AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My heels tap against the marble floor of the lobby as I walk toward the bar. It’s located toward the front of the hotel, overlooking the fountains spraying toward the sidewalk.
I slide onto one of the many empty stools, setting my clutch on the marble counter. A waterfall is sandwiched between two panes of glass behind the alcohol that’s lined up in neat rows, the constant flow casting shifting shadows on the bottles.
I order a gin martini from the bartender. She’s brunette and beautiful, probably about my age. Maybe a few years younger. Her eyeliner swoops up in the corners in the style I’ve never been able to manage, and I’m tempted to ask her for makeup tips when she delivers my drink.
My phone begins ringing before I can say anything except “Thank you.”
I answer the call, stirring my drink with the olive.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hi, sweetheart. I’m just checking in. Did everything go okay with Robert Damon?”
I stamp out the sigh that wants to slip out. “It went well. He was very welcoming.”
My father chuckles. “I figured he would be. Thanks again for changing your plans, sweetheart.”
I exhale, my annoyance receding. “Of course.”
Thisis why I’m still working at Garner Sports Agency despite my ambivalence toward the job.
I like hearing pride in my dad’s voice. His approval is why I practiced penalty kicks after dinner every night on the goal he assembled himself. I’m twenty-seven. Not seventeen and chasing a state championship. But the same principle of pride remains. The worst part is, I know my dad would tell me to pursue a different career if he had any clue I wanted to. Just like he told me to quit soccer whenever I stopped enjoying it.
“I stopped by your house on my way home from the office today. The front yard looks good.”
“Yeah, I hired a new company. They mulched all the flower beds on Tuesday.”
“We’re supposed to get a lot of rain this week. Make sure they’re planning to mow soon.”
I run a finger around the rim of the fluted glass. “Okay, I’ll mention it.”
“You had a package outside. I put it in the kitchen.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I suck down a sip of martini, grimacing as the uncut alcohol sears my throat.
“You’ll be here tomorrow, right? For April’s baby shower? Your mother told you?”
I down the remnants of my drink and gesture for another from the bartender. “She not only told me, she reminded me about twenty times. My flight leaves tomorrow morning. I’ll be there.”
He chuckles. “Okay, good. We’ll see you then. I love you, Hannah.”
A fresh drink is set in front of me. I mouth aThanksto the bartender. “Love you too, Dad. Good night.”
I hang up, dropping my phone onto the bar top and massaging my left temple. I roll the stem of the glass between my fingers and stare at the clear liquid mixed with the murkiness of the olive juice, my dad’s cheerful voice echoing in my head.
Even if Idoget into the program I applied for, I have no idea how I would tell him.
My dad keeps handing me more important clients and more responsibility—like this trip—and I know it’s just a matter of time until he admits outright he wants me to take over when my mom finally talks him into retiring.
The second martini slides down as easily as the first one did. It leaves a pleasant trail of warmth behind that settles in my stomach and spreads through my veins.
“Whiskey. Neat.”
Commanding, deep voices are common in the sports industry. Cocky athletes. Confident coaches. Certain announcers.
In my experience, they’re always connected to men who think they have something especially meaningful to say. Who infuse their voice with an inflated importance that’s never merited.
But none of those voices have ever infected me with any interest. They’ve never made me believe they actually have anything notable to say.
