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“Rocco, what’s the one piece of advice you gavemewhen I went into this business?”
“That it has to be about more than just the money. That’s why I need you to tell me what an agent who isallabout the money will listen to.” He went on to explain the things his friend had already said to his agent.
“Tell your friend he holds all the cards. Just sayno. God, it’s what they teach every thirteen-year-old girl.No, no, no. And if your friend has already told him everything you told me and the agent’s still pushing, then the guy’s an ass and your friend should come to me for representation.”
Rocco laughed.
“Who’s his agent?”
“Miles Bourne,” Rocco said. “He definitely gets top-dollar endorsements.”
She rolled her eyes. “And then loses half his clients.”
Miles Bourne repped some of the top MLB and NFL athletes, including Razor Sharpe. Miles was a hard-nosed prick who pushed the wishes of his clients’ wives and families aside, and would probably sell his own family to the highest bidder. Tiffany had no respect for the man despite his ability to seal incredibly lucrative endorsements. She’d seen too many athletes’ families fall apart because they were on the road too often, or coerced into accepting situations married athletes should never be presented with. Tiffany maintained the same clients year after year, and not only could she produce the contracts they wanted, but she cared enough tolistento their families’ wishes.
“My turn,” she said. “Hypothetically speaking, how can a woman contact a guy she hasn’t heard from without sounding needy?”
Rocco went silent.
“Hey, you still there?”
“Yeah, I was watching pigs fly by.” He laughed, and she rolled her eyes again.
“Never mind,” she said sharply.
“Hold up. Are we hypothetically speaking about Dylan?”
“Maybe,” she admitted.
“I’d say meet me at NightCaps for a drink, but I’m on my way out of town for a few days. Just call him. Guys love needy chicks.”
Her heart sank, because she knew she’d only be playing a part. She wasn’t a needy woman. She was only needy—greedy—forhim.
“Never mind. I should just let him find someone else. I’m not a needy girl.”
“Hey, Tiff. What am I hearing in your voice?”
“Frustration.”
“No way. Youownfrustration. I think you really like him. Maybe it’s time to take a breather and let yourself have some fun. Dylan’s a good guy.”
“You just told me guys like needy women. I’m anything butneedy. I’m hard andbusy…”
“Tiff? Is that how you think of yourself? Because I know you, remember? You’re hard and busy at work, but I remember the girl who gave her homecoming date a black eye for saying he asked you out because he thought you’d sleep with him.”
Her hand curled into a fist with the memory.
“And then you cried for two days because you were so heartbroken,” he reminded her. “You’re nottoo hardfor Dylan. You’re too hard on yourself.”
After ending the call, Tiffany rode the rest of the way to her meeting thinking about that awful night. She had been heartbroken. She’d thought the guy really liked her, and looking back, she was sure that night had helped her to develop even thicker skin—until seemingly swoon-worthy asshole-cheater ex-boyfriend Rob showed up on the scene.
Ugh. I was such an idiot.
Pushing those upsetting memories aside wasn’t easy, because they kept nosing back in, making her second-guess her feelings for Dylan. But she was a consummate professional above all else, and she had a meeting to focus on. Eventually her sports-agent brain won the battle.
At five fifteen she stepped from the cab onto the busy sidewalk with her phone pressed to her ear, following up on one of her earlier meetings with a major hotel sponsorship rep with whom she was negotiating a deal for one of her NFL clients.
“Hello, Charles,” she said in her shrewd negotiator voice.
