AllFreeNovel
Share Us
A man boasting about his accomplishments is to be expected.
But if a woman does it, they are either perceived as being too full of themselves or so insecure that they need to broadcast their achievements just to fulfill some kind of need for approval.
Sigh.
Sometimes, I wonder why I even come to these types of parties anymore.
I mean, if all of Boston doesn’t know I’m a kick-ass sports agent by now, then it’s their loss, not mine.
But then douche canoes like Ethan Flynn remind me why I must attend almost every sporting event and related party there is. Because if I miss even one, I risk key people buying into Ethan and his ProStar’s bullshit propaganda. Important people might be persuaded into benefitting ProStar athletes, uncaring if they leave Elite Sports Agency players out in the cold by doing so.
In this business, it’s all about networking.
If I don’t network and rub elbows with coaches, general managers, and club owners, then it will make my life, and that of my clients, a whole lot harder when it’s time to negotiate their contracts. And I am nothing if not proficient in getting the big checks for my players. They work their butts off to be the best of the best, so the least I can do is be the best for them too.
And though I’m not like Ethan, always bragging about myself every chance I get, I do make sure everyone knows that if they want the real deal, then there is only one door they should be knocking on—mine.
Having said that, after you spend most of the summer attending parties, events, and galas just to rub elbows with the right people, it starts to get tediously boring. There are only so many conversations that you can tolerate having with the same fucking people.
Take Rex Jones—the Boston Guardians’ owner, or as his team affectionately calls him, the old man—for example.
I must have heard his story about riding bulls back at his daddy’s farm in Texas at least a hundred times over this summer. And yet, every time he goes off reminiscing about his rambunctious childhood, I smile and act amazed, pretending it’s the first time I’ve ever heard it.
I might have never taken an acting class in my life, but I still believe I merit a fucking Oscar for the performance I do on the daily.
“Speaking of which,” my nemesis starts after a brief pause. “I believe Henri would make a great addition to the Guardians,” he concludes, loud enough for Rex, who just so happens to be standing a few feet away from us, to overhear him. “He’s thinking about leaving his team, Ontario Blizzard, and Canada all together to make the move to the States. I think he and the Boston Guardians might be a good fit, don’t you think?”
“You think so? Hmm. I don’t see it,” I retort, disinterested, before taking a sip of my champagne.
“Are you kidding? He’s one of the best grinders in the league. The Guardians would be lucky to have him in their lineup.”
“But he’s not the best. The Guardians alreadyhavethe best.”
“You mean Wilder?” he jokes with a ridiculing tone. “Please. That guy is a powder keg ready to explode. Everyone knows he’s got major anger issues, and it’s only a question of time before he does something stupid that will get him either suspended or fired.”
I grip my champagne flute so hard that I’m surprised the glass doesn’t shatter in my hand.
You can’t hit this asshole, Piper.
Too many witnesses.
No matter how much you want to, don’t hit the arrogant prick.
I take in a fortifying breath and plant the fakest smile that would rival even Mona Lisa herself.
“You say that everyone knows this, and yet I know no such thing. What I do know is that Nathan’s so-called anger-infused tendencies helped the Guardians win second place in the league last year. And this year, he’ll help the team win the whole goddamn thing. That’s whatIknow.”
“Hmm. I don’t see it,” he replies apathetically, making a point to use the exact same phrasing and tone I used just a minute ago against me.
“People with no real vision for true talent hardly ever see anything. Not even if it slaps them across the face,” I retort, showing him my pearly whites.
“Now, now. No need to get all defensive. I know how protective you are about your players. It’s cute how much you care.”
“Cute?” I arch a brow.
I wonder if he’d think I was cute if I were to shove my flute down his throat.
“Fine. Poor choice of wording. It’s not cute… it’s admirable.” He chuckles, throwing a teasing smirk at the other men in the group so they know he’s talking out of his ass. “But we can’t forget this is a business. When one player doesn’t work out, then we need to have another one—hopefully a better one—in our pocket to fill the empty spot. As I see it, it’s not the players we should be breaking our backs for. It’s the clubs. They’re the real ones who we should keep happy because, without them, we could have the best player in our roster, and no one would give a shit. They’re who we owe our three percent to. Not the players.”
