.” What happened to you? she mouths.
I motion toward my office, and she nods.
Finally. I have a dusty-pink silk blouse hanging in my office closet from the Christmas party.
Dad brought matching Christmas shirts for us all to pose in, and my silk top never saw daylight.
It’s remained in my office ever since. I’ll have to drop the soiled top at the cleaners when I get a chance because no one has blessed me with a personal assistant.
After closing my door and turning the blinds, I take off the offending item, using the shirt to wipe any excess liquid off my skin. Thank goodness the tank I wore beneath took the brunt of the treatment. I don’t need my bra staining my clean blouse.
As I finish buttoning the last button, a knock sounds on my office door. I twist the knob and flick the blinds back open. Jackie walks in and plops right into the chair in front of my desk.
“What do you need?” I ask.
“First, what happened to your shirt?”
I tell her the story of the too many pedestrians and what happened when I made the coffee run.
“Was it your coffee that got ruined?”
“Yep.” I pop my lips.
“I’m sorry, sissy.”
“Whatever, Jackie.” I make a show of rolling my eyes, knowing that patronizing tone she uses is her charming—but entirely manipulative—way to gain something.
She pokes out her bottom lip.
It’s too early for this. I rub my forehead. If she’s using all her bags of tricks up front, she has a very big ask. “What?” I say quietly.
“I need you to arrange travel for me and the crew to LAX.”
My head snaps up. “The crew? Isaac and Ollie?” I love my brother-in-law and nephew. They don’t often travel with Jackie, only when her husband’s schedule allows it as he’s a partner in the agency.
The request is hardly difficult and not worth all the manipulative energy she’s throwing my way. “Sure. When?”
“Tomorrow,” she drawls out, ending on a lilt. Her face curls into a wince.
“Jackie Elliott Harper.” I throw her maiden and married name together since none of the Elliott girls actually have middle names.
“Val, I know you can work your magic and get us tickets.”
“I can, but they’ll cost you a pretty penny.” More like lots of pretty Benjamins.
“Daddy said I could charge the company account.”
Of course he did. Jackie is the firstborn and gets away with murder. And Francis, the baby, gets anything she wants out of him. As typical of middle children everywhere, I get the short end of the stick on a repeated basis. Instead of complaining, I let my lips curve into false cheer.
“Thank you, Val,” Jackie squeals, as if the digits of her age of thirty years have been reversed.
“Now shoo so I can get some work done.”
“Certainly.” She stands, smoothing her black pencil skirt down. “Wanna do lunch?”
“Can’t. Dad has that lunch meeting and tasked me to assist.” Which means I’ll have to use my excellent memory to recall the key details Dad will want noted afterward. Unlike the assistants working at Elliott & Harper, I don’t have to take notes in the moment.
“Fine. But when I get back, we’re going out.”
I barely nod, my gaze focusing on the available flights leaving out of Reagan tomorrow. If she has to leave tomorrow, I need to find tickets now.
By the time Dad taps on my doorway, I’ve gotten a mountain of tasks down to a shorter, more manageable stack. I still have plenty to do after lunch, but at least now I won’t cringe when we come back to the office.
“Where are we going?” I grab my purse.
“Told them we’d treat them to The Spot.”
Yes, that’s really the restaurant’s name. My brows raise. “Fancy. Are they going to give you the terms you want to make the price worth it?”
Dad laughs. “Maybe not, but Hunter’s paying our meal ticket, not them.”
True. All our agents earn top dollar from their players so courting new players will eventually be covered by signing the new client.
It’s why Dad doesn’t mind charging his credit cards—the players are worth the upfront costs.
Dad prides himself on owning one of the most sought-out sports agencies in the nation.
I follow him out into the hall.
“Make sure you take all the mental notes possible,” he adds.
“Will do.”
When Jackie graduated from college, she immediately joined the firm as an agent. So did Francis upon walking across the stage. Me, on the other hand, I’d been deemed too soft from the get-go. I went with the flow and never attempted to work as an agent.
Not that I really mind. I don’t like the salesmanship part of the job. I’m perfectly happy being introduced as the project manager, or assistant when my dad wants to downplay my presence.
Occasionally talent tries to flirt with me, but I’m more than capable of putting them in their place if need be.
Sometimes I’ll even accept their invitation if I think they’re worth the trouble.
Seeing Jackie’s happy matrimony these past four years has me a little envious.
However, when she gave birth to Ollie almost two years ago, that envy shot high enough for me to ask forgiveness from the Lord.
At twenty-seven, I’m only a few years younger than Jackie, but still I want what she has.
Sadly I keep kissing frogs, so the past year I put myself on hiatus.
I’m not sure when I’ll dip my toe back into the murky dating pool, but my heart is getting that familiar ache.
Maybe I should end my non-dating streak.
“How’s your morning been?”
I turn to Dad after buckling my seat belt. “I spilled coffee on myself.”
“’Course you did, kid.”
“Then Jackie told me to book her travel . . . for tomorrow.” I emphasize, but Dad doesn’t even blink.
“Yeah, I gave her the okay this morning.”
When Jackie said Dad told her to charge the account, I figured it was a while ago, not this morning. Guess, he’s the one I should blame for the hassle. I ended up calling the airline since their system gave me issues, and I knew they had tickets for tomorrow. They’re a favorite for a reason.
“Why are you sending her out to LA?”
“New talent. He wants me as an agent, but I assured him Jackie’s a better choice. Plus, your stepmom doesn’t want me to take on any new clients.”
Yeah, because then he’ll be even busier than he already is running his own business and representing select clients.
“How is Ann?”
“Good, good. Hey, why don’t you come over for dinner? You haven’t been in a while.”
“Maybe.” I give a noncommittal smile.
It’s not that I don’t want to have dinner with my dad and his wife.
Ann is nice and all, but I still feel loyal to Mom.
It seems wrong to enjoy hanging out with Dad and his wife of ten years.
Especially considering he’d been married to Mom for twenty-one years.
The ink had barely dried on their divorce papers before he made vows to another woman.
We’d done the math and knew what that meant, but none of us girls had the heart to ask any questions.
At least, I don’t.
The driver pulls up to The Spot, and Dad opens the door, holding a hand out for me. I take it, steadying myself on my heeled feet before following him into the restaurant. The ma?tre d’ greets Dad by name, then grabs a couple of menus.
“This way, please.”
I trail behind but stop when someone calls my name.
“Val?”
I scan the premises. Raimo Karvonen waves from a few tables over.
“Dad, I’ll be a sec.”
He glances at his watch, then nods. Dad usually arrives to a meeting fifteen minutes before whomever he has to negotiate with, so I have enough time to chat with the Washington Warriors’ goalie.
Raimo meets me off to the side. “How have you been?” he asks in his Finnish accent.
“Good. You?” I give him a side hug.
“Fantastic. You saw we are leading the division, yes?”
“I did. Congrats.” Hockey is my first love.
Blame it on hockey players being my dad’s first clients or simply how fun it is to watch the guys give it their all on skates. Whatever the reason, I’m a huge fan. I glance at Raimo’s table and see his wife waiting for him. She catches my eye and waves, so I return the gesture.
“What are you doing here? Business?” Raimo asks.
“Yes, Dad’s meeting someone to discuss potential terms.”
“You never have fun, Val.”
I laugh, but the move is forced. Raimo isn’t wrong. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gone out with that intention. Usually one of my friends has to drag me out of the house, deeming me an incorrigible hermit when I grouse the whole night.
“Maybe this weekend I’ll do something.” Probably read a book. That’s all I do most evenings.
“Do you want to come to a game?” Raimo watches me expectantly.
Do I? When’s the last time I saw the Warriors play in person? “Y’all are home this Saturday, right?”
“Yes.” He motions to his wife. “Steff will be there.”
That actually sounds amazing. “Are you sure?”
“Yes. It’s not a problem. We will take care of the ticket.”
“Thank you.”
“Anytime.” A mischievous glint enters his brown eyes. “Should I find you a date too?”
“Ugh, please don’t. I just want to have fun.”
“I understand. If you change your mind, I know plenty of guys who would be perfect for you.”
“Appreciate that.” Not. I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “I need to catch up to my dad.”
“Sure, sure. See you this weekend.”
“Tell Steff I said ‘hey.’”
I make my way toward the back of the restaurant.
My steps feel lighter, and I smile to myself.
Maybe going to a hockey game this weekend will chase the blues away.
Not that I’m depressed or anywhere near that level of hurt, but lately I can’t shake a certain melancholy.
Maybe the turn of the calendar and a promise of new beginnings has me wanting a different outcome.
Or I simply hate feeling like the odd man out.
Yet I have no clue on how to leave the mundanity.
Jackie goes home to her husband and toddler every night.
And though I share a condo with Francis, she has a better social life than I do and is rarely home.
Something has to give, and it’s probably me and my routine.
Hopefully attending the game this Saturday will help me shed whatever sadness insists on clinging to me.
Please, God, let it be a good night.