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He flips me the bird. “This is my epic present for Jayla. Tamara and Cora are up there with Hope right now lavishing her with take-out food.” Jamal smirks at me. “I see you came empty-handed like a dipshit.”
“I literally just landed back in L.A. And what’s a baby supposed to do with that monstrosity? It’ll smother her.”
“Enough!” snaps Bree with a clap of her hands—clearly used to gaining the attention of children when she needs it. A spark enters Nathan’s eyes because he loves when Bree goes into teacher mode. Unable to help himself, he falls in behind her and wraps his arms around her middle as Bree says, “I’m only going to ask you this one last time. Where is my new best friend? We threw this little party so she’d feel welcome and she’s not even here to see it.”
I can’t help but smile. They did this for Nora—so she’d feel welcome. Because they’re my family and Nora is my family now too.
“She would have loved to be here, and see this,” I say honestly. She really would have gobbled this shit up. Nora loves nothing more than outward expressions of joy. “But she needed to get to work to save my ass.” They all frown. “We were met at the airport by a media circus. They seemed to think I’m…about to be cut from the team.”
A heaviness settles over the room at my words.
Surprisingly, Jamal sets down the bear and is the first to say something heartfelt. “They’d be idiots, then. Surely they’re going to at least give you a shot to play first?”
I shrug. “That’s what Nora is going to find out.”
No one is ready to acknowledge quite yet that I may no longerbe a Shark. Although I have to admit, I think I’m starting to come to terms with the idea more every second. Being here today, hugging Price, and seeing what all my friends did to make Nora feel welcome—it has nothing to do with me being a Shark. They’re my family. No matter where life takes us, we’ll always be close.
Nathan thankfully changes the subject. “We could FaceTime her and do it all over again if you want? So she can see it.”
I consider it briefly and then disregard the idea. Whether it’s because I’m truly respecting her space or because I feel awkward as hell after the way we parted is a toss-up. “Nah—Idon’t want to bug her at work today.”
“I doubt you’d be bugging her,” says Lawrence.
But all I can think about is how in college, I didn’t see that she needed space. I didn’t prioritize her success. Ialwaysinterrupted her to see the cool thing or go to the fun place with me. And those things pushed her away the first time; I’m sure as hell not going to pick up my phone and FaceTime her an hour after parting from a weeklong trip.
And that’s when I feel it—all the little fractures cracking through our fragile little relationship. Damn, I need to talk to her later. Awkward or not, we’ve got things to figure out.
In the meantime, I snap photos of everything to show her later.
Price squints in the direction of my ankles. “We really gotta find out what’s happening with your pants, man.”
The minute I step through the doors of our agency, I feel a hum of excitement mixed with anxiety slither under my skin.
My year interning here felt like sitting on hold for a call I was dying to make, just having to listen to the same elevator music loop endlessly and hope that I wouldn’t get disconnected along the way. But now, I’m here with the freedom to act as a full-time agent, and it’s like the call has finally connected. I have a purpose and a future, and I could sing from the joy of it.
The anxiety comes from knowing I have to interact with the jerks in this office while enjoying that freedom. But I don’t want to think about that now.
Two things happened when I heard that journalist’s question about the Sharks cutting Derek. (1) My heart sank for him—the man I love. Seeing how he believed them instantly, how his entire demeanor shifted into despair—Ihated it. I wanted to do whatever I could to secure his dreams. (2) My blood lit on fire. How dare they try to cut my client from the team. Or to leak the information to putus in a groveling position. After all the years he’s devoted to them—all the games he’s helped them win, this is how they’re going to treat him? Unacceptable.
Mr. Rogers has a saying I’ve always lived by: “There are three ways to ultimate success. The first way is to be kind. The second is to be kind. The third is to be kind.”
And that’s why I’m going to kindly ask if there is any truth to those rumors. And if they confirm them, I will kindly tell them they can shove their underhanded gossip-leaking manipulation up their asses, and then I will kindly remind them that if needed, we would have been happy to revisit contract terms and salary had my client been shown the respect of approaching us first—but when that respect is violated, they can go suck on gumballs as far as we are concerned.
I have an entire email mentally writing itself through my mind as I move down the hall. But the second I open my broom closet office and find it utterly empty, my thoughts are wiped.
Where is my stuff?
And then another appalling thought.
Oh my god, did they fire me?
A chuckle sounds behind me. I spin around to face Nicole.
“I can practically hear your terrifying thoughts as you’re thinking them,” Nicole says with a grin on her red lips. She’s looking fabulous in her expensive wide-leg trousers, shiny pink heels, and a white silk blouse tucked in. I’m sure there’s a matching jacket draped over the back of her desk chair. “Welcome home,” she says with a mischievous lilt. “I knew you’d see your office and assume you were fired. And by the look on your face, I was right.”
I sigh with relief, thankful I’m not finding out I’m fired while wearing leggings, an oversized smiley face T-shirt, and a hat thatexpresses my support of macaroni and cheese. “I’ll be honest, I don’t enjoy this pit of despair you’re dangling me over for your own twisted fun. But I do like seeing you happy, so by all means, carry on.”
She groans. “Follow me.”
