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Mickey folds his arms over his chest, and he sinks back into the leather chair. “You know, when I told these jerk-offs that one of my agents would never fraternize with a client and that there was no way Coach would do that to me, I thought the papers were lying. Now, everyone in the industry is calling into question how we do business here at DMG. They want to know if you’ve worked out the same deals for other clients as you have with Alex.”
The reason I resisted Alex, constantly bringing up Mickey’s rules and calling into question the lack of professionalism our relationship would set, was because I wanted to avoid this moment. After growing up mostly parentless, I found a friend and a father figure in Mickey, which is why I didn’t want to risk my relationship with Mickey over a fling with Alex.
He continues, staring down at the papers in front of him, “I know I haven’t been around a lot lately, and I’ve left you with most of the responsibilities around here. This is my fault. I blame myself for this. If I were more present, you never would’ve had to deal with Alex directly, and we could’ve avoided this mess.”
“I’m sorry, Mick,” I say in a hushed voice. “I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was only trying to help him. Alex was drinki
ng and partying heavily when we first met. I didn’t want him to blow his shot with the team, so I took him in and helped him get back on track. We never meant for this to happen.”
Mickey finally glances up at me beneath thick, dark brows and sighs. “He’s been playing better since the trade. But I can’t excuse this behavior from you. What kind of example does this set for other agents? If I allow an employee and a client to date, it sends the message that it’s okay, and fraternizing with other employees and clients is forbidden at DMG.”
“I don’t want to lose this job, Mick. You know this means everything to me.” Struggling to fight back my tears, I plead, “Please. I will do whatever it takes to keep my position. You can trust me. I’m still the same person I was before I met Alex. Nothing has changed.”
“Some things cannot be fixed, Charlie,” he says, sliding a magazine in front of me with his index finger. “Look at what they’re writing about us.”
Horrified, my mouth and eyes widen at the article in front of me that reads, These agents know how to take one for the team.
The story talks about how Mickey pimps me out to our clients. They’re even claiming that Dante Fisher signed with DMG because of my talents that extend outside the office.
Motherfuckers!
My entire client list is on display with pictures of me either hugging them or standing at their sides. Plenty of agents have the very same photos with their clients. I even have some of these on a table in my apartment.
As I peek up from the paper and lock eyes with Mickey, I want to cry. I can feel the tears in my eyes, threatening to break free, but this is not the time to have a meltdown. I need to act as if this doesn’t bother me even though I’m dying on the inside.
“We can get a retraction printed.” I push the paper away from me and sit back in my chair. “I’ll make some calls.”
Mickey shakes his head, his lips pursed. “Howard is working on it, but the articles that are already out there cannot be unseen. I have a certain reputation in this business, and that reputation is the reason the top players sign with DMG.”
“I know,” I mutter, trying to think of something that will make this better. But, sometimes, actions mean more than words. “I’ll stop seeing Alex. Whatever it takes to fix this, Mick. Please don’t fire me. This job and my clients are all that I have. You know that.”
“I would never fire you, Charlie. You’re the best agent I have, and you bring too much money into this firm. Plus, you’re like family.” Mickey leans forward, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze intense, serious. “But make no mistake. I will not tolerate a relationship between you and Alex—or any of my clients, for that matter. This is your only warning. I’ll talk to Alex about the two of you doing interviews or a press conference to clear this up. You were never together. Those pictures were all a misunderstanding. Do you understand me?”
I nod. “Yes. Alex will be back in a few days. I’ll let him down easy.”
“You will do no such thing,” he snaps. “You. Were. Never. Together.” He pronounces every single syllable. “I will handle all communication with Alex from now on. I don’t even want your secretary speaking with him.”
“But…” The words die off in my throat.
He pushes out his hand in front of him to silence me. “No buts, Charlie. I don’t want to hear that you’ve spoken to him or that anyone has seen the two of you together. Am I clear?” The finality in his tone knots my stomach like a pretzel.
I can feel the bile rising up from the back of my throat because this means that Alex and I are through. “Crystal.”
“Good.” Mickey pushes out from the table and stands, motioning toward the door with his hand. “Now, get back to work, and do your fucking job.”
I never thought I’d see Mick the Dick ever again. After today, I never want a repeat.
Alex
After Mickey, of all people, broke up with me on Charlotte’s behalf three weeks ago, the hits have kept on coming. My game has gone in the fucking toilet, and after a string of brutal losses, my coach has decided to switch up the lines tonight. We’re down by four goals, losing in the most embarrassing fashion at home. With less than one minute left in the third period, we’re on the penalty kill after Moreau cross-checked a forward on the other team, leaving us shorthanded.
This is normally where I excel, considering I’ve had the best penalty kill record in the league for the last four years. Not that it would even matter with this kind of deficit. My heart hasn’t been into hockey lately. I’m stuck on the bench while Coach messes with our mojo, and I’m forced to watch as the Caps take possession of the puck.
They rush into the attacking zone with our guys trailing behind, leaving Donovan without any defense as they take a shot that goes wide, bouncing off the Plexi. Kane’s faster than the other forward and makes it down the ice but not in time to block a lateral pass to my former teammate, Tony, who takes the shot. The cohesion between the players on my old team is so on point, and the play happens so fast that my team doesn’t have enough time to react as the puck sails past Donovan’s skate and into the net.
The fans inside the Wells Fargo Center, or what is left of them, start to boo, and I have to wonder if they’re booing because we fucking suck.
Over the few months I spent with Charlotte, working on my mental and physical game, I was stronger and playing better. But the last three weeks have been rough, to say the least. I need her back.
