Chapter 1 #2
Gareth exhaled a gust of air as unease settled deep in his bones.
He’d hoped he would be able to ignore the Fox problem a while longer.
It was closely related to an entirely different, far worse problem that began with H and ended with azel.
The one he’d been trying to forget for almost a decade.
“The contract is being renewed, but I’m still negotiating the terms.”
A faint blush crept up Cravitz’s neck before he whispered, “Lyle said you’d say that, and I’m supposed to tell you that if this isn’t resolved within the next two weeks, you’ll have to…expect a part of his body inside a part of yours.”
Fuck. “I’ll take care of it.”
“He wants you to call…call her today to set up a time for final negotiations.”
Great. Just what his high blood pressure needed today. At least Cravitz had learned it was better not to use her name.
Gareth ground his teeth and glanced at his cell phone clock.
It was just after ten p.m. Shit. That meant Hazel was still at the office.
She liked to use Fridays to catch up on all the work she hadn’t gotten to during the week.
The weekend wasn’t a weekend for her if there was still a to-do list. He hated that he knew that.
He hated that he could practically see her sitting at her desk wearing the glasses that she used after eight p.m., once she removed her contact lenses, which always started to sting around that time…
“Fine,” he replied curtly, rubbing his suddenly stiff neck. “Fine, fine. I’ll call her right away. Go tell Lyle.”
“Lyle has already gone home and…honestly, I was surprised to see you here today. Weren’t you supposed to meet your girlfriend for a late dinner at ten?”
Gareth’s heart skipped a beat. Oh, shit. Oh, no, no, no… He’d forgotten. God, he was a jerk! Maybe Smith was correct in his article after all.
He pulled out his phone. “Freddie, go home. I’ll take care of everything.”
“Good. Lyle wants detailed information on Fox by Monday, so…”
“Get out,” he said tersely, gesturing to the door. Freddie didn’t need to be told twice. Within seconds, Gareth was alone, his phone to his ear.
“Hey.” Lacey answered gently on the second ring.
“Hi, Lacey, I’m sorry, I’m still at work, I lost track of time,” he confessed with a sigh, running his hand through his close-cropped hair.
“Oh, no problem. I thought so! I know it’s always stressful for you before the season starts.”
Before the season starts, during the season, after the season ends…
“I’m still sorry.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it.”
“Thanks. I need to make one last call, and then I could be on my way, but…” He hesitated.
“It’s getting late, Gareth. I’m not a night owl like you. Besides, my flight is early tomorrow morning. Let’s just postpone it until next Friday. I’ll be back then. Really, it’s no problem. You can get some rest.”
He sighed with relief. “Okay. That sounds good.” They exchanged two more minutes of small talk before finally hanging up.
Without Gareth feeling guilty, without anyone getting angry.
That was why she was the perfect woman, and they were in the perfect relationship!
They’d been together for six months, and everything was still…
easy. They didn’t argue. They gave each other space.
They didn’t expect too much from each other.
They enjoyed spending time together, but if something came up, neither of them made a fuss.
Lacey was kind, smart, elegant, educated, a successful opera singer, beautiful, and on the go.
She didn’t judge his busy schedule. Lacey didn’t need emotional displays or constant attention.
Everything about her was nice and simple.
God, he wished everyone were as easygoing as she was.
His phone vibrated and he glanced at the screen.
Of course we have a wedding present, dingleberry, came the sweet reply from Connor. I wanted to give a voucher for a free divorce, but Cian says that would be too macabre. Although they couldn’t get better divorce lawyers than us.
Cian’s simple comment followed promptly: You two are miserable romantic illiterates. I bought the present, but I’m not going to bother describing what it is. You don’t care anyway.
The guy knew them well.
Thanks, Gareth typed back before pressing his thumb and index finger to his eyes and taking a deep breath to mentally prepare for the next phone call.
Deep down, he knew that no meditation app and no amount of time in the world would help, so he dialed the number, mentally repeating his mantra: I will remain calm.
I will remain professional. I will remain friendly.
I will not be provoked. I will maintain all the control and cool detachment that the press says makes me so unlikable, so…
“Barrow Sports Agency, Amber Thorne, how may I help you?” Hazel’s assistant answered after half an eternity, as if she’d hoped he’d hang up.
Gareth narrowed his eyes, and his shoulders tensed. It was the same every time. “Ms. Thorne,” he stated calmly, “this is Gareth Clark. I’d like to speak to Ms. Barrow.”
“Did you say Snark? I don’t know a Mr. Snark.”
He gritted his teeth. He knew Amber hated him, probably because Hazel had told her why she hated him. “Amber, it’s late. Just put me through,” he replied gruffly.
There was silence on the other side for a few seconds, then, “Hazel’s gone home.”
“She hasn’t.”
“Yes, two hours ago.”
“No. She hasn’t,” he repeated stonily.
“Mr. Snark, I don’t know what you want me to say, but she’s not here!”
Maybe he would have believed her. Maybe he wouldn’t have gotten angry, but would have remained professional and controlled as planned. But he heard a faint laugh in the background…and he would have recognized Hazel’s laugh among thousands, even with tinnitus in his ears.
“She’s sitting next to you, isn’t she?” he whispered, dangerously calm.
“Uh…no?”
“Amber, holy shit,” he snapped. “Put her on!”
“Hm. Hazel says I should hang up if you start shouting.”
“I’m not shouting,” he growled. “I’m just vocalizing my feelings.”
“Oh, come on. What feelings?” came an annoyed voice in the background before a rustling sound and a heavy sigh greeted him the next moment. “What the hell do you want, Gareth? It’s after ten. My work hours are over.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, and his control was hanging by a thread. “And yet you’re still in the office,” he said abruptly.
“You too!”
“Yeah, but I’m not going to pretend my workday is over and have my assistant lie for me.”
“That’s only because Freddie is physically incapable of lying. Otherwise, you’d be constantly forcing him to tell me you’re unavailable. He'd say you’re taking a salsa dance class or whatever.”
She was absolutely correct. “That’s bullshit. And it’s breakdancing, not salsa,” he replied dryly.
“Oh, the thought of you crawling around on the floor warms my heart. Thanks for that. So, why haven’t you told me what you want yet?”
He rolled his shoulders and narrowed his eyes to keep his voice calm and collected. But God, that woman… “Fox’s contract.”
“Ah, Lyle’s getting impatient. That’s good, because so am I.”
His teeth ground together. “Fox wants to stay, Hazel. We both know that.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t give you the right to offer him three million less than he’s worth.”
“Oh, but I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth and the right to take whatever I want. Because I’m a rich bastard. Isn’t that what you told me?”
She laughed dryly. “If your manners were half as good as your memory, Gareth, then there would be no problem.”
“Oh, please. As if my manners were ever our problem!” he said contemptuously. “You know, there was a time when you liked it when I took what I wanted.”
For a heartbeat, there was absolute silence on the other end, and then Hazel murmured sweetly, “Well, you gave me what I wanted back then. But we’re not at college anymore, Mr. Snark.
You want to keep Fox as badly as he wants to stay.
You have my draft contract, Gareth, so I don’t know what else there is to discuss. ”
“It's an unreasonable contract draft that no one would sign. And it contains several spelling mistakes. As if it was written by an elementary school kid.”
“Well, I thought I’d stay on your intellectual level. After all, you were second in your class at Harvard. After me, if I remember correctly, so…”
“Hazel,” he snapped, “stop making it personal.”
“I’m surprised you know the word personal. Though I’d like to be professional, I can’t when you’re yelling at my assistant.”
“I wouldn’t have to yell at her if you didn’t subject me to that agonizing rigamarole every time.”
“All I heard was agonizing and that spontaneously made me happy and reinforced my belief that I was doing everything right,” she explained matter-of-factly.
“Oh, yes, you’re infallible.”
“At least I’m making an effort to be professional, at the beginning of our conversations, at any rate.”
“So professional that you instruct your client, Malcolm Smith, to publicly call me an asshole?”
This time, the silence on the other end of the line wasn’t truly silent. Instead, it rumbled loudly and dangerously in his ears.
“I had nothing to do with what he said in that interview, Gareth,” Hazel replied tersely.
Well, at least now she sounded as angry as he felt. “Yes, obviously, I believe you.”
“I don’t care if you believe it. It’s the truth.”
“If you don’t care, then why are you suddenly the one shouting?” he asked. “And if it was wrong of him, why didn’t you, as his agent, comment?”
“Fuck you, Gareth,” she replied coldly, all humor gone from her voice.
“I released Smith. He’s no longer my client.
That’s why I didn’t comment on his statements.
I have a clause in my contracts that allows me to release assholes.
And, as soon as I heard what he called Penny, he was out the door.
You have the right to sell him. I couldn’t care less about the reason — but you don’t have the damn right to accuse me of deliberately creating negative publicity just to get back at you.
I don’t need to; it’s ridiculously easy to upset you.
No matter what the press says about your impressive control.
But thanks for believing that I could do that level of shit. How nice.”
The next moment, she hung up.
Fuck. Gareth crumpled the interview in his hand and tossed the phone onto the desk with a thud.
How was he the asshole again, when she was the goof who'd included a candy clause in Fox’s contract, a bag of gummy bears for every goal scored?
God, every time he spoke to her, saw her, heard her, or smelled her…he felt like he was losing every time. Maybe even losing something specific, like his sanity.
Hazel had always been the only person in the world capable of stealing it from him. But at least he’d been able to enjoy it before.