Bossed Page 14

  “Let me check with my client.” I dialed up Salvatore. “Hey, you good with one ten?”

  Raucous cheers from the phone were so damn loud everyone in the room could hear. I had to move the phone away from my ear. “I think that’s a yes.”

  We all smiled and shook hands. Champagne was brought in and we toasted and drank. It was a good fucking day, yet, I’d ignored my gut. I never did that, ever.

  —

  After a much longer than necessary delay at Logan, where I chatted with Jenny on the phone for most of the time, we finally boarded. Halfway through the flight, I reached up for my bag from the overhead compartment.

  I had to look at the data one more time. Something wasn’t right. They’d known something I didn’t in that room, and there’s no bigger fear for a sports agent than not having all of the information during a negotiation—someone else having the upper hand.

  Page after page I flipped and read with the same minute detail I usually did. As they announced our descent, there it was. A mistake. Small on the page but huge overall. The numbers were calculated for a player with a past injury. Salvatore was in prime condition, having never suffered anything more than minor scrapes and bruises.

  Fuck! Fuck!

  Sports analysts had said he was worth ten million a year, tops. They estimated an eighty-million-dollar deal would be a good price, but that I’d probably get him ninety. This goddamn mistake cost us a good ten million dollars with the rough math I did in my head. They knew it in the room too. They used the same type of models and had the same type of actuaries who specialized in baseball players.

  The money we’d given up would’ve covered the salaries in Jenny’s department for the next ten years. The money we lost for Salvatore could’ve been used for anything. Knowing him he would’ve rebuilt shit in the Dominican Republic or given half of it to charity.

  I wanted to rip the fucking plane apart, and yet I was stuck in a goddamn aluminum tube for another twenty minutes. The plane had Wi-Fi and I shot Jenny a text.

  We need to talk, asap. Plane lands in twenty minutes.

  I jammed the phone back in my bag and didn’t wait for a response, because I didn’t know what I was capable of saying. How the fuck did she miss that?

  I mean, I should’ve reviewed her work more thoroughly, but she was responsible. This wasn’t going to be good. It was why I didn’t get involved with people at work. It was why I didn’t date anyone in the industry. One ten was a good deal, but this type of deal came along once every fifty years. If I’d gotten Salvatore one twenty I’d have had every fucking player in the league knocking down my door, in multiple sports.

  —

  Jenny smiled and I blew past her toward the door. “Follow me.” It was all I said when I walked by.

  She was wearing her usual out of work uniform only this time her shorts were khaki. Her footsteps pounded after me.

  Before I could cross the street she gripped me by the arm and tried to turn me around. I yanked my arm away. “Not here.”

  “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  I shouldn’t have told her to meet me. I should’ve taken a cab and blown off some steam before messaging her. My mouth was a bomb waiting to go off. I whipped my head back, still facing forward, and sneered. “You.”

  One word was all it took to turn her pale. She froze in her tracks and I took off across the street. I’d told her I wanted to talk, but after seeing her I didn’t want to talk. An apology is what she deserved, because I knew my word cut her deep. She wasn’t about to get one right now though.

  I stomped off and hailed a cab in front of her. There was no way I could ride in a car with her after that. In the reflection of a window I could see her, clutching her hand over her mouth. It looked like she was crying into her palm.

  Chapter 21

  Jenny Jackson

  He didn’t call, didn’t text. I spent the entire night curled up with a box of Kleenex. I almost thought I hated the fact that he made me cry more than what he said to me. It was the way he said it. Pure, unadulterated hate in his voice was what it was. Every time I thought about the way he looked at me when he said it my eyes would start to mist and I would sniffle.

  Asshole.

  That’s what he was. Who does that to someone?

  I’d debated not going to work the entire morning, but I did it anyway. Because fuck him. Those numbers were perfect. What else could he be upset about? I went through my emails and reconciled a few accounts.

  I had most of them on autopilot by this point and had established a system for getting my work done. The office was different since we’d started dating. There was now a low hum of voices constantly throughout the day. People would interact and chitchat, whereas before they wouldn’t dare be caught doing anything but their work outside the confines of the breakroom.

  The place went eerily silent and I heard a door slam shut. It was probably in my mind, but it seemed like the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees right along with the decibel level. Footsteps grew louder behind me and my stomach tied itself in a nice little knot. I wasn’t about to turn around to see what it was though.

  “I need you in the conference room.”

  He was back, the tone and everything. Office Dictator Ethan, the prick. The micromanaging asshole times a billion. “In a minute.” I shut down a few apps on my computer, just to let him know he couldn’t order me around. I didn’t give a shit what his problem was.

  “Now.” His voice boomed through the silence of the room.

  “Fine.”

  He turned toward the room and I stood, brushing my hands down my skirt like I was straightening it. It was really to wipe the sweat from my palms.

  I kept a safe distance as I followed him into the conference room.

  It was like my interview all over again, except the cockiness wasn’t there. The smirk wasn’t there. He didn’t even look up at me. If I’d described his attitude in one word it’d have been disgust. He appeared disgusted with me.

  He slid my folder full of figures across the table to where he apparently wanted me to sit.

  “Take a seat and turn to page eight.”

  Fuck him and his pointed little discussions. This is how he wanted it to go, to pin me down and lead me to some mistake, and I wasn’t playing his game. He needed to man up and talk to me. “What’s this about, Ethan?”

  He pointed to the folder with a pen in his hand, still refusing to look at me. “Sit.”

  “No. You can look at me and tell me what this is about.”

  His hand tightened on the pen, so much so that I thought it might snap in half. He finally showed me his eyes. “If you want to keep your job, I suggest you sit. Otherwise, there is the door.” He motioned to it with his pen.

  I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but the obsessive part of me wanted to know why I’d turned the guy I liked into a monster. So I sat and turned to page eight. There was nothing I hadn’t checked a million times on it.

  “Yeah, these are the numbers. They’re good numbers.”

  “Look closer. You know baseball better than anyone in this building. Has Salvatore ever been injured? Because that’s what your data suggests.”

  “Yeah, but those are—”

  “You cost him ten million dollars on his contract. I negotiated the deal with your figures, because I trusted you to give me solid information.”

  “Yeah, but it’s still—”

  “You’re smart, so I’m sure you can do the math on how much it cost the agency.”

  Why was he doing this to me? I used the information that he gave me. Sure, I knew Salvatore hadn’t ever had a public injury, but Ethan had all kinds of connections that nobody knew about.

  “You can keep your job if you still want it. But this won’t be tolerated again.”

  I stood and glared. I’d gotten through his walls once, but I wasn’t sure if I even wanted to try to get through them again. I looked at the corner of the ceiling, trying to will my emotions back
down inside. He wasn’t going to make me cry again, and that was all I wanted to do at the moment.

  “Miss Jackson, you either need to go back to work or go home. Those are the two options.”

  I had a million things that I should’ve hollered at him, but I just didn’t this time. He’d cut me deeply. I wasn’t angry. I was hurt.

  I stood and went as calmly as possible to my desk, grabbed my bag, and then walked toward the front door. How I kept it together, I’ll never know. He didn’t even look up at me. Not that I could see, anyway.

  Something from somewhere gave me the strength to keep my head held up high. Once I walked through the glass door of the building, I was worse than I’d been the night before. The tears flowed.

  —

  “So much for our conversation the other day.”

  Kelsey wiped a tear from the corner of my eye while she sat next to me on the couch. “He’s a dickhead. I hate him.”

  “Yep. The ones you like always are. So I hear anyway. The stereotypes are true it seems.” I paused. “Jesus, I’m a cliché now.” I started to tear up and my voice cracked when I said “cliché.”

  Kelsey snagged me a tissue. “Aww, you’re not a cliché.” She rubbed my back.

  “Can’t believe I’m crying over his ass. I never cry.”

  “I know you don’t.”

  I half laugh-cried at her attempts to comfort me. It wasn’t really her thing, but she was trying. We didn’t do this. Neither of us had really ever found a guy worth crying over.

  “I’ve only known him for what, a month or two? Why am I even like this?” I glanced around at wadded-up tissues on the couch and a half-eaten tub of ice cream. There were even chocolate wrappers.

  This was all so not me. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I did know one thing—I was never going back to work for that asshole again.

  Chapter 22

  Ethan Mason

  It was for the best.

  I’d told myself that a thousand times in the past twenty-four hours. It was bullshit and I knew it. Sitting at my desk, I went back through our email exchange. I hadn’t talked to Jenny in a day and those emails and some text messages were really all I had left of her.

  She was stubborn and proud, and I knew she would leave the conference room and never come back. Now, I could focus on my business without any distractions. I’d purposely sabotaged myself, so it seemed.

  I clicked on the file with all of Jenny’s emails and they started appearing down the screen. The one with her assignment popped up near the top. I opened it. For what reason, I had no idea.

  There it was right in the middle of it all. Nausea crept through me and I thought I might vomit. For someone who was supposed to have all this self-control, a disciplined manager, I sure seemed to let my emotions get the best of me.

  I’d given her bad information. I was the one who put the injury information in with Salvatore’s file. I beat my fist on my desk just to feel the pain radiate up my arm. It was late and everyone had gone home so nobody heard it.

  “Fuck!”

  I scrubbed both hands up and down the sides of my face. This must’ve been what she was trying to explain in the conference room. But no, I kept cutting her off, because I was angry and pissed and scared, convinced the feelings and the sex and the time we were spending together were distracting me and making me vulnerable.

  What the hell are you going to do, Ethan?

  I needed to apologize to her face-to-face, even if she never wanted to see me again after that. I wouldn’t blame her if she didn’t want to either.

  I snagged my phone. 8:17 p.m. It was early enough to call, but there was no way she would answer. If I sent her a text I knew she’d read it, and I’d be able to tell if she did, thanks to technology these days.

  I need to see you, Jenny. Is that okay?

  There was so much more that I wanted to type—that I wanted to say. I knew that I’d made her cry. Could I repair this damage? I knew who might be able to help me out, because I was pretty certain I wasn’t going to get a text from Jenny. Definitely not for a while anyway.

  Me: Can you meet for drinks? Sweeney’s?

  Matt: Sure. See you in fifteen.

  —

  I was a few minutes late when I walked into Sweeney’s. It was our favorite dive bar to hang out at because it was seldom packed. I often wondered if it was some money-laundering operation since it had been in business since I could remember yet I rarely saw anyone there.

  It was perfect for Matt though. Anywhere else in town and he’d be mauled by fans asking for autographs. Matt never turned anyone away either, even if he knew the shit was going to be on eBay the next day. He still stuck around, smiled, and signed whatever they put in front of him.

  The bar was just that, a bar. No tables, just a long stretch of countertop that ran along the back wall; one bartender, Sweeney; a beer tap; and some bottles of liquor and glasses. When I opened the door Matt turned around and tapped his nonexistent watch.

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  “You’re late for anything that isn’t a business meeting. Seriously.”

  I sat on the stool next to him and ordered a bottle of beer.

  “You’ve been needing to talk a lot lately.” He grinned. “I’m not really Dr. Phil, you know? I am single and stuff.” He laughed.

  “Yeah, well. I’m kind of in uncharted territory and you’re the only person I really trust.”

  “I’m flattered. So what’d you do to fuck up?”

  I told him everything, all the way down to it being my fault and the email.

  He sat there for a bit, occasionally taking a sip of his beer. “The Salvatore deal was a good deal, right?”

  “Well, yeah, but—”

  “But what? Everyone was happy about it. You were happy about it until you found some math problem with it, right?”

  I hemmed and hawed and stuttered for a second.

  “Pussy,” Matt muttered under his breath.

  “Huh?”

  “Oh, just that you’re still taking the safe, chicken-shit route.” He turned and smirked at me. Not in a fun way, but more like he was disappointed. “What happened to you, man?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? We’ve been through this about my business, my personal life. Why I am the way I am.”

  He shook his head. “You were never like this on the ballfield. I don’t even buy the whole ‘mommy’ excuse anymore, bro. You’ve been sabotaging yourself ever since that injury. Are you happy?”

  “Well, not at the moment, obviously. But sure, I have nice things, a good life.”

  “I didn’t ask what your fucking net worth was. Have you been happy since your baseball career ended?”

  It was a tough question, and far more complicated than a yes or no. There were a million variables at play. That’s what I kept saying to myself over and over. Matt knew the answer before he asked, because he knew me better than anyone. Lying to him would be an insult.

  “Not like I was before. Well, except for the past few months.”

  “Oh, I wonder why that is?”

  “Point taken, dickhead. You don’t have to pile it on.”

  Sweeney chuckled at the end of the bar. I wasn’t too worried about him overhearing things. I’m sure he had plenty of more important secrets to keep, considering I thought his bar might’ve been run by the Mob.

  “I kinda do, Ethan.” Matt laughed harder this time and shook me by the shoulder. “You’re kind of a know-it-all who doesn’t listen to anyone.”

  “Okay.” I turned so that I was facing Matt. “So what now? I mean, I seriously doubt she’s going to return my text.”

  “Well…” He looked me up and down, almost sarcastically. “She does seem to like you quite a bit, for whatever reason.”

  I half laughed under my breath. “Such a dick.”

  “I happen to be her favorite player, you know? So you might want to be nice to me. And I also watch a lot of romantic comedies.”
<
br />   “Now who’s the pussy?” I mumbled.

  At the end of the bar Sweeney laughed, and it turned into a fit of wheezing.

  “You okay down there, Sweeney?” Matt hollered.

  Sweeney lost some of his hearing when he fought in Vietnam. “Oh sure. You fellas just always remind me of me and my old buddies giving each other shit. Don’t mind me.”

  “Anyway, Ethan. You need one of those big romantic gestures. That shit always works in the movies when the guy fucks up really bad.”

  “I can’t believe between the two of us the best plan we can come up with is copying a movie plot.” I shook my head and rolled my eyes. “This is ridiculous.”

  Matt’s eyes lit up like he didn’t even hear me. “You’re perfect for this too. Because you’re an asshole and nobody likes you. It’s always more meaningful when it comes from the asshole.”

  “I’m sitting right here. Jesus.” I couldn’t help but laugh. When Matt got an idea in his head he didn’t stop until it happened. It looked like I might be living out a Sandra Bullock movie soon.

  He snapped his fingers like a lightbulb went off in his head. “Her dad is a huge fan of the team, right?”

  I didn’t know where he was going with this. “Yeah, as far as I know from what she’s told me. Why?”

  “You really are clueless, aren’t you? Look, the fastest way to earn forgiveness is to do something special for the person. To do that, you need to know what they love. What does Jenny love more than anything in the world?”

  “Eating. Definitely eating. She fucking packs the carbs away.”

  Matt glared.

  “Okay, asshole. I see what you’re getting at. She loves her dad.”

  “So how do we use that to our advantage?” He waited for me to catch on.

  I pointed at him. “Yes! Okay, let’s do it.”

  Sweeney must’ve thought he let a couple of teenage girls into his bar. This was just outrageous enough to probably work.

  I looked up and then glanced at Matt once more. “You’re a genius.”