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I wanted to spend my life with Nora, and it turns out I was only ever a brief distraction for her.
All these years of trying to forget her, trying to get over her and not compare every woman I meet against her, and here she is…asking to be my agent. Asking to step right back into my life as if nothing of significance ever happened.
“I can’t, Nora. It won’t work for me.”
Her golden-green eyes blink up at me. “I, however, am determined for it to work. You just haven’t given me a chance to prove that I can be the best agent you’ve ever had. And I know we have history between us, but—”
“I took your virginity,” I say bluntly, and watch as red splotches rise on her cheekbones. “In your dorm room on your pink comforter. You cried after and told me that having sex with me was going to be your new favorite hobby.” She opens her mouth and closes it when I press on. “I know that you have a pattern of freckles on your right ass cheek that looks like the Big Dipper. And that you make a soft little noise right before you—”
“Okay, I get it,” she says, her face the color of a ripe strawberry.
I shake my head firmly and edge a little closer, crowding her. I lower my voice. “No, Nora. I don’t think you do. Because I’m trying to tell you that there are some things you can’t look past or forget, and you don’t seem to be listening.”
Like wanting to marry her because I was so in love with her it physically hurt, only for her to break up with me before I ever got the chance. I can’t forget that, and I can’t look past it. Especially not rightnow when my career is on the rocks. She would be the physical manifestation of all I’ve lost and all I could lose at the same time.
“Believe me, I know all of this,” Nora says, putting her hand on my door to keep me from opening it with a raw grit in her voice that wasn’t there a moment ago. It’s a complete contradiction to her watermelon-pink nail polish—but a quick flashback of the deeply competitive Nora I knew and loved. “But I’m willing to put it all behind us. Actually, I have put it all behind us because it was years ago. And I know you have too, judging by all the…” She lets that sentence dangle and doesn’t bother finishing it. I want her to. I need to know what she was going to say and why she thinks she has the right to tell me what I’m over.
You don’t know anything about it, Nora.
Unspoken words and old pent-up frustrations beg me to let it all out right here in this parking lot. I never thought I’d see this woman again. Never thought I’d have the chance to tell her how badly she wrecked me. But here she is…begging me to let her be my agent like our time together left me with nothing but a paper cut.
I keep my arms firmly set across my chest and stare at her.
She doesn’t waver under my glare. “Maybe it would help if I told you some of my ideas to help grow your image over the next year?”
“No.”
She crinkles her nose. “I could tell you how I think you’re missing out on bigger endorsement opportunities?”
“No.”
“A joke, then? A song and dance? Do you need your truck washed and cleaned?”
I’m already rolling my eyes and wrenching my door open because I’m not doing this. It’s time for me to go. But when I feel warm fingers close over my bicep, I freeze. My gaze drops to her pink fingernails, gently holding on to my arm. I feel burned.
When she sees me staring at our point of contact, she pulls her hand away. “Don’t go yet,” she says softly. “I’m just asking for a chance that I know I don’t deserve, Derek.Please.I get that you don’t want to be friends, and that’s fine. I’m only asking for one chance to show you that I’m a good agent. That I could even be agreatagent for you, because you have a lot of obstacles coming at you in the next few months and I’m confident that you’re going to hurdle all of them effortlessly. I believe in you and I’m asking for you to believe in me too.”
What a touching speech.
It can go to hell.
Now my anger is mounting to something palpable. Her words did not move me to sympathy. They moved me from anger straight into wanting revenge, because she seriously has no idea how much she wrecked me.
I feel like making her life as miserable as she made mine just so she’ll finally understand. After she broke up with me, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus for weeks. The one person I thought loved me for who I was and not for the sport I played or my fame on the horizon broke up with me on a random Tuesday without warning or so much as a guilty excuse. It was torture, and I’ve just decided to give her a little taste of it.
I angle toward Nora with a look in my eyes that should serve as a warning for what’s ahead. “Fine,” I say, taking a small step closer to her. She doesn’t waver or retreat. “You want a shot, rookie? I’ll give you a shot. But that’s all you get. I won’t hesitate to dissolve our contract at any point if I’m unhappy with your representation. And I’ll make damn sure that clause is added to the contract.”
“Really?” Her eyes are bright and brimming with naïve hope. Those same eyes I used to get lost in. I refuse to let that happen again. “Great. Perfect! Thank you! You’re not going to regret this, Derek.”
She’s right. I won’t regret it one bit. But she sure as hell will, because I plan on making Nora’s career a nightmare until either she quits or I fire her—whichever happens first.
“Do you want to go back inside and sign the papers now?” she asks.
“Today’s not good for me. We can meet tomorrow,” I say, purely because I feel like being a dick. “And if we’re going to work together, we’re going to lay down some rules first. Because over it or not—we have a history. A physical history. And I want clear parameters for how we can and cannot interact in a working relationship.”
Nora closes her eyes and at first, I think it’s because I’ve hurt her feelings. But then I remember this is Nora I’m talking to and she’s simply having to breathe through her surge of excitement. Her pupils are dilated when her eyes open again. “Derek—after this, I will stop asking you for things—but please…I’m begging you. Will you let me color-code the rules?”
I step back into the office building and immediately encounter the last person in the world I want to see right now: Marty Vallar. The man seems as if he’s had fire ants in his underwear since I met him judging by the scowl he always gives me. He’s one of those midforties men who think feminism is a dirty word only attributed to man-haters. I pity him his sad, narrow mind.
