“Welcome to Permian!” the receptionist chirps. A flash of recognition crosses his face when he looks up at me. “I’ll let Caldwell know you’re here. The waiting room is right over there.”
After grabbing a water bottle, I drop onto a glass chair that’s more stylish than comfortable. Tipping my head back, I spot a black puma stretched across the ceiling. It’s such a shock that I laugh, relaxing as I dig into my pocket for my phone.
Me
This agency isfancyfancy
It’s lab day for his PhD program, but Kenneth answers immediately.
Mr. Kenneth Edwards
Nice! Where are you?
I snap a photo of the puma and press send. Gray bubbles appear, but before his response comes through, a man in an impeccable navy suit bursts into the spacious room.
Standing, I extend my hand. “Hey, I’m—”
“The golden boy! I know who you are, trust me.”
His handshake simultaneously crushes my hand and my spirits.
“Cade works too,” I say, forcing a lightness into my voice. Being called by my real name is a rarity these days.
“Of course, but golden boy isyou.” With a quick scan of his ID badge, he leads me down a hallway that reminds me of something out of a spy movie rather than a sports agency. “I’m stoked you called to discuss new representation. Before we talk shop, let me show you around. We’ve been at this location for about a year and rebranded before we moved. You may remember Triple 8 Sports since you’re from around here.”
A flicker of familiarity surfaces. Mom loved the name because they were my angel numbers and happened to be a popular sports agency. She’d swear being here was a sign.
“Thanks for getting me out of that meeting,” he whispers as we pass a boardroom full of suit-clad men. “So, where are you living now?”
“In Clear Lake.” Bryan, my hometown, is thirty minutes from Clear Lake, but the college town became my favorite place in the three years I spent there.
“Really? Seems small for a big man like you. Don’t you want to be closer to Charlotte?”
“Nope.” I scan the gold-framed photos of Permian athletes covering an entire wall. “Clear Lake is closer to my family and friends. Plus, I don’t mind the drive.”
“My contacts in real estate will find you a place more apt for a professional baseball player.” He winks. “Once we get a contract signed.”
Red sirens appear around Caldwell’s head as the elevator doors slide open, blaring a warning only I can hear. It’s not until we make it to the fourth floor that I manage to mute them.
At the end of the hallway, T. Caldwellis carved into the nameplate in a gorgeous script. Inside the room, a deep mahogany desk glitters in the dim light. Everything from the lamp to the pen holders screams elegance.
He drops into the leather seat. “Forgive me, but I’m dying to know why you left ProPact. You fired your agent early in the season, your first in the majors, which means things soured between you. Am I right or am I right?”
My jaw nearly drops at his brazen tone, but I smile. “We just had a difference in priorities and management styles.”
His face crumples slightly before he grins. “I see I’ve got to gain your trust first, but I’m a patient man. Do you have any questions for me before we get this contract signed?”
I sure do. They’re the same ones I’ve asked every agent. “Did you attend law school?”
“No. Law school isn’t necessary, but I have a Master’s in Sports Management, my certification for baseball, and I’ve negotiated contracts for eight years.”
Adding a mental check mark beside that question, I move on. He answers every question about fees, contracts, negotiations, and future career with ease. I see why he’s one of the top agents at Permian Sports Agency, but something shady lingers beneath his pearly white smile.
The last question on the list is the most crucial of them all. “How do you view your role in an athlete’s success?”
He gestures at the ego wall behind him. “Look at my track record. The players I work with win, and it’s not a coincidence. They perform, and I make things happen. That’s why I’d love to start your major league career on the right foot. Me and the golden boy?” His grin morphs, and all I see is Jon. “We’ll make a great team.”
My stomach churns as the sirens reappear.
