Behind me, the elevator dings as it arrives onto this floor, then the doors open and Coach Armstead’s boisterous laughter immediately follows.
Using the distraction of his coach and his parents’ arrival, Emerson strides past us into the conference room with the swagger only a future hall of famer can pull off. This kid’s about to be a legend and he knows it.
“What are you doing here?” Sutton whispers sharply once the conference room door swings closed behind us.
“I should think that’s obvious.”
I straighten as the Bratts and Coach Armstead approach, my COO Grayson Cross following close behind, then I smile wide for the people I’m about to woo.
I’m the best in my field.
It’s not a brag. Water is wet. The sky is blue.
Sutton may be a rising star, but she doesn’t stand a chance againstme. Sure, she’s secured some pretty big-name players against seasoned agents, and I give credit where credit is due, but against me? Against Apex Athletics?
I appreciate the kid’s choice to give her the opportunity; it shows he’s been paying attention and knows his stuff, but Sutton’s little labor of love can’t hold a candle to Apex Athletics. Which is why if lookscouldkill, I’d be six feet under those sky-high heels right about now. She’s out of the running, and that shit probably stings. I hate that I’m the cause for that discomfort, but losing to anyone else would have just been insulting. At least it’s me. At least it’s Apex Athletics, the number one sports agency in the world, right?
And at least it gave me a chance to see her.
The kid’s coach, Robbie Armstead, a longtime acquaintance of mine, claps me on the back, breaking the tension between us as he extends his hand to Sutton. “Ms. Hart, it’s a pleasure to see you again. I apologize for the little change in plans today; Emerson wanted to meet with his toptwopicks this week, and today was the only time Max—Mr. Cruz—had available.”
“Wonderful.” She shoots me a look that says this chance encounter is the exact opposite of wonderful, though I’d beg to differ. “So nice of you to squeeze us into your busy schedule, Mr. Cruz.”
“It was no trouble at all,” I lie.
Between you, me, and the fence post, I fucked my schedule for the entire week to be here for this meeting, but she doesn’tneed to know that. Plus, this is why the Lord made personal assistants, and mine is an actual godsend.
“I assume you two know each other?” Armstead asks. “Both of you are based in Los Angeles, so I just figured you’d met before…”
Sutton’s jaw clenches, but she’s quick to push her disdain away, flashing a forced smile as she nods. “We’ve interacted a time or two, yes.”
I cock one eyebrow.Interacted?I’ve asked this woman out no less than a dozen times.
“Good, good.” Armstead motions toward Emerson’s parents. “Max, this is Emerson’s mother, Cecelia Bratt, and his dad, Joshua Bratt.”
I shake their hands in turn, exchanging greetings, then step back as the kid’s mother moves toward Sutton and opens her arms.
Sutton’s smile for Mrs. Bratt is far more genuine than anyI’veever received, and as she embraces the woman, I fight to keep my own smile in place. I’ve underestimated her.
Part of winning over a college kid destined to be thrown into the big leagues is winning over his parents. Some might even say that the parents are the biggest hurdle in securing a client like Emerson Bratt. Parentsandcoaches, really, but Armstead and I go too far back for me to be concerned about where his loyalty lies.
Mr. and Mrs. Bratt, however? Wild cards.
And in that respect, Sutton Hart has me clearly beat.
After a moment of small talk between the two women, Coach hoots happily, interrupting the conversation. “Why, Ms. Hart, are you bribing us?”
“Wh-what?” Sutton sputters.
“Is that a box of Porto’s refugiados, I see, all the way from California?”
Sutton smiles, and it’s the kind of thing that would render most men speechless. “You mentioned Porto’s during our last conversation, and they were on the way to the airport, so…” She shrugs as she blushes a little.
I don’t know where she lives, but there’s not a Porto’s location anywhere near LAX.
Armstead claps me on the back. “Giving you a good run for your money, eh, Cruz?”
“It certainly seems that way,” I answer, not looking away from Sutton.
