Chapter 11
Paxton
Of course. I'm here for however long you need. Just say when.
That was the response I sent to Grizzly after he texted me asking to talk. I was ecstatic he was reaching out. Not only for my career but also for the possibility of more between us.
I read the text over and over in the dark of my hotel room with a stupid grin on my face that I was grateful no one could see. Even if they had, I wouldn’t change my reaction. I wanted to be giddy about this. Wanted to embrace every new moment with him.
We set the meeting for the following morning. Ten o'clock in his office to handle the business of him becoming my agent.
I could do business first. Business first was fine. Business first was what I’d come here for, technically, and if business first meant I got to sit across from Grizzly Thorson for a couple of hours with a legitimate reason to be there, then I was going to show up for it with everything I had.
I ironed my shirt, which was rare in and of itself. The crisp button-down looked a bit formal once I put it on with my dark jeans. Rolling the sleeves up helped. Still, I worried it was going to give the wrong impression.
Pops noticed before I could ask his opinion. "We’re ironing shirts now?"
"It was wrinkled," I defended.
He looked at me over the top of his coffee cup. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.
The office was a short drive from the hotel, which I already knew from the day I’d shown up unannounced and found Grizzly out sick. Walking through the front door this time felt different. I wasn't a surprise. I’d been invited.
Cheyenne was at her desk when I came in. She looked up, recognized me, and her whole face opened into a smile that made me feel welcome. "Paxton. Good morning. He's expecting you."
"Morning. Thank you for having me."
She waved me off warmly. "Please. We're glad you're here." Then she leaned forward slightly and dropped her voice to just above a whisper. "For the record, he's been pacing and talking to himself all morning."
I bit back a smile. "Good to know."
Moseley appeared from around the corner like he had been waiting for a cue. He was wearing a button-down similar to mine, though where mine was white, his was an olive color. He pointed at me. "Okay. I just need a second. Last time you were here, I didn’t appreciate having greatness in my midst."
"Take your time." I chuckled as I leaned against Cheyenne’s desk.
After a moment of staring, he shook his head. "You're really here."
"Unless this is a vivid dream for us all, then yes, I am."
He pressed his lips together and nodded several times. "Cool. That's cool. This is very normal and professional. Welcome to the agency."
"Thank you, Moseley."
He stepped aside and gestured grandly toward the short distance leading back to Grizzly's office.
It was like he wanted to demonstrate it was the most important room in the building.
Cheyenne covered her mouth with one hand to hold back her laugh.
I kept my face straight for all of their sakes and headed back.
Grizzly was indeed pacing behind his desk when I came through the doorway.
He had on a dark button-down, and a jacket hung on the back of the chair.
His glasses barely hung on at the tip of his nose as he looked over a stack of papers in his hands that I was pretty sure represented my immediate future.
He looked up when I knocked on the open door frame, and the expression that crossed his face shifted multiple times before settling on a neutral position. Given that I’d seen a bit of joy and maybe even some lust in there, I felt hopeful of how the post-business talk would go.
"Paxton," he said. "Good morning. Come in."
"Morning." I came in and took the chair across from his desk. I settled into it much like how I settled into the box before a game. Feet planted, attention forward, ready for whatever came my way. "Nice office."
He looked around briefly like he was seeing it from the outside for a moment.
Then he sat down, placing the papers he’d held on the desk before him.
"Thanks. I'd like to go through everything before you sign. I want you to understand every piece of it so you can decide if we’re actually a good fit. "
"That's exactly what I was hoping you'd say."
He froze at my words, blinking for a few moments like he was resetting himself. It was fucking adorable. I liked that I could fluster him.
"Royce confirmed interest. Their offer is here." He slid the top sheet across the desk toward me. "Read through it. Take whatever time you need. Ask whatever you want."
I read over the paper carefully, just like my pops had taught me to read anything with my name going on it. Top to bottom. Slow and steady. Never skim.
It was a solid offer. It was actually better than solid. The numbers were fair enough to prove Royce genuinely wanted me there and comfortable.
I went through it section by section and asked the questions that came up as I read them. Grizzly answered everything cleanly, no talking around points. He knew this contract the way I knew my swing mechanics, from the inside out.
Don’t pop a boner. Don’t pop a boner.
We went back and forth on a few things. The length of the initial term. The performance incentive structure. At one point, I disagreed with the phrasing on a clause and said so, and he listened, thought about it for a moment, and said I had a point. I appreciated that more than an immediate reply.
Then we got to the agent fee.
I looked at the number and froze. “This is low.”
He shook his head. "It's standard."
"It's below your standard. I looked up what your fee structure has been with other clients. You're cutting yourself short." I set the page down on the desk and slid it back toward him. "I want you to take your fair share."
"Most clients don't argue for a higher agent fee."
"Most clients aren't thinking about the long game.
" I kept my voice easy, not making a big thing of it.
"You're going to put in the work. Probably more work than most people would, because that's who you are.
I want you compensated for it correctly.
So take what's fair, and we'll both feel good about this. "
I wondered if I was pushing too hard. Was I being more Daddy than client? I didn’t think so, but I couldn’t be fully sure.
Grizzly picked up the page, making a note in the margin. "Alright," he agreed.
"Good." It pained me to not add boy at the end. He really deserved all the praise for what he was putting together for me, and for the fact that he listened so well.
He glanced up. His expression was a little undone around the edges for a second, before he pulled it back together. I didn't comment on it. I waited while he finished making his notes, and we moved on to the next section.
We got through the rest of it in another hour. By the time we reached the signature line, I felt like I understood exactly what I was committing to and exactly what I was getting in return, which was all I had ever asked for from anyone who was supposed to be in my corner.
Grizzly set the pen on the desk and slid the revised contract across toward me.
I picked it up and signed my name. There it was. A new agent. A promise to play for Bellport.
One of the things I had wanted most for the last year and a half was now real, sitting on the desk in front of me.
"Welcome to the agency," Grizzly said.
I grinned. "You're the second person to say that to me this morning."
The corner of his mouth kicked up. "Moseley, I bet. He basically told me I was a fool if I didn’t bring you on."
"The man seems smart. Listening to him was wise."
He shook his head, but the almost-smile stayed.
He stood, extending his hand across the desk.
I rose too, holding onto the professionalism of the moment as best I could.
His hand was warm, his grip solid. I had to remind myself then that I’d vowed I was going to let this go at whatever pace he needed it to go.
“Let’s go share the good news. Those two will be thrilled.”
We came back out to the main office where Cheyenne and Moseley were doing an extremely poor job of pretending they had been working the entire time. Moseley's monitor was dark. Cheyenne had the same spreadsheet up that she'd had open when I walked in.
"So?" Moseley said, not even attempting to play it cool.
"Signed," I said, pumping my fist in a show of excitement.
He made a noise that Cheyenne cut off with a look before it could fully develop. She stood from her desk and came over to squeeze my arm. "Good. This is the right call for everyone." She said it with confidence, then she turned to Grizzly. "The two of you should go get lunch. Celebrate properly."
"We've both got work this afternoon," Grizzly said.
"It's noon, meaning lunch. You need to eat. He needs to eat. That's how that works. Moseley and I will hold down the fort. Go."
Moseley bounced his shoulders happily. I was going to like these people enormously.
Grizzly looked at Cheyenne for a moment like he was going to argue the point, and then apparently decided against it. “Let me grab my jacket. There's a place two blocks over,” he said to me.
"Lead the way."
The place was called Bellport Eats, and it looked exactly like you would expect a vintage diner to look.
Red vinyl booths, a long counter with spinning stools, a chalkboard menu behind the register, and a ceiling fan turning slowly overhead that didn’t appear to be doing much in the way of cooling but added atmosphere.
A woman who I assumed ran the place, or at least had worked there long enough to act like she did, waved us to a booth near the window without us having to ask.
Grizzly slid in across from me. He’d put on his jacket between the office and here, which in the Louisiana heat seemed like a choice.
I had a feeling it had more to do with comfort than temperature.
Some people wore layers the way other people carried things they needed to have close. Kind of like a security blanket.
The waitress, who said her name was Patsy, took our drink orders and brought us menus shortly after we settled. “You got any questions about the menu, just holler.”
Said menu was a couple of laminated pages per person. Definitely the kind of menu that had clearly been used for years given the wear and tear of the edges.
I opened mine and started reading. Across from me, I heard Grizzly do the same.
A few seconds passed. Then a few more. I wondered if he was thinking about how this felt awkward though not because of us. It was the unspoken details lingering over us.
I glanced up without making it obvious to see if I could read him. He had the menu closer to his face, his head tilted at a slight angle, a small furrow between his brows. He adjusted his glasses once, then shifted the menu toward the window where the light was better.
"New glasses," he said without looking up, in a tone meant to close the door on the subject before I could step through. "Still adjusting to the prescription."
"Mm." The noise wasn’t anything that required a response. I’d already suspected the glasses were new considering I’d never seen him in any before.
I looked back at my own menu for a moment. Then I set it down on the table, angling it slightly so the edge was closer to his side of the booth than mine.
"What are you in the mood for?" I asked. "I'm seeing a patty melt situation that I think I want to commit to, but the soup looks good if you crave something on the lighter side. There's also a chicken and sausage gumbo."
He looked at my menu, though I suspected he wasn’t really reading anything.
"The gumbo, please.”
"Good call." I caught Patsy’s eye and held up two fingers, which she acknowledged with a nod.
Grizzly set his own menu down. There was a beat of quiet between us. It was almost as if me going over the menu with him broke the tension.
"You didn't have to do that," he said.
I knew what he was referring to without him having to explain. "I know. I wanted to though."
He held my gaze for a moment. In the warmth of the space, with the noise of the lunch rush moving around us, it felt like a pivotal shift had taken place. Like we were possibly sharing a Daddy/Little moment without even trying.
I wanted to tell him he didn't have to work that hard. That whatever he needed, I would do it, same as I'd done just now without making him feel like a burden for having a need at all. Supporting him wasn’t a hardship for me. From my point of view, that was what caring about someone looked like.
But I’d promised he could set the pace. That meant not unloading all of that over gumbo on the first day we had more than a few stolen moments at a party.
So instead I just said, "Tell me about Bellport. The real version, not just what I’ve been able to read about and watch online. I want to know what it's actually like to live here."
He settled at my request. The change in him was instant. He lit up as spoke about the city he called home.
I leaned back in the booth and listened, only stopping him when I wanted to know about something specific. When the gumbo came, I found it was as good as advertised. We talked a bit more between bites, though most of our attention turned to the food.
Good company. Good food.
What more could a person ask for?