Chapter 20
ADAM
Ihad a specific task to finish while I was here, but that wasn’t happening for a variety of reasons, starting with the fact that Engelman wouldn’t stop anxiously texting me about Knox coming in today.
Which was actually doubly distracting, because naturally, texts on that topic got me thinking about my conversation with Knox in my office yesterday—in particular, what I was doing when I persuaded him to meet us today.
Yeah, nice try, buddy, but not right now, I told my dick, firmly willing it back down as I sat for breakfast on the half-full patio at Gizzy’s.
The place was a little white shack of a building with blue shutters, potted greenery in every corner, and big flowering cactuses flanking the front entrance.
Lights were strung above the picnic tables and wicker chairs that decorated the outdoor patio where I’d sat every morning since the place opened four years ago.
In that time, I’d watched it turn into a fairly popular brunch spot. But thankfully, it was less crowded on the weekdays, giving me space to get in some much-needed alone time before I launched into another day of nonstop meetings, video calls and shooting the shit.
It was like I lived a second life here.
None of the other regulars here knew me as Adam Maxwell from Engelman.
Instead, I was just the guy who came in solo every morning and sat in the corner near the owner’s dogs, Rocky and Ruby.
Ruby was the massive, majestic German Shepherd, and though I preferred big dogs, I was partial to Rocky the chug.
He was sixteen, arthritic and going blind in both eyes, but otherwise he was pretty damned healthy.
He kept a heating pad under his bed to help with the arthritis pain and had completed hydrotherapy to lose a whopping three pounds last year.
So, yeah.
This was the kind of dumb shit I cared about at Gizzy’s.
And honestly, it was nice. There were days when the stress still managed to creep into my time here, but for the most part, this weird little place was my haven.
“Hey, you. Special delivery from the kitchen.”
I looked up to see my waitress, Samantha, making room on my table for a small plate of two freshly baked cinnamon rolls that I realized I’d been smelling the buttery scent of for the past ten minutes.
“Goddamn, that looks good,” I said. “Please thank Heidi for me, but would you also let her know that I’m—”
“Stuffed? She knows,” Samantha giggled, producing a take-out box from behind her back.
“She said try a bit now, take the rest to work and give one to your assistant,” she instructed, her big smile sparkling on me for a few seconds before her flirty eyes looked back down at the table.
“That’s some classy stationery you go there.
Never thought I’d see someone like you write snail mail,” she mused. “Love letter?”
I laughed. “Not quite.”
“Well. Love letter or not, there’s always something very romantic about writing by hand,” she said, practically beaming at me. “My grandma always said that letters by hand come from the heart.”
I lifted my eyebrows to humor her, which I did in some form pretty much every Wednesday when she was my waitress. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hm! I mean it obviously takes more effort than just sending a text. When you write by hand, you just mean it more,” she said brightly. “You know?”
I nodded. “Yeah, maybe,” I said. And maybe I didn’t do as good a job humoring her this time, because she laughed sheepishly.
“Well, either way, I think whoever receives that letter is going to feel very lucky,” she said, biting her lip at me before she bounced on her heel and walked away.
Yeah.
I highly doubt that, I thought as I looked back down at my half-written letter. But before I could try and get another line in, my phone pinged with a text.
KNOX: You know what I decided to take you up on your offer.
I stared at it for a second, unsure of what offer Knox was even talking about. But before I could ask, he followed up.
KNOX: Been jonesing for a date shake from Judy’s in Palm Springs. RTA couldn’t come through on that request but something tells me you will.
“For Christ’s sake,” I said aloud.
There were a hundred places to get a good date shake, but he wanted one from the place two hours away.
I was in the middle of suggesting a closer spot when he texted again.
KNOX: And don’t try to save time by going to the spot in Newport Beach
KNOX: That place is trash
Alright.
Sucking in a deep breath, I heaved a sigh, drumming my fingers on the table and just breathing for a minute, because God, I couldn’t stand this fucking asshole.
He blatantly reveled in being immature. Acting as intolerable as possible, because he didn’t actually want an agent.
It was painfully clear that he hated agents and any type of person whose advice he had to heed.
It was why he initially hired his hometown buddy to be his agent, and of course, that dumbass move was precisely how he got himself stuck in a shitty, incentive-based contract that paid him according to the number of innings he pitched—which looked great on paper, assuming he remained a starter throughout his contract.
But surprise, surprise, he did not.
Because no one fucking likes you, Knox, I thought, trying my hand at immaturity for a second.
But it didn’t feel as good as I’d hoped, so instead I got myself together, reminding myself that as much as I hated him—as much as I didn’t need the commission from his contract—he was still very much worth the trouble.
And still someone I desperately wanted to sign.
So grabbing my phone, I went to text AJ, simply sending her the screenshots of Knox’s texts, to which she replied immediately.
AJ: Oh my God
AJ: What a dick. That shake is forever away
AJ: But don’t worry. I got this
I laughed at her reaction, feeling myself breathing easier already.
But I shouldn’t have been surprised.
This was how it had always been. This wasn’t even the weirdest thing AJ had gone to get for one of my clients. Usually, she went alone on these excursions.
But this time, I felt like sharing the burden.
ADAM: I’ll come with you. Meet me downstairs in 30 minutes