Ah, so this was a sports thing. A sliver of disappointment went through me. I’d have preferred something else, but I’d take sports over gossip any day. Straightening my shoulders, I looked him square in the eyes. No, I did not know what sack meant in football, but… “I can spell it, and I can learn what it means on the flight.”
A spark of amusement lit his eyes. “It’s a high-profile feature of a rising NFL star.”
“Any journalist worth their salt can do a feature on anyone, sir. Give me a chance. I won’t screw it up.”
“If I send you…”
“You’ll get a delayed lede that makes the world weep and fall in love with the subject—a piece worthy of a damn Pulitzer.”
He studied me for another beat. “What the hell, Walt will never make it back in time. Finish your current assignment and head home early.”
My shoulders drooped. “Right, I understand. Maybe next time…” I blinked as his words registered. I was just so used to being turned down, I responded automatically.
“Wait… are you saying…?”
He picked up his glasses and perched them on his nose. He then got busy shuffling files around his desk. “Your flight leavestomorrow morning. You’ll hit the ground running, heading straight to an event, so get your shit together.”
“My shit’s already together, sir. Thanks.”
I wheeled around and exited before Allan changed his mind about treating
me as a serious journalist for once. When the door closed, I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
I looked up to find several pairs of eyes on me. The way everyone had their torsos sticking out of their cubicles to watch me with hope was heartwarming. They all knew how much I wanted this. Smiling, I gave a thumbs-up.
There was a round of finger snapping—no loud clapping to get the Komodo dragon’s attention—before everyone disappeared back into their box. It felt good to see my co-workers happy for me, except Mark. He glared at me, and I shot him a triumphant smirk.
Flying high on cloud nine, I got back to the silly piece about the nose job and the moon with gusto. But then I took a tumble off the cloud, and my thoughts came to a screeching halt. Lincoln Ford. Los Angeles. He lived there. The man who broke my heart twelve years ago…
“Oh, stop it,” I whispered.
I’d only be in LA for a few weeks. What were the chances of running into Lincoln Ford in such a big city?
2
LINCOLN
“I’m too old for this,” I murmured as I walked through the front door. I was hit with a blast of music so loud my eardrums almost shattered. The living room looked like a scene out of a high school movie. The ones where the kids threw wild keggers when their parents were out of town.
One leather sectional was littered with a tangle of rookies and groupies. A TV that took up an entire wall played game highlights. A beer pong competition was ongoing over the coffee table—a bad idea, considering it was made of glass. I eyed the furniture with concern as I moved on.
This wasn’t my scene, but I had to act as a chaperone. Of course, I didn’t absolutelyhaveto. I could leave right now. No one would even know I’d been here. But I paused and thought about last year.
I skipped one of my clients’ parties because he was… You know, an adult. Boy, did I pay for that mistake. I spent the next couple of months going through a PR shitstorm, trying to fix the fact that a woman overdosed and tried to blame it on my guy. That turned out to be a setup for a money grab, and luckily, I’d been able to prove it. After working my ass off to prove it, I thenhad to fight tooth and nail to get back every endorsement deal I’d gotten for my client.
I shuddered at that nightmare. Nope, not happening this year. I’d play chaperone to a bunch of twenty-somethings and cockblock just to save myself from the stress.
Speaking of cockblocking…
As I advanced into the house, I passed two people making out against a wall. They were really going at it. Seriously, I could imagine clothes coming off any minute. I couldn’t have that. Not here. There were too many risks of allegations and lawsuits. I stopped beside the two and cleared my throat loudly.
They jumped apart as if they were guilty teens caught by the strict principal. I suppose that was what I was to these young football players. I recognized the guy as my client’s friend and gave him a raised-eyebrow stare. A hint of color rose in his cheeks as he loosened his grip on the random woman who had been dry-humping him.
I took off, shaking my head. As a sports agent to youngsters just coming into fame and shitloads of money, I had no choice but to cockblockandchaperone, especially if crap was going down at my clients' residences.
“Jaden and these damn parties.”
I did my rounds, headed upstairs, and came back down. Everywhere I looked, there was potential for trouble. At the bottom of the stairs, I ran into another of Jaden’s teammates.
