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I haven’t beento New York City since Sandra’s Callahan Family Foundation gala a few months ago, so when the car pulls to the curb and I climb out alongside Cooper and Richard, I need to blink as I acclimate to the energy. It smells faintly of garbage, even though it’s not that warm out yet, but if I concentrate, I can smell freshly roasted coffee as well. I sidestep a puddle as I take in the tall buildings, hiding a yawn behind my hand. Richard showed up in the SUV at half past six, and now it’s eight. I need a coffee if I’m going to manage to keep my eyes open.
“It’s just a breakfast meeting. We won’t be too long,” Richard tells the driver as he glances at his watch. “I’ll call for pickup.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver says. “Have a nice meal, Mr. Callahan.”
As we cross the street to the restaurant—the source of the coffee smell, fortunately—Cooper tries to meet my eyes. I ignore him. The past few days have been full of awkward torture, but he hasn’t tried to apologize for how he treated Mia, and until he does, I’m not interested in chatting. I didn’t expect him to want to come to this meeting, but just before the car left the driveway, he slid into the backseat next to me. We tried to be cordial in front of Richard; he asked Cooper a bunch of questions about the road trip and wanted to know how my Albany trip went, but I doubt he bought it. He’s always been able to see through our shit with remarkable accuracy.
As we settle into a booth by the window, I adjust my shirt. I’m wearing slacks and a button-down—Mia and I decided that light blue was formal without trying too hard—and I slicked my hair back with gel. My jaw is smooth, too, thanks to a fresh shave. I tuck my dad’s necklace underneath my collar. When Cooper sits next to me, I shift a few inches closer to the window.
He rolls his eyes. “Seriously?”
“I don’t recall inviting you.”
“It’s good for him to hear these conversations,” Richard says. He fusses with Cooper’s collar. “Was this shirt in the bottom of your closet?”
“He’s here for Seb, not me,” Cooper says, even though he stays still until Richard, apparently satisfied, leans back.
“Still. You’re here, we’re sending a united front. You might learn something.”
“Not that he would listen,” I mutter.
Richard checks his watch with a deliberate air. “We have some time before Andy will be here. What’s the matter with the two of you?”
“Nothing,” we say at the same time.
“You’ve been glaring at each other all morning.”
The server walks over and says hello. I manage a smile as I order a coffee and an omelet. The moment she leaves, though, I scowl. “It doesn’t have anything to do with baseball. Don’t worry about it.”
“Sebby has a girlfriend,” Cooper says. “Just so you know.”
Richard raises an eyebrow. “Congratulations, Sebastian. What’s the problem?”
“There isn’t one,” I say before Cooper can reply. “It’s—don’t worry about it.”
“Well, I want to meet this young woman,” Richard says. “What’s her name?”
“It’s Mia, Dad,” says Cooper. “You’ve met her.”
Naturally, that doesn’t do a thing but confuse Richard. He clasps his hands together, settling them atop the table. “Penny’s friend Mia? I don’t see the issue. Did they have a falling out?”
“No.” I swipe my hand through my hair, grimacing when the gel sticks to my fingers. I feel way too dressed up; the collar is practically choking me.
I’d have preferred to have this meeting—a chat with an agent about my draft prospects—on the baseball field, or at least a regular diner, but Richard wanted to maintain a level of formality. Since this contact is his agent Jessica’s colleague, Andy Ross, I couldn’t object.
Still, I feel like a show dog, which I suppose is part of the point. NCAA rules dictate that draft-eligible players can’t have agents negotiate on their behalf, but it’s completely fine to ask them for advice about navigating the draft. The last time we had this kind of meeting, I’d just graduated high school, and we decided that I’d decline MLB’s first attempt at drafting me and attend McKee instead, making my next period of eligibility after my junior year.
Now that’s here, and I can’t settle the jitters in my stomach. I wish I could dig my elbow right into Cooper’s ribs for bringing up Mia before the meeting, but that wouldn’t fly with Richard. This is, after all, a nice restaurant, with fancily dressed Manhattanites sipping on coffee all around us.
“Everything is good with Penny, right, son?” Richard asks.
“Yeah,” Cooper says. “She’s great.”
“So why—”
I can’t help myself. “If you would just apologize for acting like an asshat to Mia, I wouldn’t have an issue. You forced her into a corner—”
“That ended with you dating, so you’re welcome,” he interrupts.
