Our Friday babysitting meeting isn’t for another twenty-five minutes, but duty calls.
Standing, I gather my laptop, all-client binder, and pom-pom pen. Brett walks to the elevator with me, and I wait for him to leave before starting my death march to Trevor’s office.
The repugnant scent of his cologne suffocates me when I step inside.
“About time.” He grunts. “You aren’t getting paid to hang out with clients.”
I leave the door cracked, hoping someone will walk by, hear the way he speaks to me, and stand up for me. The cold shoulder he gave me before has turned into a blizzard since I became Cade’s agent.
Keeping my voice even, I take a seat. “Brett and I were discussing an endorsement opportunity, which is part of my job as his agent.”
Trevor clears a minuscule space for my computer. “Tee time is in an hour, so make it quick. How’s Miller?”
I flip through the three-ringed binder, searching for Deshawn Miller’s tab. The power forward for the NC Grizzlies was one of Trevor’s favorites, but after a torn meniscus during the offseason that required surgery, things changed.
“His procedure was last week. Physical therapy is slow but going. He has a great doctor—”
“Timeline of return?”
I flip to the next page. “Dr. Pope says there’s no estimated time right now. Historically, it shouldn’t take more than three to four months.”
“Damn.” Trevor runs an agitated hand through his hair. “I need him to be good for the season. Miller is a damn good paycheck.”
“He’s also a human,” I bite back. Deshawn deserves a better agent than Trevor Caldwell, and I’ll never let Trevor speak about him, or any of his clients, like they’re nothing more than dollar signs.
He levels me with a fierce glare but doesn’t fight back. “What about Garrett Blane?”
“He won’t be deciding on an agent soon, but I think I have a chance.”
“Yeah. Whatever you say.” The gold watch on Trevor’s wrist sparkles in the light as he checks the time. “Updates on your clients.”
Ignoring the dig, I push forward. “Holly’s speaking with a podcast next week to discuss her journey to the pros. Brett signed a toothpaste endorsement this morning. Lionel is home from vacation, and we’re going over his game plan for the season soon. Victoria’s acclimating well to the new team. Delilah is playing well, as always. And I’m meeting with Cade next week to discuss what he wants from this partnership.”
Blond brows wiggle. “I can tell you what he wants out of your partnership, and it has nothing to do with baseball.”
Sitting on my hands is the only way to stop myself from reaching over the desk and strangling him.
“By the way,” he continues, “Levi’s old position of intermediate agent is open, and Winston wants it to be filled internally. No interviews. Only a letter of intent and a good track record is needed. The committee is looking for someone to make Permian proud.”
He stands and ends our meeting, but I can’t move. This could be my chance to finally rise in the ranks and be the agent I’ve worked so hard to be. There are only four junior agents, and I have the most clients out of all of us.
I must smile because Trevor sneers. “Don’t kid yourself, Turner. You’re not ready.”
My resolve snaps. I spent too many years listening to my mom discuss sports law, working for free in the CLU sports marketing department, and shadowing sports agents to be told I can’t possibly dream of moving up. It’s especially condescending since I dohiswork.
But instead of giving him a piece of my mind, I remind myself Trevor isn’t worth it.
I’m halfway out the door when he speaks again.
“And control yourself around Cade. Don’t embarrass Permian.”
“Stupid.”
Swing.
“Misogynistic.”
Swing.
