Chapter 1
Kendrick
The sounds of squeaking reverberate around the court.
The noise is second nature and not even on my radar as I line up a jump shot and shoot.
The satisfying swish of the net brings a smile to my face as my teammates tap me on the arm.
We’ve been practicing all morning, and now we’re winding down to break out into individual practice.
My jump shot is one of my strong points, but that’s only because I practice it and free throws every day. The rest of my skills come from mandatory practices with the guys.
“Kendrick!” Coach roars. “Get in here now!”
“Ohhhh,” the guys sing-song.
I roll my eyes. “Whatever. I didn’t do anything.”
“Yeah, that’s Coach on a good day,” Aaron deadpans.
“Yo, you know you’re in trouble when he’s shouting like that.” Malachi’s brow furrows, as if he’s truly worried for me.
Whatever it is can’t be as bad as the guys think. Nevertheless, I jog to his office before he has a heart attack yelling for me again.
I double knock on his open door, and he grunts.
Okay, so maybe I am in trouble. I think back to the night before when I went out with Slade, a Victoria’s Secret supermodel.
We went to a restaurant to be seen, and then I dropped her off at her place.
Nothing happened, and unless she’s saying otherwise, there should be no reason for Coach to have his mouth twisted like that.
I slide into the chair in front of his desk and drape my arm across the top. “What’s up, Coach?”
“If you weren’t worth every penny we’re paying you, I’d trade you today.”
The hairs on my neck rise, and my arm falls to my side as I lean forward.
“What I do?” The question lands between us.
Unease has now reworked my insides and made my palms sweat.
I need this job. Though my personal reputation is less than stellar, I make up for it on the court. The Washington Kings know that.
Coach finally breaks his silence. “It’s not what you did; it’s what your agent did.”
“Marty?” I blink in surprise. What does he have to do with anything? It’s not time to renegotiate my contract, so he should be dealing with his other clients.
“You haven’t seen the news have you?”
I point behind me. “I’ve been practicing all morning.”
“Marty’s been accused of sexual assault.”
Please no. “Does it look legit?” I hate even asking that question, but being rich can make you a target for unscrupulous people who don’t mind making up accusations.
He nods. “And more than one woman has come forward.”
I moan and let my head fall forward. How could Marty do something this heinous? I’ve never even caught one hint that he’d disrespect a woman, let alone do something to multiple ladies. My stomach threatens to toss up my protein shake.
“You had no clue?” Coach asks incredulously.
“None.” I meet his skeptical stare. “Despite my playboy rep, you know I’d never do something like that.”
“I know,” Coach sighs.
“What do I do? What will this do to my career?”
“Front office is already making noise, hence the reason you’re in my office now.” He runs a hand across his chin. “Best bet would be to fire him, get a new agent, and make a statement claiming your ignorance and disassociation with him.”
I swallow. Marty’s been my agent since I came to the NBA, but I have to protect what’s mine. “Fine. Anyone you’d recommend?”
Coach stares off, as if mentally flipping through a sports agents roster. “What about Elliott and Harper?”
I raise my brows. Would they really have an opening? “They’re known for being pretty exclusive.”
“I got you. Set up an appointment with Don and let him know I passed his name to you.”
“Bet.” I hike a thumb over my shoulder. “Can I get back to practice?”
Coach shakes his head. “Make that call now and see if you can get in stat. We need this fixed by end of business.”
I hold in a groan. I don’t need my world to crash in around me. There are people who depend on me, and if Marty’s crimes blow back on me, then they could be collateral damage.
“Yes, Coach.”
I head to the locker room, ignoring the confused looks from the fellas. They’ll probably speculate that I’ve been benched but let them. I need Don Elliott to take me on as a client yesterday.
· · · · · ·
I stroll down the lobby and toward the glass doors marked Elliott & Harper. Somehow, Don Elliott had an opening that allowed me enough time to shower, change into the spare suit I keep at the practice stadium, and drive to his DC office.
The receptionist smiles up at me. “Welcome to Elliott and Harper. Who is your appointment with?”
“Don Elliott.”
“And your name?”
“Kendrick Taylor,” I reply.
She points to the sitting area behind me. “Have a seat. Mr. Elliott will be right with you.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Her smile widens, and I mentally thank Gram for instilling manners in me.
Unfortunately, waiting does nothing to ease my nerves.
Every nerve has my skin feeling too tight, like it’s being constricted.
But I have no choice but to sit here patiently.
The lobby clock helps me feel every second of the delay.
Finally, a robust man walks down the hall and straight toward me. I rise in time to shake his hand.
“Thank you so much for seeing me on short notice.”
“Of course, of course. I have an idea of why you’re here, but why don’t we head to my office, and you can tell me how I can help?”
The tightness recedes, and I take a short breath, nodding. We say nothing until Don closes the door and gestures for me to sit.
“Marty’s on every news channel, in every article, and, unfortunately, trending on X.”
Yep. I had a chance to skim the news before driving over here. “So I found out this morning.”
“You had no warning?” Don’s eyes widen at my shake of the head. “No one from his office contacted you?”
“No, sir. They’ve gone radio silent.” In desperation, I called Marty, hoping the news had it wrong, but he either got a new number or blocked mine.
“Doesn’t look good.”
I snort. Real.
“Sorry, son. I can only imagine what you’re going through, and what the rest of his clients are experiencing.” Don drags a hand down his face and murmurs, “But those poor women.”
Guilt pricks me. I’ve been focusing on my own issue, but he’s right. Those women have been through the ringer.
“I take it Coach Lyfe sent you to me for new representation?”
“Yes, sir. I emailed Marty with a termination of contract due to gross misconduct. Granted, he hasn’t replied, but Coach told me to fire him, hire you, and then make a statement.”
“Smart plan. There’s just one problem.”
Another one? Lord, how much more am I supposed to take? “What’s that?” I ask warily.
“I’m not taking on new clients. My wife wants me to retire soon, so I agreed to stop taking on new commitments and slowly shift my current clients to the other agents in the office.”
My stomach clenches. “Sir, Coach highly recommended you, and I’m sure you can understand my predicament. I’m not sure who to trust right now except Coach.”
“And Coach Lyfe trusts me, so take a breath, young man. I’m not saying I can’t help you. I’m saying I’m not going to be the one to represent you.”
I blink. Right, because Don Elliott runs an agency with multiple agents. “Then who will?”
“I checked before you came in. My daughter Fran has a few openings. She’s smart and will be able to assist you in your future contracts and any endorsements you wish to pursue.
She even does some PR. We have a PR team on staff, but Fran helps a lot of her clients with social media because she’s that savvy. ”
I don’t know a lot about Don Elliott’s daughters, though I know he has three or four. Rumor has it, they all work here. Part of me wants to claim nepotism on his part, but I really, really, need a new agent.
“All right. If she can help me, let’s do this.”
Don nods, then picks up his desk phone. “Fran, I have a potential client for you in my office. Can you come in here?” He places the receiver down. “She’ll be right in.”
A couple of minutes later, a petite woman enters the room looking a little harried. Her hair is short but somehow voluminous at the same time. Her honey-brown skin glows, and her cheeks are bright red. I can’t tell if she always looks like this, or if she’s having a bad morning like me.
As soon as she sees me, she straightens to her full height—which is probably around five-six—and glares at me. I arch a brow, silently asking, What’s your problem?
“He’s the client?” she asks. There’s a note of hostility in her tone.
“Do you have a problem with me, lady?”
She rounds on me. “Actually, yes, I do. I don’t have clients with your reputation.”
“Then I guess you won’t have one of the best NBA players as a client.” My jaw tightens. How dare she judge me with one look?
“Oh please. Your lay-up needs work, and you don’t know how to go left, which means you’re not one of the best NBA players. Trust me, I know one when I see one, and then I make sure he gets all he deserves.”
I glance at Don. “I thought you could help.”
“I can.” He nods at Fran, sending her a silent message with his gaze. “You can have my office for a bit.” He leaves and quiet descends.
But it’s not a comfortable silence because we’re both stewing. Already my right leg has started jiggling as I try to hold on to the manners my grandma taught me.
“It’s no surprise you’re Marty’s client,” she mutters.
“Look, lady, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m having the day from—” I stop myself before I say something I’ll regret. Swallowing down the ire, I try again. “I need a new agent. If you can’t hack it, then lead me to someone who can.”
Her mouth drops, and her gaze narrows. “I’m the best agent in this place, so if I don’t help you, no one else will be able to pull you from the pit you fell in.”
“If you’re so great, tell me how you can help me.”
“Easy. Fire Marty, make a statement detailing how abhorrent you find these accusations and how much you respect women, then clean up your act. No one’s going to believe a playboy unless you become a Boy Scout.”
Is she telling me to clean up my reputation? Because if so, I’m out. There’s a reason I put on this persona every morning and taking it off will not do anyone any favors.
I stand. “Thanks for your time, but I see you can’t actually help.”
“What on earth are you talking about? I gave you perfect advice.” Her mouth drops, and the look of shock actually makes me want to laugh.
Only this is no laughing matter, it’s my life.
“I’m not changing for no one. No. One.” And though I’m no closer to getting an agent than I was when Coach dropped the grenade in front of me, I walk right out of Elliott & Harper without a backward glance.
Well, maybe one glance.