“Mr. Caldwell—”
“Trevor.”
“Yes. Trevor.” I glance at the door and make a decision. “Where’s the restroom?”
“Oh, uh—” he stutters, tapping a stack of paper on the desk in front of him. Thick enough to be a contract that I’m not ready to sign. “This place is a bit of a maze. Go past the elevator, all the way down, turn left, and it’s on your right.”
It takes a solid three minutes to find the bleach-scented room. The moment I’m inside, I click the lock shut, push my hand into my pocket, and rock the dice in my palm.
“What are the odds?” I whisper. “What are the odds signing with Trevor is a bad decision?”
The question reminds me of a different time in my life.
Of the person who played the game with me.
If I don’t leave Permian with an agent, Rio will choose one. I’m not sure if his choice would be better or worse than the man waiting for me, but I can’t take that risk.
When I predictably don’t get an answer from my reflection, I adjust my contacts and enter the hallway. After looking both ways, I realize I have no clue how to get back to Trevor’s office.
I turn left, because it seems the most logical, and unlock my phone that hasn’t stopped vibrating since Trevor met me in the lobby.
Mr. Kenneth Edwards
No
You’re at Permian?!?!?
LEAVE NOW!
Leave? Why should I leave?
But before I can text him back, I breathe in and everything changes. The floor shifts beneath my feet as I’m thrown back in time. Sweet jasmine and lavender invade my senses without waiting for an invitation, and the flurry of feelings I’ve been holding tightly to make their way to the surface.
This is the scent that lingered everywhereshewas. My skin. My car. My bed.
More permanent places like my heart and brain.
I walk slowly toward the room I assumed was a janitorial closet, but it’s not a room filled with cleaning supplies and extra chairs. My breath catches at the name carved into the brass nameplate, cool under my fingers.
It can’t be.
An out-of-shape wheeze grabs my attention, and I turn as Trevor jogs around the corner with a light sheen across his forehead.
My hand falls to my side. “Sorry. This place really is a maze.”
“Told ya.” Beady eyes stay fixed on the door behind me. “We should get back to—”
“I want her to be my agent.”
Trevor’s mouth gapes like a fish. “How do you know Turner’s a girl?”
Agirl? She’s a woman, and thanks to social media and our shared best friend, Mallory Edwards, I know she’s a woman with two degrees under her belt and years of experience.
“We knew each other in college.” Hiding my very real feelings and our short-lived relationship under a flimsy lie feels like a betrayal. She’ll probably hate me for this, considering we haven’t spoken in almost two years and it’s my fault.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m her senior agent. With the way I can help your career grow, I’d be the perfect agent for you.”
I don’t take the bait. “Does she have the proper certifications to represent me?”
