For the first time in what feels like an eternity, Emerson tears his gaze away from Max to look at me. His eyes flick all over my face, assessing, then he looks back up at Max, who still stands behind me. After another beat of heavy silence, Emerson finally nods. “All right.”
My shoulders slump as defeat sinks deeper into my bones.
Two words.
Two simple words, and my world crashes down around me.
All right.
Checking his watch, Emerson rises to his feet, then glances at his parents and inclines his head toward the door. “We have aplane to catch. Thanks for meeting with me, Ms. Hart, Mr. Cruz.” He looks at both of us in turn. “Give your proposals or whatever to Coach and I’ll read over them when I get back into town next week.” He nods at Coach Armstead. “Make sure they both get that info about Dallas, too.”
And with that, the key to saving my fledgling agency strides out the door.
I meet Anderson’s gaze where he stands by the coffee station, his eyes wide and face pale. He knows how much was riding on this. He’s probably already spinning gears about where he can find his next job.
But then something clicks in my brain and I look at Coach Armstead, who still sits beside Emerson’s vacated chair. “Did he say something about Dallas?”
He saidthey. Make suretheyget the info about Dallas. He also asked for proposals.Plural.
The coach nods as he stands, then pushes his chair in. “There’s an event he’s been invited to out in Dallas, a massive party for the kids being courted by the Cowboys.” He shares a knowing look with Max, who is still positioned behind me. “He wants you both in attendance, as his personal guests. Black tie, live music, Playboy bunnies…” He chuckles, giving me a quick wink that says he’s been paying attention to my pitch. “The whole nine yards.” Coach Armstead pulls two elegant cobalt-blue envelopes from the inside pocket of his sportscoat and sets them on the table for us. Tapping them, he adds, “He expects you both to be there, so hopefully your schedules will allow it.”
Frowning, I push my chair back, briefly forgetting the massive man standing behind me until the quietoomphthat escapes him as my chair pushes into his legs. Glaring over my shoulder until Max backs up a step, I stand and return my attention to Coach Armstead. “I’m sorry, but… has Emerson not made his decision?”
The coach laughs and I frown.
“That kid? Make a decision?” He shakes his head, that boisterous laughter dying down into a chuckle as he shares a meaningful look with Emerson’s parents. “It’s going to take a lot more than thirty minutes around a conference table and some heartfelt speeches to get Emerson Bratt to make up his mind about you two. Do you know he’s changed his major three different times since becoming an Aggie?” Shaking his head, he adds, “Best I can give you is my word that Apex and Hart are the only two agencies on his radar. But believe you me, he’s going to drag this out as long as he possibly can, then probably surprise us all with his decision.” He heads for the door, then looks back at me, tipping his hat. “It’s been a pleasure, Ms. Hart. For what it’s worth, your father was a good man. A promising future cut way too short, as far as I see it.” He offers me a warm smile, then looks at Max, who still stands directly behind me. “I’ll be downstairs in the lobby when you’re ready.”
Coach Armstead leaves the room, and Grayson Cross follows quickly behind him.
I give Anderson a pointed look, jerking my head toward the door, and he spurs into action. Hurrying out the door, Hart Strategic Management’s portfolio and our official offer of representation tucked beneath his arm, he catches up to the two men, then they all disappear into the elevator bay.
As I expected he would, Max moves to join Mr. Bratt at the coffee station, leaving me and Cecelia alone.
Exhaling a deep breath, I close my eyes to steady myself. The adrenaline from the last thirty minutes is fading quickly, leaving me ready for a nap and an order of room service.
“Sutton,” Cecelia whispers, startling me out of my brief moment of quiet. She stands and leans in to whisper, “Is there something going on between you and Mr. Cruz?”
I snort. “What?No.”
She searches my eyes. “Honey, that man looks at you like he’s going todevouryou.”
“W-what?” I sputter too loudly, drawing the eyes of the two remaining men in the room. Max and Mr. Bratt pause their conversation for a beat, then return to whatever they’re discussing.
“What do you mean?” I ask, this time at a more acceptable volume level.
She giggles and lowers her voice. “Oh, I hope you know what you’re doing with that one.” Her gaze leaves mine to track Max and Mr. Bratt as they head toward the conference room door.
“I-I don’t understand…”
Her lips curl into a conspiratorial smile. “He strikes me as a man who gets what he wants, and I don’t think my boy is the only thing he’s after.”
My gaze flashes to Max. “Well, we are both highly competitive, but—”
A soft huff of a laugh slips past Cecelia’s lips and she quickly covers her mouth with her hand. Her eyes flick back and forth between mine, searching my gaze for a few long seconds. “Oh, no, honey, that’s not what I meant.” She winks, then leans in again. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
“Of course, you know we are.”
Cecelia hums in response. “Well then, friend to friend?” She lifts her eyebrows and I nod, then she looks over at her husband and Max. “Make him work for it.” She squeezes my arm as she whispers, “Sometimes, a man so used to getting what he wants could stand to get a little bit of pushback, if you know what I mean. A little challenge.” She smirks, and I frown. “And sometimes, the very best relationships are those forged in battle.” She pulls back, nods as if anything she’s just said makes even a lick of sense, then rises to her feet. “Call me this week for a chat, hm?”
