FUENTES SENT A CEASE-ALL LAST NIGHT. The text said he didn’t want my agency to do anything in his name.
Then he went off the grid.
I’ve been freaking out all night.
That kid wears his heart on his sleeve. Sometimes, that’s a good thing. It allows me to find the cracks. To pick apart the weaknesses. To manipulate athletes in my favor.
But yesterday, it wasn’t a pleasant experience. I saw the disgust on the rookie’s face. I saw that he was done with me.
And I knew, in that moment, I’d lost him.
He’s probably thinking he’ll ride out the two months of probation quietly until he can rip his contract to shreds. That text was a warning shot. A simple courtesy. He values his precious reputation more than the billions I can earn for him.
Normally, I’d applaud that. People don’t stick to their convictions when they get this far up the food chain.
Maybe I’d have more patience with Fuentes, if it wasn’t my business on the line.
Sunlight drags me out of bed.
I’m battling a massive headache this morning. I’m not sure if it’s from the booze or from my anxiety.
Fuentes ghosting me is a problem. Especially since I haven’t told Patrick that our golden goose is committing mutiny.
I breathe deep. Let it out through my mouth.
I’ve encountered plenty of obstacles in this path. Athletes are peculiar celebrities. Unlike singers, actors and dancers, they don’t usually dream of the fame. It’s all about the love of the game for them.
Poor, naive souls.
When the money, the girls and the spotlight hit them, they’re totally unprepared for it. Get swept away. They make stupid decisions because they’re regular people who got plucked out of normalcy and lauded as gods.
Fuentes is a scrawny fish compared to the sharks I’ve wrestled with.
The solution to this problem is simple. All I need to do is assure the kid that I’m still working on my marriage.
And I am.
In fact, I have an appointment with Doc this afternoon. I’ll be handing him a wrench and questioning my life choices for another hour.
I still can’t believe Harriet made such a ridiculous demand. Why is she so obsessed with that mechanic? It’s not like he’s got impressive credentials. I wish he did. It would be much more impactful if I could tell Fuentes I was seeing a real therapist. Someone with certificates on their walls instead of car oil. He’d respect that. No more threats about breaking the contract. No more angry scowls in crowded bars.
What he saw that night looked bad. Hell, it looked terrible.
But mistakes happen.
At least I’ll frame it that way.
I’ve got years of practice calming Harriet down. Fuentes is not as stubborn or as smart as my wife. I can subdue him. I just need to find the bastard so I can make my case.
My call goes straight to voicemail.
A quick glance at the phone shows all my texts have gone unread. Fuentes is straight-up ignoring me.
Cheeky brute.
I toss the phone, grinding my teeth in annoyance.
Desperation crawls over the bed, whispering that I’m about to lose it all. My knee bounces against my hand as I consider what to do next. Since Fuentes is acting up, the only thing I can do is go looking for him.
I’ve got a few ideas on where to start.
Throwing on a hoodie, I swipe the car keys from the nightstand. On the drive, I rehearse what I’ll say to the kid. ‘Fuentes, yesterday wasn’t what it
looked like. That blonde with her hand up my shirt? She was actually my cousin. She’s really affectionate.’
Damn.
There’s no way he’ll buy that.
My mind churns through every possible apology I can give. Nothing sits right.
I slow the car in front of the gym. If there’s any hope of running into Fuentes, it’ll be here. An athlete has to train, no matter what mental state they’re in. Someone as disciplined as Fuentes wouldn’t slack off just because he caught his agent breaking a promise.
The moment I step inside the gym, my eyes dive straight to the boxing ring.
Memories of Harriet fill my head.
Once again, I get a strange pang in my chest. Almost as if I… miss her.
Rather than run from it, I suck in a breath and let the feeling fill my lungs. Sure, I’m loving this life of freedom. I love coming home when I want to and how I want to. Answering to no one but myself. I love the way my voice echoes back to me in that giant house that’s way too big for one person. I love breaking the routines I formed from building a life with her.
But it’s got its downsides. I’m over this fight.
I didn’t get married to Harriet so I could spend the rest of my life without her. If that were the case, I would have left a long time ago.
“Can I help you?” A giant man with muscles on top of muscles scans every inch of me.
He must be a trainer here. “I’m looking for someone.” “Who?” He tilts his chin.
“Fuentes.” I frown at the training equipment waiting to be given a purpose.
“Why do you want to know?”
I dive into my jacket for a business card. “I’m Jerrison Bradley. I’m the agent he just signed with.”
The man glances over my card. “Fuentes isn’t here.” “You know where he might be?”
“Probably muscle-building.”
I laugh in disbelief. No wonder this kid is tearing up the boxing ring.
He’s a workaholic.
“Want me to tell him you were looking for him?” the trainer asks. “Nah. I’ll find him myself.” I walk back to my car.
The drive across town takes forever. By the time I get to the other gym, I’m out of patience and seriously considering whether this is all worth it. At least this place looks more welcoming than the first. It’s one of those ultra- posh gyms where the lobby is fitted with televisions, vending machines and a cheerful receptionist with a perpetually chirpy smile.
“You have to sign up before you can go upstairs, sir,” she says, her eyes getting crushed by her chipmunk cheeks.
“I’m just going to look for someone.”
“I said only members can access the facilities.” A pale hand shoots over the cash register. “Will this membership be for a month or a year?”
“This is a load of crap,” I mumble under my breath as I dutifully hand her my card.
She jots down my information and hands the card back. I snatch it.
The smile does not waver from her face. “Feel free to contact me if you need any help.”
That’s not going to happen.
I march up the stairs and step into the gym. It’s typical. Barbell sets. Treadmills. Ellipticals. A cursory sweep of the room tells me Fuentes isn’t here, but I don’t want to give up yet.
Keeping my eyes peeled, I move in the direction of the weights. The closer I get, the more I notice how distracted all the guys in the room are. They’re staring at a woman on the elliptical machine.
Curious, I look her way too.
And my eyes nearly burst out of my head.
“The hell is Harriet doing…?” I choke on my words when I notice what she’s wearing. Sports bra. Tight yoga pants. Ponytail high on her head.
Sweat forms tiny rivulets down her rich brown skin. I trace the journey with my eyes. Swipe my tongue against my bottom lip. The ache in my chest returns with a vengeance.
Was my wife always that beautiful?
I’m used to the way sunshine loves her skin. I’m used to curves like an old Coke bottle and eyes that could cut through a man. But today, Harriet is
more than pretty. She’s stunning. The kind of beautiful that seems almost supernatural.
She slows down on the elliptical and grabs a towel. Her profile strikes just as hard as the view from behind.
Tendrils of her hair cling to sloping cheeks. Her nose flares slightly at the tip. Her plump lips throw all kinds of wildly inappropriate memories into my head.
I stand there and stare at my wife-along with half the guys in the gym. At that moment, Harriet turns and her dark eyes bore into me.
I feel the air shift.
Feel my heart skip a beat.
My Adam’s apple bobs as I swallow.
Should I wave? Should I go over there and…
Harriet glances away. Frowns. Walks in the other direction.
The Titanic probably didn’t crash as hard as my adrenaline does in that moment.
The hell?
Did my wife just brush me off?
I dig my hands into my phone and force myself to head in the other direction. Whatever. I didn’t come to talk to her anyway. I’m here for Fuentes.
But even as I continue my search, I keep an eye on Harriet. Unfortunately, I’m not the only one.
Some idiot plods over to my wife and offers her a bottle of water. I glare in their direction.
Thankfully, she doesn’t take it.
But the guy insists on hanging around her like an annoying fly. My temper ignites.
Can’t he see she’s not interested?
Harriet’s smile is polite but firm. As stiff as her body language is, she doesn’t seem to be shooing him away.
My annoyance creeps up to a new level.
When I notice the moron trot to the bathroom, I abandon all my plans to find Fuentes and follow him there.
The door clicks shut.
I lock it and the sound echoes in the room.
Bozo glances up, his forehead creased. “Hey, man. What are you doing?”
“Saving you from a lot of pain.” My fingers ball into fists. “That woman you’re talking to,” I press closer and drop my voice to a threatening tone, “she’s my wife.”
His eyes widen. “Dude, I didn’t know she was married.”
“Now you do.” My gaze turns cold. And if you ever flirt with her again, I’ll break your neck.
“Look,” he raises both hands in surrender, “I don’t want any problems.” “There won’t be any problems as long as you back the hell off.”
Fear skitters into his eyes. “Sorry.”
Grabbing the lock, I twist it and throw the door open.
The moment I get back into the gym, I scout the room for Harriet. She’s not there.
Longing makes my heart race. I whirl around, searching for the woman entitled to half of everything I own.
There’s no sign of my wife.
She disappeared on me. Again.