Page 13 of Hard to Hold

“Okay. Say I agree, what commitment are you looking for from me since I do have my own clients to take care of?”

“Three months. That’s the term of the deal. Of course, you’re free to represent your KSM clients during the time. We have no problem with that. But three months and then you’re free and clear from us.”

But why? I mean, I get my history with the WNBA, but something feels too good to be true here.

“And what’s in it for me, Cannon?”

“A break in the monotony of stroking arrogant athletes’ egos.” He chuckles because he’s right; at times it does get old. “And a way to carve out more of a niche for yourself. Sure, you’re part of a very successful sports agency, but don’t you want to stand out for something? Don’t you want to be the sister athletes request by name? Or teams or leagues, because you’re known as being a miracle worker who advocates for athletes?”

I twist my lips as I stare at him, his words hitting so very close to home after the knock my confidence has taken over the past twenty-four hours.

Isn’t this what I need? A bit of a boost. Something I can call my own? Maybe Cannon is right. Maybe I need to carve out a niche for myself.

Better yet, be introduced to more athletes who might not know the agency and perhaps pull a few onboard with us? I’d be lying if the thought didn’t have me nodding ever-so-subtly.

“And the compensation?” I ask as if I already haven’t decided that I’m taking the job.

His smile pulls up at one corner of his mouth and he slides a folder across the table. “It’s all in here, including compensation as well as bonus potential. I’m sure it’ll be to your liking.”

I glance down at the folder as he removes his hands from it and then back up at him.

I think of my mantra at the airport earlier today. Sunshine, sand, palm trees, Johnny, and now, a new opportunity.

Sounds perfect to me.

There are a million more questions I should ask, but I don’t.

This is something different for sure. A change of pace I never knew I was looking for, and a challenge I didn’t realize I’d been needing.

Take the job, maybe add some new clients to the KSM portfolio, and maybe increase the market’s awareness of me as an agent.

Don’t take the job and go right back to what I left—misnomers about what I can bring to the table and accomplish for our family business.

Prove to whom though? My fellow agents who were mocking me? My family who, by their actions, seem to agree with them? Or is it merely to myself so I believe without question that I’m just as good as I thought I was?

Cannon clears his throat as he taps a finger on the folder he’s left in the space between us. “Compensation, job requirements, a non-disclosure, and the like. Take this evening to look it over and then we can talk here tomorrow at ten. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. Sure.” I say the words with indecision in my tone but my mind is already made up.

A change of scenery, pace, and duties . . . that might be just what this girl needs to get her groove back.

CHAPTER FOUR

LENNOX

JOHNNY’S VOICEMAIL COMES THROUGH THE speakers of my rental car loud and clear as I navigate my way through the Hollywood Hills.

“I like how you don’t even ask me if you can stay but rather just drop a text saying I’m going to have a house guest for the next few weeks. That’s so very Lennox of you, it’s ridiculous.” His laughter rings throughout the car and makes my smile grow even wider. “The door code is one-three-one-three to get in. You can take the bedroom on the third floor with the spa tub you loved last time you were here. Make yourself at home but just a warning—” The message continues but it’s a pixelated garble that I can’t understand. He must have called me when he had poor cell service. “—So deal with it. You’ll be fine. Try not to get into any of that trouble I know you’re fond of. I’ll be home with dinner around five. I’m assuming you want that crappy Chinese food you always want when you visit. And I’ll oblige this once, but so help me, Lenn, if this is the shit you expect me to eat the whole time you’re here, I’ll kick your ass out.”

I laugh at the empty threat as the call ends. He secretly complains about the crappy food but it’s a tradition, and he knows how I like my traditions.

With a glance at the GPS, I take a right down a street that doesn’t feel familiar, even though I’ve driven it before, just as my phone rings.

I’ve been avoiding this call all day long so I might as well confront it head-on.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?” Dekker asks without preamble.