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It was a threat no agent wanted to get. The media and sports agencies had a love-hate relationship because they depended on each other.
Sean sighed. “Maybe, but since it was Matthews, I figured you wouldn’t mind. I can’t see many sports writers being unhappy about a few minutes alone with him. Not to mention I doubt any woman would turn him away if he showed up at their doorstep.”
Taran tensed. She hated that about the business. The assumption that women always wanted to sleep with the star player, or if they were pretty enough, the star wanted to sleep with them. She, however, fit into neither of those categories. And she intended to keep it that way. She was a respected reporter across every sport, and staying that way meant she wouldn’t let even a joking rumor get anywhere.
“I’ve never slept with anyone to get a story. You know me way better than that,” she snapped. “Give out my private address again, and hell will rain down on you.”
There was silence on the other end. Sean had to realize he’d crossed a line. “Does this mean you’re not bringing the brisket tonight? Because Erin will kill me if I piss you off,” Sean said finally.
Taran tried to stay mad, but she failed. “No, I’ll come. I just have to figure out my car situation because it’s still at the stadium.”
There was another pause. “How about as an I’m sorry for being an asshat, I use my magic agent skills to get that car situation worked out?”
“Deal.” Taran smiled. This was exactly what she wanted—with the hope that she could talk Sean into letting her feature Clayton. But the slight tingle in the back of her mind said to never trust a lawyer.
