“I really do,” I admitted as I leaned over and grabbed one. “Thank you.”
“Now I can tell myself that you ate them and it wasn’t only me.”
“One fry does not make a bowl of fries.”
“God, I know,” he said with exaggerated remorse. “So, what brings you to Dallas?”
“A break,” I answered. “Just for the weekend.”
“Nice. It’s nice to take a break.”
“It is, you?” I asked as I looked him over quickly. He was tallish with blond hair and an easy smile. His wedding band was quite happily on display, and I was under no illusion that he was hitting on me or going to try to.
“My dad died,” he said as he looked away.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I told him.
He gave me the smile that most grief-stricken people have, the empty smile that knows you’re merely going through the common courtesy. “He died last month, and I can only bring myself to clear his place now. But yeah, it’s not the same being in Dallas and knowing Dad’s not here.”
“So, you stay at a hotel?” I guessed, and he nodded. “Makes sense to me,” I told him as I drank some wine.
“Doesn’t it though?” he said, and I could hear his hope that I didn’t think it was unusual.
“Absolutely, whatever works for you.” My attention was brought to the screen as the TV channel spoke about the upcoming baseball game. I didn’t represent any baseball players, but the agency did, and I noted that they were discussing a well-known player who was out of contract soon.
“You like the Mets?” Gareth asked me as he listened to the report.
“I like all teams,” I said easily. “I like the sport more than just one team.”
“Not a sports fan,” he said with misunderstanding. “Me neither.”
My wine was almost finished, and I was ready to call it a night. “Well, I’m going to head in for the night.” Holding up my Kindle, I smiled. “Got a chapter to finish.”
We said goodbye, and I headed back to my room, where I called my co-worker Glenn, hoping to catch him.
“Angel, it’s late,” he greeted. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, sorry it’s late, was watching ESPNews. Did you see Billy Finch is coming up for renewal?”
“Hmm, really?”
“Thought you might be interested,” I said as I took my boots off.
“I am. He’s a good player, completely underutilized, and his current agent is a complete douche,” Glenn said to me. “ESPN?”
“Yup.”
“Thanks for the tip, Angel, see you Monday.”
Twenty minutes later, I was in bed, the draft contract proposal in hand, and at some point, I nodded off, thanks to three glasses of wine.
* * *
My meeting with Ryan Carmichael and his father was planned for eleven. At ten thirty, Ryan Carmichael Sr. left me a voicemail to tell me they were canceling the meeting.
Standing in my hotel room, I listened to the message again.
Suspicion gnawed at my gut. Putting the phone on silent, I got in the Uber at ten forty-five anyway and headed to their house.
