by Zoe Dawson
I cursed to myself silently, wishing suddenly she were just some beach bunny here to score. Her gaze was startled as she looked up at me. I’d willingly drown in all that green. As I stared at her, color brushed her cheeks. She seemed…inexperienced, even awkward. She was a babe, though. How was that possible?
She was tantalizing enough for me to say to hell with the common sense that was now waging war with my…other urges. I probably would have asked her out and I was pretty sure I could easily woo her into my bed. But she was a part of the world I wanted to escape.
Agents were all about the commission.
I wasn’t going to fuck her so she could fuck me over.
But, she was tempting.
“Not really interested in business, babe, but we can talk about…something else.”
She pushed back, fully gaining her balance.
“No. It’s business, and it’s serious. This could change your life. I’m shocked you’re all James Dean cool about it.”
She gave me a stern look and I couldn’t help but laugh, digging all the confidence she was projecting.
“Am I being clear here? I want you as a client.”
Sure, she did. I wanted her, but not as an agent.
“You’re crystal. But I’m not interested.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Oh, I see. You’re playing hardball. You’ve probably gotten inundated with offers, and you have plenty to mull over. But give me just fifteen minutes and I’ll tell you how I can make you a superstar.”
“Give me fifteen minutes and I’ll make you call out my name,” I said, being a dick on purpose. Blowing out a breath because I was kinda sick of arguing about my career and a bit confused. Who would inundate me with offers? She wasn’t making any sense. Even if she didn’t know about yesterday’s fiasco, I was maybe tenth seed, max. But it didn’t matter. I liked being free of everything—thinking about how I wanted to direct my own life felt almost as good as skateboarding. I wasn’t about to cave now.
It was clear she didn’t know how to handle my sexual comment, and I was intrigued all over again. After a moment, she cleared her throat. “Mr. Smith, you haven’t even heard what I have to say, my offer.”
“It’s Gunner,” I said. “And I don’t have to.” I turned away again, still loving her confidence, but not swayed. “You’re a day late.”
“What? I’m never late. And if I am, I make up for it with awesomeness. What do you mean?”
“Miss Mavrick.”
“Helena,” she said firmly, in the way a librarian might shush you, and I was so into this girl’s moxie I cracked a smile at that. I couldn’t help it. She was still pushing my buttons.
“Lena.” I went for casual because this whole professional-agent thing was starting to freak me out anyway, and I kind of liked rattling her. “I’m not surfing competitively anymore. I quit. Or, if you like the PC term, I retired.” I would have already left if this girl wasn’t so awesome, so smokin’ in many respects. Her banging personality went with her hot little body. I had never been as attracted to a woman as I was to her.
“Well, then it’s a good thing I’m not here to represent you for surfing. That actually fits right into my plan.”
Oh, I had a better plan. Getting Helena into my bed as soon as possible. Since we weren’t going to hook up professionally, I wanted to hook up personally. I could ask her out.
Suddenly, I realized what she had said. “Wait. What? You’re not here to sign me as a surfer? What the hell are you here for then?”
She gave me a skeptical look, like I was still playing hardball.
“Skateboarding.” She said it as if it was obvious and her words hadn’t fallen on me like an atomic bomb.
Whoa. Whoa. Whoa.
I didn’t say anything, trying to wrap my mind around what she had just said.
“Skate—skateboarding?” I repeated dumbly, hoping it would make more sense if I said it out loud. “What the hell are you talking about? I’ve never competed. How do you know that I would be a good client?”
She studied me with narrowed eyes as if I was playing her, but after a moment, her eyes widened. “You don’t know?” she said in a hushed voice.
I stared at her with what must have been a dumbfounded look on my face, because she dug into her delicate purse and pulled out her phone. She manipulated it for a few seconds and then handed it to me.
It was a YouTube video, and the moment I saw Powell and Falcon, a deep sense of betrayal welled up inside me. Falcon had used me? Rigged this video without giving me the courtesy of asking? I had liked him and thought he was a friend, and now, this manipulation? I felt so played.
I watched as I appeared onscreen and my whole crazy midnight ride played out as if it were a staged video piece. Anger curled into the hollow place in my gut, and my brain went into overdrive when I saw how many hits the video had.
I was pissed, but I should have known I couldn’t trust anyone. I didn’t know what this was about. But I was going to find out. I shoved the phone into her hand and spun on my heel, heading for my car.
“Wait a damn minute,” she said with steel, grabbing my arm.
Chapter 4
Helena
Gunner Smith. One word. Sex-y.
All rebellious, cool six feet of him, with his thick shock of black hair, intense brown eyes, and square jaw. Seeing him in that video was powerful, but up close and personal…I closed my eyes briefly. Only moments ago, I had been plastered against him in a parody of a making-love body slam, and I had to catch my breath. Oh, yeah, the muscles he had revealed in the video weren’t just for show. They were thick, hard, and damn enticing.
I wondered where he’d gotten the bruise on his jaw and his split lip. He hadn’t had that in the video. Had he fallen or…?
Still shaking from those flirty things he had said, I was desperately trying to harden my resolve. I was used to ignoring the attempts men made to get into my pants. But Gunner was throwing me off my game. I was trying with all my might to be professional.
There was no way that I was going to let Max down. I also couldn’t believe that Gunner had just refused to meet with me, even after hearing my name. But I liked that he wasn’t affected by our reputation. In fact, I really liked it. Keep a level head.
Max had asked me to give him the moon—pluck it from the sky, tie it up with a pretty ribbon around all that silvery goodness, and hand it to him.
I cut my teeth on how to play hardball from my dad. Learned from the best. I’d seen the way celebrities behaved. Seen the way sports stars acted all high and mighty with their egos and their entitlement because of their amazing talent. Gunner Smith was the exact opposite. My heart melted a little, and I thought maybe I should have someone else handle this.
I finally released his arm, because frankly, it was too much of a sensual overload to feel the heat of him beneath my fingers. “There is a coffee shop right down the street, and you can have the decency to give me fifteen minutes. That’s all.”
His dark, intent gaze raked over me, and I was melting all over the place like ice cream in the sun.
But the video had set him off. It was clear he was quite pissed, and I had no idea why. I wanted to find out.
He tilted his head, but I couldn’t read a thing in his rich brown eyes. There was something decidedly James Dean, controlled cool about him. “I never said I was decent,” he rumbled.
There was a statement. He looked like the stone-cold definition of a bad boy if ever I saw one, except better, harder, and like the last thing he needed in the world was my moon or any moon for that matter.
The kind of guy who would just throw the moon back in my face.
The calm of his voice, the deep, feathered undertones, and the easy, measured cadence all added to the mystery that was Gunner.
My breath actually caught in my throat, an unprecedented reaction to a guy since…well, since never. “No, you never said you weren’t decent. But I’m not in the mood to exchange banter. This is about
serious business.”
“Not to use a cliché or anything, Lena. But ‘fiery redhead’ comes to mind.”
“Will being a fiery redhead get me my fifteen minutes?”
He met my eyes and I saw the exact moment when he caved. He swore under his breath, and then he laughed all of a sudden, and it transformed his solemn face and did crazy, reckless things to my insides.
“You got your fifteen minutes.”
Damn straight. “It starts at the coffee shop,” I added, in case he thought he was going to find an excuse to cut this short.
He turned and started walking, his strides long. I had to double step to catch up to him. “We can take my car,” I said.
“Fine,” he replied as if he just wanted to get this over with. He looked like he wanted to punch someone’s lights out. He was sure broad through the shoulders, his thick, dark hair just touching the collar of his red, blue, and white plaid collared shirt, the cuffs folded up to his elbows, revealing his tanned forearms. The shirt was worn unbuttoned and untucked over a dark gray T-shirt; expensive navy-blue Nitors on his feet, clean, tight black skater pants molded over his gorgeous ass.
But then I saw something else to distract me. “Water,” I groaned, eyeing the deep reservoir depression that had collected the rain and held it in the concrete moat that now stood between my car and us. I had avoided it previously by going around. It seemed Gunner Smith liked to charge through obstacles. Can’t say that wasn’t sexy, too. I’d have to sacrifice my beautiful Mary Janes for Gunner. I went to step through the puddle—more like a lake—and suddenly I found myself up in the air. I squeaked in surprise. I was in Gunner’s arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving time,” he rasped.
“I’m too heavy!”
He scoffed at that. He hefted me with a couple of quick up-and-down motions. “Yeah, right, a buck ten soaking wet.”
“I don’t like being wet.” He was right on the money. I weighed one hundred and ten pounds.
“You’ll like it with me,” he said with all kinds of riotous innuendo dancing in those brown eyes and bouncing around in my head. Without hesitation or even a wobble, he stepped on his board and with a powerful pump of leg, he propelled us across.
When we hit the grass, he shot me an enigmatic grin and stepped easily off the deck, like he often held a grown woman in his arms while manipulating his board.
He set me down, and I tried not to be aware of my soon-to-be client’s rippling and flexing muscles. Oh, for the love of God, I was mature, an MBA holder, and a professional.
But none of that stopped my eyes from dropping to his mouth. He looked like he could kiss. Long and slow, wet and deep, like his next breath depended on my kiss, his mouth molding to mine like we were made for each other, his body so strong and hard up against me, moving against me. I figured I could probably kiss him forever.
“If you stare any harder at my mouth, McHotstuff, I might just have to show you what I can do with it,” he said gruffly.
Whoa, I had to jump overboard and get off this dreamboat. This wasn’t about kissing Gunner. This was about working for him. Not working him over.
“Time’s wasting. But my Mary Janes and I thank you for being our hero.”
His eyes flashed. I pushed away from him, and he smirked, giving me the once-over and lingering on my mouth. Pressing the automatic lock on my keychain, I marched to the driver’s side and got into the car. He settled in the seat next to me and set his skateboard between his knees.
I drove the short distance to the coffee shop, lucky enough to find a parking spot right in front. Inside the dim interior, I ordered us both coffee, and we found a table.
“Let me tell you a bit about the agency,” I began.
“Let’s cut to the chase, Lena,” he interrupted. “What’s your stake in this?”
“It’s Helena,” I said. “And what do you mean my stake?”
“Do you want a percentage?”
I wasn’t going to tell him about Max. It wasn’t up to me to spill the beans. This was Max’s show, and I would do his bidding as long as he wanted me to. Max had been like a brother to my father—he had been there through everything, including the scandal that had almost sunk Mavrick when my father got involved with my mother.
“No.” I didn’t want a cut; I wanted one hundred percent of him.
“No? Then what motivates you, Lena?”
That nickname held heat I had to ignore. “This is my fifteen minutes. I’ll spend them as I see fit. Are we clear on that?”
His mouth hiked up, and it looked both enticing and risky at the same time. “We sure are, McHotstuff.”
When he signed, I would have to discourage any type of sexual nickname. Oh, who was I kidding? He could call me Mackerel and it would sound sexual. I cleared my throat. “Mavrick Allstars is a global sports agency, and obviously we provide services to professional athletes. Our number one priority is the client, delivering the best representation and management possible.”
He looked bored as if he were hearing blah, blah, blah, but I wasn’t going to give up. “We believe there is more to the player/agent relationship than just contract negotiations. We believe in developing personal relationships with our clients that extend beyond the athletic arena. We take an honest, straightforward approach with every player and maintain the highest level of integrity at all times.” I got a twinge of guilt thinking about the way I had handled Isaiah Morton, but my dad had taught me how to win, and sometimes it took a little white lie to get there. “We use a hands-on approach with each client and are always accessible to our players. When you become a Mavrick Allstar, you become part of the family.”
Sprawled in the chair, he was deceptively quiet, but his eyes told a different story. They were alive with tension, anger still snapping there, but banked. Before I could lose my train of thought in their depths, he leaned forward, planting his elbows on the table, his forearms smooth with a dusting of dark hair, his fingers a whisper away from mine. Holy hell, he had presence, the kind of presence you couldn’t teach. It was just plain ingrained, something that he’d been born with. He seemed to take up all my available space.
I couldn’t look away. My eyes flowed over him, from the thick dark hair, so sexy and mussed, to the lean, chiseled lines of his face. There was no give in the way he looked, no softness. His shoulders were broad under his shirt, his hands large and strong on the table.
All I could think again was street warrior.
Something confident and reckless emanated from his core.
I had my work cut out for me.
“Hands on, huh?” He brushed the tips of my fingers, and I pulled my hands back. “What would that policy…entail?” Attraction crackled through me, and it made me self-conscious as hell.
This wasn’t good. I was going to be offering Gunner a contract, as I had just reminded myself with my little speech. And when he became one of our clients, it would have to be hands off, and my hands just didn’t want to get onboard with that. “It-it-it…” He was watching my mouth just like I had been watching his. I hadn’t been this rattled ever, not even when I went into negotiations with our most prominent clients.
He looked down at his watch. “Tick tock, McHotstuff.” Now he was smiling. All mischief, pure promise, and too damned cute for comfort.
“Don’t call me that.”
His smile broadened. “Oh, I’m sorry. Tick tock, Agent McHotstuff.”
I rolled my eyes. “So much better and so respectful.”
“I’m on your dime, babe.” He acted and seemed unaffected, but there was so much going on below the surface of this man. A mystery, and I didn’t like mysteries, except to unravel them. “You wanted fifteen minutes. You have seven left.”
“We treat the client in a manner that we want to be treated,” I said and waited, but he said nothing. “Our goal is to partner with you to reach your full potential on and off the board. As an athlete, you have worked your whole life to reac
h the highest level possible.”
His brows rose. “Full potential.” He tilted his head, his mouth kicking up at the corner. “Is that the cliff-notes version? I feel there’s a whole statement that goes with that.”
I narrowed my eyes, and that cute grin only spread. “We want to help you achieve that goal and our commitment to you is to strive for success. We offer contract negotiations, marketing and endorsement deals, and career management once you are finished with competing in your sport. We’ll help to shape your vision.”
“Time’s up,” he said, rising, his coffee untouched.
“Wait.”
He turned back and set his hand on the table. His eyes went hard, and the banked anger was back. “Yesterday, I got dumped by an agent who gave me the very same line you just gave me. Don’t waste my time offering me something when you have no idea who I am or what I’m capable of doing. You probably don’t even get skating.”
He headed for the door, and I could feel nothing but the giddy excitement that I was going to get to work with him. It was cute the way he thought he was going to get away clean. I had no doubt he was going to sign my contract.
I rose and made it to the door, catching his sleeve before he could exit. Grabbing on to his shirt front, I shoved him back against the frame. “You think you know it all. That chip on your shoulder fits right in with your attitude and posture, perfect for keeping everyone at bay.” Something set me off, fired my sense that Gunner did need me just like Max said. There was something heartbreaking in his eyes that pulled at me.
“The essence of skateboarding is an urge for speed and a desire to manipulate the board and the body in a release of energy that combines skill with voluntarily induced danger. Skaters simultaneously draw on elements of the death wish, thrill seeking, and meditation, using gravity as a fulcrum for propulsion while defying it to soar into the air.”
His eyes glittered. “Yeah, fine, points for knowing what skating is.”
“I’m not done.”
“Two-minute warning.”
“Skating to you is freedom in the way surfing never was and never will be. In that video, I saw joy, commitment, love, and the kind of talent that can take you where you want to go. I believe in you, Gunner, as only someone who’s completely on your side can. You have a vibe that is cool and powerful, very genuine. I want to take what you love and give you the real possibility of making it something you can do for a living. Skating for you isn’t a way of life…it is life.”
