3
Damon
Present Time
This is my worst nightmare.
What I thought was going to be a productive trip that could land me a new client has turned into a giant clusterfuck. I press my fingers against my eyes and heave a sigh, trying to drown out all the noise around me. Too many people are talking at the same time, and the people behind the flight check-in counters look as if they want to resign right at this moment.
I get it, though. I’d resign too, if I were in their position, even if none of this mess is their fault.
Nobody wanted a snowstorm to stop all flights a few days before Christmas.
Mom told me not to take this trip. She said it was too risky and that I might not make it back in time, but I told her I had to. My manager insists that I haven’t met my targets, and at this rate, I’m in big trouble if I don’t sign a player soon. My roster needs work. He said it’s onlyadequate,and adequate isn’t enough when the rest of my peers are outperforming me in numbers.
“Hey,” a familiar, although slightly raspy, voice says. I snap my head up and come face-to-face with Ellis Donlan.
“What’s with your voice?” I ask. “Are you hungover?”
“I’m sick, actually. Thank you for noticing.”
Unfortunately, I did notice that easily. Even if he’s a presence I’ve been trying to ignore all day. Or all week. Honestly, I’ve been trying to ignore him ever since that unfortunate night two years ago.
How can I, though? He’s the CEO’s son, the agency’s golden boy, and he’s a damn thorn in my side is what he is. Every time my manager tries to make an example of what an agent’s roster should look like, Ellis’s name comes up.
Ironic, because when I met him two years ago, he said he didn’t even want to take his job. Nowlookat him—all smug with his gorgeous auburn hair and his pretty blue eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. Even hidden, I know they’re pretty. I’ve seen them enough to know this, which is downright unfortunate for me. Ellis grins at me, tipping his chin up.
“You’re staring,” he tells me, too proudly, and I roll my eyes and look away.
As much as he irritates me, Ellis is terribly difficult not to look at. I learned this lesson the hard way when I went against my own rules and very enthusiastically had a night of complete debauchery with him. How couldn’t I, though? Even if I don’t usually do one-night stands, Ellis caught my attention the moment I laid my eyes on him.
I thought he looked like an angel—even when he opened that mouth of his and it turned out he wasn’t an angel at all. I was already all in. Hooked. I had no chance at all that night.
It’s too bad he turned out to be the type of person—agent—that I detest. I should have known, really, if I weren’t so mesmerized by his beauty.
I went home knowing he definitely wasn’t an angel, and the two years that have followed only made it more obvious what kind of person he is.
He’s cutthroat, quick, and swoops in to get contracts signed before you even realize it. Like he did with his first clients—Westley and Vaughn, my best friends—he gets to know players personally, and that’s how he signs them. Ellis is horrible at understanding hockey, which is fucking ironic considering his job description, but that’s never stopped him. Just last month, Perez, who’s been with me, sat me down to solemnly tell me he wanted to switch agents. He was going to have Ellis represent him instead, he had said. I could do nothing but wish him the best of luck, at the same time resenting Ellis for taking my client.
I don’t know what he told Perez to get him to switch agents, but I can only guess that Ellis offered him a deal he couldn’t turn down. One that was probably too good to be true.
Ellis is apiranha.
I should’ve known that from the start, from how easily he used information that I foolishly told him about my friends.
I try to ignore his very large presence now, which proves to be more challenging than it should be. Even if he’s wearing shades, I know he’s staring at me. He always does. He seems to know it gets on my last nerve and never stops doing it.
Who even wears shades inside an airport?
Unlike me, Ellis looks unperturbed by the current state Buffalo airport’s currently in. He doesn’t seem to give a fuck about the raging snowstorm, judging from the relaxed way he runs his fingers through his hair. His stupidly beautiful hair flops right back into place because it’s apparently as perfect as every other piece of him.
“Dee,” he says. “Have you spoken to Heather?”
“Why?”
His shoulders shake as he laughs. “Guessing by how you’re not trying to hide my body in a ditch, I’m assuming you haven’t spoken to her, so—”
“You’re good, Ellis. I’ll call her myself.”
