by Xavier Neal
“Let me start by saying that was all elegantly put,” Carly chuckles, “but as someone who also deals with relationships daily, can I make a suggestion in your latest matchmaking endeavor?”
“Sure.”
“Put yourself on the list.”
To think I was gonna praise her for being supportive when Jaye wasn’t…
“Put yourself on the list as number six.”
“Why?”
“Friends to lovers is a much more missed scenario than people realize when searching for someone to spend their life with. People, women especially, tend to look over the male figure who is already in their life because in their own mind they have decided if the man wanted them, he would’ve done something about it already. Sometimes, this is the case. Other times, men need a big red arrow pointing them in the right direction. Tell me, when you’re talking to couples, who has a more difficult time communicating and opening up in most cases?”
There’s no hesitation in my response. “Men.”
“Exactly. So…there’s a possibility…Gideon struggles with that ability himself. If you slyly place yourself on the list, or hell, slyly place yourself more directly in his line of vision as a viable match, you give him the chance to see what it is that maybe he’s been too blind to see.”
Her logic sends my finger back to my teeth.
“Or, if you’re not his match, it also gives you both the moment of insight to come to that conclusion as well.”
“Why can’t she just go first then?” Jaye promptly asks.
“It’s a process,” Carly clarifies. “She can’t go first because he might brush it off as a bad joke, but she can’t go last for the same reason. She has to put herself between other real possibilities to prove the point.”
Damn her.
That’s brilliant.
And a much safer way to sample the relationship salsa.
“On a different note,” Carly’s brown stare soars back to me, “if you don’t lose this…bet…?”
“Deal.”
“Okay. If you don’t lose this deal and want to give up reading surveys to help couples, let me know. I work for the same company that owns Connect except on the personal matchmaking side that deals with more exclusive clientele. We’re looking to expand the services we provide to include relationship counseling. Basically, you’d be giving advice to newly matched couples, couples who have used our services in the past but are having troubles, and even some of our success stories who may seek advice for maintaining their happy marriage.”
The offer receives an interested hum. “You should pitch the idea for a private ask for advice site or chat line. That way if they are too intimidated to come in or don’t have time or maybe are out of the state and need help, they can receive it.”
Carly’s eyebrows lunge upward in surprise. “That’s a really good idea.”
“I know. I’m very wise,” I jokingly state.
The three of us share in a round of laughter though the job suggestion lingers in the front of my mind.
Helping couples is my jam. It’s why I thought connecting people through this dating website would be fun. There’s something about the fusing of two individuals that I find intoxicating…Absolutely, totally, Cher from Clueless level of magical. That moment where she sets up her teachers is one I still hold close to my heart. It’s the pure euphoria in indulging in others’ joy. I get that from counseling too. Knowing you’re helping people heal what was once a wonderful partnership is the gift that keeps on giving. You’re making their adventure through time a little easier or a little more worthwhile by giving them back something they thought was lost.
Truthfully? I have that relationship with Gideon…
Sure, we don’t grope each other in the front seat of his Lambo or sneak off to bone in the bathroom stall of a business function, but we basically have everything else.
That should be enough. I’ve always made it enough. I figure, every day he sticks by me through another round of crazy is a miracle I don’t take for granted.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never let myself be open to more.
You have to risk what you have in order to possibly gain something greater.
I’m not sure I can do that.
Definitely not now.
Not with the career sting slightly still lingering.
Not while we operate our lifestyles in opposite fashions.
Not when there’s an actual opportunity for him to find a more suitable match.
Huh.
Why do I get the feeling there will never be a good time to take such a risk?
Chapter Three
Gideon
His jaw drops at the same time he frantically points to the contract in front of him. “You’re serious?”
“Yes.”
“This isn’t a prank?”
“Do I look like I have the time to create elaborate jokes?”
Shemar Morris, easily the most beloved and praised player on the Highland Hellcats basketball team, slowly starts to smile in disbelief. “This is…insane.”
“This is my job,” I remind him while adjusting my black tie.
An almost goofy grin grows on his brown-skinned face. “I can’t believe it…” He thrusts himself backwards into the leather office chair he’s occupying. “Hell, I can hardly believe any of the shit that’s been happening over the past three years.” His brown eyes flood with gratitude. “Working with you has changed my entire fucking career.”
Changed…Launched. Same shit.
His agent before me was a joke at best. Even in my earlier years, I pulled better clients than he ever did. Since switching to me, we got him off that shitty west coast team, an increase in salary, party invitations from actual princesses, and endorsement deals he can literally do in his sleep. The thing I find most interesting about all of it is the fact his ego hasn’t caught up to his new status. Shemar still behaves like the humble, hill country-raised kid he was afraid no one in the league would ever take seriously.
He reminds me of Lenny that way.
Regardless of the degrees, which she refuses to hang on her wall because they would distract from her out of date music posters, the papers she’s published in numerous journals —though Lenny pretends she doesn’t read them, and six figures that would be something to brag about in her field, she maintains her down to earth, ‘90s addicted, salsa must be eaten with tacos roots.
I’m thankful for it.
I’ve changed enough for the both of us.
“Okay,” Shemar starts to nod, “explain one more time what it is I have to do.”
“Simple. We sign the deal, and you become a ‘social’ endorser.”
“Which means what?”
“You post about these shoes on social media weekly, which I negotiated it down from daily emphasizing it would be overkill and more likely to harm the brand than to help it. You wear them to social functions that would allow this type of footwear. You encourage your fans, friends, and family to share or reshare the positive promotion you’re posting. Most importantly, you wear these to practice…every practice. Now, they’re not league regulation, however, Big L is one of the men who owns your team, so it would be wise if he got wind to you wearing his product while working for him.” There’s no time for him to cogitate my explanation. I place my black fountain pen down directly on top of the contract with one hand and use the other to ring my secretary. “Sign.”
“This is Kristen,” she answers cheerfully.
“Bring Shemar his bag of cherry sours and me my schedule.”
“Coming.”
The call ends, and Shemar pushes the completed contract my way. “You wine and dine all your players?”
“I do.” Kristen opens the door with the requested items in hand. “Unfortunately, not everyone is as easy going as you.” I motion her in with two fingers. “Enjoy your treat. A rep from their company will reach out to one of yours by the end of the week.”
Shemar offers me one last
smile, stands, and smoothly shifts the bag of candy from Kristen’s hands to his.
The “treats” for meetings was a late-night idea Lenny gave me the balls to implement. Around midnight, probably the most magical hour of our friendship, we were finishing off a pizza when the idea hit me. Business is not only about being better than the competitor but being remembered as being better. The more you can stand out…the more you can leave an impression, the more likely you are to capture the client. Mick and I were still in the early days of launching the company, and Lenny was right there with us, delivering late night dinners or shots of espresso. That night, I threw out the idea of giving personalized five-star treatment to every player I signed. Of course, other agencies did shit like give you a glass of champagne or the perfect coffee order, but the notion of taking it a step further kept gnawing at me until I verbalized it to my other half.
Better half.
Fuck.
Not the point.
Lenny told me to go for it but be careful because superficial appreciation of a person always backfires. So, I put the extra time in. Researched their favorites in the beginning before wising up and having them fill out a survey upon signing. The business grew, however, the practice is still in place. We now have the paperwork in their files, as well as have our clients resubmit the form each time they resign with us.
It’s one of the little things that helps keep A+ Athletes best in the state and third in the country.
Once he’s out of ear shot, I reach for my cellphone and request information, “Schedule.”
“Phone call with Combs in fifteen minutes. He wants to discuss a potential restaurant deal.”
“He always wants to discuss a potential restaurant deal.”
“Video conference with Rice who wants his salary with the Highflyers renegotiated for next season-”
“This season’s not even over yet.”
“You have a two o’clock face-to-face with Crosby to discuss this quarter’s finances.”
My groan is glued to my aggressive scrolling over emails I do not intend to open this morning.
This is the drawback to being licensed to work with clients in more than one league. The work pile is endless.
“And you have a five o’clock appointment with Shalinda.”
“Cancel.”
“You can’t cancel.”
I grunt when I finally reach the end of unopened mail. “I can. And I am.”
“You can’t cancel, sir.”
Tossing my phone to the side, I divert my stare to the adorable, petite blonde who rarely gives me any sort of pushback.
Lenny begged me to hire her, though made me promise I wouldn’t fuck her.
Sometimes I wonder if that was because she wanted me or just didn’t want me to ruin things with the one other woman outside my mother and Minnie that she trusts.
“You made me swear to not let you cancel.”
My hand motion dismisses her statement.
“You also made me swear to not come in for a whole week if you refused to take me seriously.”
Why is past me such an insistent asshole?
“It’s just a haircut, Kristen.”
“Hair and face.”
I give the thick scruff on my jaw a casual stroke. “Semantics.”
She hums and types something on her tablet. Afterward, she turns it around to face me and hits play.
A video recording of what is obviously me last week begins to scold. “Get. Your. Fucking. Hair. Cut. You’re starting to look like Tom Hardy in Mad Max.”
“That’s not a bad look.”
“It is when you’re planning to close a multimillion-dollar contract between a Superbowl champion and the biggest whiskey company in the country.”
Fair point.
The video ends, and my eyes relocate to Kristen’s smug smirk. “Fine. Keep the appointment.”
She notes something on her tablet before informing, “Lennox left you a note on her way to work. Would you like it now?”
“Why didn’t she just text me?”
“She said her phone was dead-”
“I just bought her a new wireless charger. She can literally leave the damn thing just sitting there without having to search for a cord or a free outlet.”
“Which she said you would probably point out and wanted me to say…” Her teeth briefly bite into her bright red stained lips. “’Stop buying me expensive shit you know I’ll lose’.”
Huh.
Even less surprised she’s prepared to argue with me than I am with myself.
“Would you like the note?”
“Yes.”
Kristen bounces out of the room, passing by Mick who is entering.
Unlike most men who can’t keep their dick down when catching sight of my assistant, he barely acknowledges her presence. Hard to blame him considering the woman he’s married to is the literal definition of a blonde bombshell. Her name pays a beautiful homage to her waistline yet not much else. Most of her is natural, but she’s begun the long and tricky game of casually nipping and tucking to keep up with her competition in the fashion world. She’s a stylist who has to look red carpet ready despite the fact she rarely walks it. Paired with Mick, they have the look of Hollywood royalty, which is an impression he finds important to maintain.
I don’t.
Yeah, I’ll smile for the photos and clink glasses while laughing at a joke that isn’t funny no matter how many shots you’ve had, but I refuse to force myself into a relationship with someone for the simple status benefits it may throw me.
Not to say that’s why Mick and Minnie are together…However, I can say, it definitely weighed in their decisions to continue dating during the beginning of their relationship.
Business is the harshest sport of them all.
The season never ends.
The players get traded without consent.
Salary can fluctuate in spite of your best performance and image is often more important than your actual skills.
“Got a minute?” He questions, hands finding their way to his black suit pockets.
“Probably.”
Kristen returns and places a crumbled receipt in front of me.
My disapproving look is instant. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“She refused to rewrite the message on a sticky note. I tried.”
Mick lightly chuckles. “That from Lennox?”
“Do you know anyone else who would leave one of the top sport’s agents in the country a memo on the back of a receipt for tacos?”
“How do you know it’s tacos?” Kristen quickly questions.
In unison, Mick and I reply, “It’s always tacos.”
I drop my attention down to the words scribbled in neon blue Sharpie.
Woman can find that no problem but not a pen?
Date # 1: Coffee @ Loca Mocha Casabloca @ Noon. Blonde. Kindergarten Teacher. Bekka.
“Why didn’t she just email me this?”
“And just how many emails have you checked today?” Mick playfully pokes.
“None of them are urgent. I checked.” Kristen giggles at the retort, reminding me she can be dismissed. “That’ll be all. Thank you.”
She promptly exits, making sure to shut the door behind her.
Mick tosses a nod towards the note. “Is it important?”
“Not really.”
“What is it?”
“A date.”
“With Lennox?”
I have to stop myself from adding the words unfortunately not to the conversation. “From Lenny.”
Confusion carves its way onto his expression.
“I agreed to let her set me up on a few dates.”
“Why?”
“For her own good.”
Disarray remains in his stare.
“We negotiated a deal last week-”
“As one does with their best friend.”
“-in which she has seven dates to find a woman I want to go out with more
than once or she has to give up this ridiculous after school job and take the adult one where she can actually help people rather than just intervene like a scene from her favorite movie.”
“Which is…?”
