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Unsurprisingly, only the first half of that penetrates Ryan’s skull. “When can he play again?”
“The six month timeline your team doctor predicted seems accurate but Cass,” he makes sure to address me, not the man lurking in the corner, “playing will have some risks. Your shoulder is weak. It’ll be a miracle if it lasts another season and even if it does, the chances of reinjuring it are high, and it would be a lot worse. You could lose total function.”
Ryan waves a hand in the air, dismissing the concerns. “What the hell do you need a shoulder for, huh?”
Davies’ jaw cocks as he side-eyes Ryan. “I thought he might like to pick up his child without being in pain.”
“He can pick it up with the other arm, can’t he?”
Is he kidding?asks the look Davies shoots me.
Unfortunately so,mine replies.
I don’t ask to confirm but I’m pretty sure how quickly Davies finishes up my examination has a lot to do with him wanting my agent out of his office. Another stern warning, one more heartfelt congratulations, and then I’m free—kinda.
Taking advantage of the short time it takes to get from Davies’ office to the waiting room where I’m supposed to meet Sunday, Ryan snaps into action. “Noel Woods wants to talk to you.”
“I’m not doing any interviews.” Especially not with Woods. The last time we talked—he wrote a piece on me during Pride that did very little to explore bisexuality and everything to invalidate it—he got pissy when I rejected his advances. Hence the article riddled with thinly veiled insults. I can’t imagine this is a situation he would handle with delicate respect.
Ryan kisses his teeth but instead of pushing, he moves on to the next thing on his list. “Steven drafted a statement. I approved it, we just need yours before Zain posts.”
“Steven? Zain?”
“Publicist and social media manager,” he answers without looking up from his tablet, but I catch the stutter in his words.
“What happened to Olive and Kara?”
This time, there’s a pause. “I fired them.”
At least two people collide with my back when I come to a sudden stop in the middle of the hallway. Apologizing to the nurses staring at me like I’ve lost it, I turn back to Ryan. “When?”
My agent sighs, glancing at his watch as he stops too. “I don’t know. The end of last year, I think.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’ve been a little busy.”
Can he do that? I don’t think he can. I don’t actually know, and I’m not entirely sure I care but still. It’s the principle of it; I’m the boss here. He works for me, not the other way around. “I—”
“Is that her?”
My head snaps to follow Ryan’s line of sight, my gaze immediately landing on the familiar figure hunched over in a plastic chair, a head of wavy hair hiding her face as Converse tap a nervous rhythm on the linoleum.
“Sunday!” At the sound of my voice, she jerks upright. A nervous smile playing across her lips, she stands and starts my way, copying me when I lift a hand in greeting. “Hey.”
“Mornin’.” Slender fingers wiggle in a wave before extending toward the man on my left. “You must be Ryan.”
He doesn’t shake her hand. He flicks his gaze down the short length of her, not even trying to hide his disapproval, before side-eyeing me. “How old is she?”
“She’s twenty-eight,” Sunday answers before I can, and a hell of a lot more politely. “And she’s right here.”
“And she’s got an attitude.” Ryan kisses his teeth. “Great.”
“Ryan,” I warn, teeth gritted in a smile because I’m unfortunately very aware of the eyes on us. “Watch yourself.”
Ryan huffs. “Should’ve knocked up Penelope Jacobs when you had the chance. I liked her.”
As much as I’d love to inform Ryan how Pen—Luna’s sister, international superstar, and someone who warmed my bed pretty regularly back when we were both fledgling celebrities too scared to interact with the real stars—hates him with a violent passion, I don’t like him throwing my past not-relationship in Sunday’s face like some kind of weapon. “You can go now.”
