He waved her off. "You don't have to."
"We should work on bringing Stremmel into the fold," I said, turning the conversation back around. "I'll see if he wants to join us for lunch."
Alex nodded, her lips pursed as she hummed to herself. "Yeah, I'm good with that. Especially now that he's stopped flirting with me. Mostly."
Another barely contained groan. "I've told him that's completely unacceptable. I'll speak to him again."
Nick shot a glance at his watch and then his phone. "I gotta go pull a meningioma. We can cover the rest of this over lunch. With or without Stremmel." He clapped me on the back, smiling. "Good job on beating up your girl from the trail and then convincing her to give you a shot. That is some kind of miracle."
"If anyone knows how to work them, it's Hartshorn," Alex said as she backed down the hallway. "He's going to need them."
Of that I was certain.
8
Stella
I was never late.
I didn't make out with strange men over scones either. By most measures, this day was already unusual, but it wasn't as though my boss would appreciate that explanation.
When the elevator doors opened on the fifteenth floor, I knew I'd find Flinn and Tatum waiting for me in the foyer. He was chewing his thumbnail and she was pacing, and both were clutching their phones as if they were waiting for Moses to tweet out his new rules.
"Thank god, you're alive!" Flinn yelled, pushing away from the wall as I stepped into the foyer. He waved his hands at me, wanting details. "You send me a license plate photo and tell me to call the police if I don't hear from you before noon, and—whatis this? What happened to your face?"
Marching through the glass-walled offices and pod-shaped cubicles with Flinn and Tatum, my dynamic administrative support duo, hot on my heels, I said, "Tripped on the walking path. No biggie."
"Should I run down to Whole Foods and get some aloe?" Tatum asked. "Or call one of the team docs and get a B12 shot sent up?"
"I don't need a B12 shot," I replied. "Some aloe wouldn't hurt but it's not a top priority."
"Yes. Aloe. Lovely. But the license plate picture?" Flinn said. "Shall we revisit that? Can we take a moment to regroup here? Your knees are bruised too."
Dammit. Should have worn trousers. But dresses were easy. It was a single item of clothing, no prints or textures to coordinate, no layers to balance.
"Like I said," I smiled over my shoulder, "I took a tumble. I'm good."
"Rebecca is waiting for you in the conference room," Tatum whispered. She was a serial quiet-talker, and though I'd spent the past two years coaching the timid out of my account coordinator, we were no closer when it came to audible speech. She had no trouble hollering at Flinn so I knew she had it in her. "There's a client—"
"—and you look like you've been working out with the Fight Club," Flinn interrupted.
Where Tatum was quiet, Flinn was bold and more than a little abrupt. He'd been assisting me for almost four years now, and while he was desperate to manage clients of his own, his edges were still too rough to turn him loose. That was the Catch-22 of attaining a certain level of success: you could be an asshole, but not until you were indispensable and irreplaceable. He had work to do on all fronts.
"—the client is waiting too. With Rebecca. And his agent. In the conference room," Tatum continued.
"The client is also Lucian McKendrick," Flinn said. "If my sources can be trusted, ol' Lulu's publicist dropped him last night after he got up on the bar at Grand Ten, stripped down to his nakeds, danced around, and had to be dragged out of there by Boston's finest. Homeboy spent a few hours in lockup. Another drunk and disorderly but everyone expects he'll get off with a fine. Does he realize it's not a froyo punch card? There's no prize for racking up ten arrests." He sighed and shook his head. "They should've called me. I would've helped keep that issue under control."
"With your mouth," Tatum quipped.
"To start, yes," Flinn said with a shameless grin.
"McKendrick is the top relief pitcher in the league," Tatum said. "His current contract is worth a little more than eleven million dollars per year plus bonuses and endorsements, and he's currently out on a personal conduct suspension. That suspension came with a fine to the tune of two hundred and fifty thousand—"
"I know. I got it," I replied. It came out snappier than I'd intended, and when we reached my office, I turned and held up my hands for silence. Their eyes darted to my scraped palms and they shared another open-mouthedwhat the fuckglance. "Everything is fine. Thank you for worrying about me and getting me up to speed on McKendrick. That's why I love you both and please believe I'll give you an update on me and the client after my meeting."
Flinn motioned toward my raincoat and tote bag, and when I'd surrendered both, Tatum supplied me with my tablet and phone. Neither of them were perfect, but they made this job fun and easy, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
With a deep breath and smile fixed on my face, I stepped into the conference room. My boss, the managing director of the Boston Sports Management Group, shot a pointed glance at the wall clock before acknowledging me.
