“Was that Patel?” I try.
“You know it was,” he answers gruffly and tilts his eyes around, scanning the people near us.
I sense his tension. “No one is paying attention to us,” I say quietly. “And even if they were, you’re my agent. Nothing about this,” I say and gesture between us, “is inappropriate.”
Troy grunts. “Nothing about this is ever appropriate.” He rubs his hands together and sighs. “It’s a counteroffer. We might not sign Marshall and Patel after all.”
“Oh, shit. That sucks.”
Troy doesn’t share much about what goes on behind the scenes at the agency, but I know he’s been working his ass off trying to sign those two. I feel the sting of disappointment for him.
“Like I told you, it’s all business tonight.”
This time, I tilt my eyes around, checking for eavesdroppers. “Does it have to be? Because I can think of one way to ease the pain.”
He glares at me. “I thought you were behaving.”
“I am!” I say quickly and rock back on my heels, taking care to maintain the distance between us. “Just wondering about the rec leagues.”
He arches a heavy eyebrow. “The rec leagues,” he repeats.
“There aren’t any official matches scheduled tonight,” I tell him. “But aren’t you going to want a little friendly competition after the gala is over and the tuxes come off?”
Troy avoids my eyes. “You’re not as clever as you think you are,” he grumbles.
I smile, aware he’s not turning me down yet. “Hey, I could have tried to run drills right here at the gala. Sprints in the back corridor and squats in the supply closet.” I smooth down the front of my tux. “But I’m a professional. And I’ve still got to talk up how great my agency is to some more people.”
He puffs air out of his nose. I’m not sure if he’s considering my offer or just back to contemplating Patel and the agency. I catch myself wishing I could actually comfort him, insist that he take a break at the end of the night. After all that he’s helping me, I get caught up in how much I want to help Troy, too.
He snaps his eyes back to me. “You making sure to talk up yourself and your team, too?” he asks me.
“It usually comes up.”
He snorts. “I need to get back out there,” he says. Troy considers me one more time. “I’ll think about it,” he adds and walks away.
I grin to myself, optimistic.
The rest of the night, Troy and I barely talk to each other. He’s in work mode, and I mingle, enjoying the opportunity to connect with some other local athletes. I eat an excessive amount of delicious, gourmet food, although I do decline a few things that are totally off my nutritionist’s list. Some famous people say a few quick words about the fundraiser, I make a bigger donation than I probably should, and the evening’s entertainment moves everyone back to the ballroom.
The entire time, I sneak glances as Troy works the room, shaking hands, holding eye contact. He barges around, confident and gruff, and I can see people reacting to him with a combination of respect, awe, and fear.
The power he holds is evident, more even than in his office.
And even though he just learned he might lose the athletes he was trying to sign, he’s still working the room, projecting strength and success.
He’s unshakable. Unless he’s with me, that is.
I’m figuring out how to shake him.
I finish my glass of champagne. I’ve only allowed myself two this evening, but watching Troy strut through the ballroom, shoulder to shoulder with athletes and powerful men, I could chug a bottle. It’s like my own personal softcore porn channel.
I’m standing in the arch between the ballroom and the conservatory when he appears beside me. The music is much louder now, and his voice comes out deep and steady, directed only at me.
“You still have the number for the car service that I gave you?”
I look at him, keeping my cool. “Yes.”
“Call it out front in ten minutes.”
