Page 3 of Hard to Handle

CHAPTER ONE

DEKKER

MELODRAMA AT ITS FINEST.

It’s the only thought that runs through my mind when I take a seat at the conference table in the back office of Kincade Sports Management.

Brexton sits with her arms crossed over her chest, and her resting bitch face in full effect. Her foot bounces where it’s crossed over her knee, and she scrolls through her phone with complete disinterest.

Chase sits ramrod straight, her business suit crisp and pressed and everything else about her perfectly styled to match. Christ, even the leather cover of her notepad matches. Perfection in a sickening fashion.

Lennox inspects her fingernails. They’re too long and too red, but I’m sure she has her reasons for looking like she wants to claw someone’s eyes out with them.

Let’s hope this time, it’s not mine.

I sit back and wait and watch and wonder.

Aren’t we all the perfect picture of disdain? I’d rather be anywhere—anywhere, like even shopping—than sitting right here with them right now. I’m more than sure they feel the same way.

Thrilled was the last thing we all probably felt when we got the call to be here.

My competitors.

My rivals.

“Ladies.” Kenyon Kincade’s voice rumbles when he walks into the room. Our heads turn and only two of us nod in response, but all of us watch him.

The same paranoia that has me questioning why he’d invite the chaos by inviting us all in here at the same time, has me eyeing his movements closely. Is he moving slower? Is there something wrong with his health?

Fear tickles its way up my spine in a way I’ve never known before.

“Thank you for coming.” He clears his throat and takes his time taking a sip of his coffee, hissing when it scalds his tongue. “I know it’s a rarity for you to all be in the office together, but humor this old man in wanting his four daughters in one place, at the same time.”

Brex bites her tongue while waiting for him to get to the point. Patience has never been her strong suit, and he takes note of it with a nod of his own.

“Why did you ask us to all be here, Dad?” Taking the lead as per usual, I ask the question we’re all wondering.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the course of my life. Even more so when your mother died, when I was left alone at thirty-something to raise four girls without much experience. I did the best I could, but by the way you guys prefer not to be in the same place together at times, it feels like my best wasn’t good enough.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is it, Lennox?” He calls her out. “Why can’t the four of you get along?”

I think of the years of competition for his attention. A single dad with clients we felt were more important than we were at times. Not by any fault of his own, but more because of his caring nature. We wanted his attention. We lived for it.

And the bittersweet taste of being the oldest still stings. Stepping in to be a mom at fifteen when you’re not the mom, fosters a lot of resentment. Telling your siblings what needs to be done inside a house ruled by estrogen doesn’t exactly make for long-term peace.

Lennox flips a lock of hair over her shoulder and meets his eyes for the first time. The only man who can tame her constant snark and fiery temper. “We can get along just fine.” There’s a muffled snort somewhere, and I fight not to look up and glare down whoever it is . . . because I’m not the mom, and I never wanted to be.

“You fight like cats and dogs,” he says.

“And we love like lions,” she says and we all snicker. “We’re just very different people.”

His laugh is boisterous and takes us all by surprise. “Maybe it’s because you are all so much alike.”

When each of us physically bristle at the thought of actually being like the other, he holds his hands up to stop us. “Sanderson is killing us.”

The name of our rival agency.