Page 5 of Hard to Hold

I take a step closer to him and lower my voice. “First, if their agent was doing his job properly, they wouldn’t go looking. Second, KSM is a sports agency, not a prostitution ring. Third, the fact that you even said any of this tells me you’re worried about us. Good. You should be. Clients aren’t just paychecks, Finn. And from what I hear these days, that’s all you think they are. No wonder you’re losing athletes left and right,” I say a little louder than necessary.

“You’re projecting again.” He gives a shake of his head but I can tell I wormed my way under his skin. “KSM is the one scrambling. I’m the one sitting back and enjoying life.”

“Keep thinking that.” I glance over his shoulder into the crowd and lie. “You’re the one who played dirty first, stealing our clients by dangling imaginary carrots in front of them that magically disappeared the minute they signed with you.”

“Whatever works, right?”

Smug bastard.

“We’ve made it our mission to get our clients back and then some. Hunter was the first of many to make the switch to KSM from Sanderson Sports.”

“Are you telling me I should be scared of four women and their aging father?”

It’s my turn to chuckle loud and mocking. “Underestimate us. I dare you. While there’s room for both of our agencies in this world, I’d love nothing more than to have your clients see you for who you really are.”

“What? Incredible?”

“Hubris has been the downfall of every empire, Finn. I’m going to enjoy watching yours crumble. Now if you’ll excuse me, I see someone I need to speak to.”

“I was expecting more from you than running and tucking your tail between your legs, but”—he shrugs as I walk past him—“isn’t that par for the course when it comes to you?”

“Excuse me?” What in the hell is he talking about?

“You always were jealous, you know.”

“Of what?” I ask.

“That I picked Chase over you.” His smile is lightning quick, and even though I want to throttle him for being such an ass, the comment is just so typically Finn Sanderson that I can’t help but shake my head and sigh. “But then again, it seems you miss a lot of things. It’s been real, Kincade.”

And there’s something in the dismissive way he says it and the unyielding stare that again, makes me feel like I’m not understanding an underlying meaning.

Shrugging it off, I tell myself that’s his plan, and make my way to the ladies’ room, needing a break from Finn and everything that comes with him—insecurity, anger, frustration, dislike.

The good thing about a sports management conference? There’s rarely a line in the women’s bathroom since we’re a minority in the field.

I check my makeup and hair in the mirror just to waste time. Five days is five too many to listen to arrogant, male sports agents brag with puffed chests to other overinflated chests about things that don’t really matter.

Did I acquire new knowledge from the conference? Nothing more than I usually do, but it did reaffirm my resolve never to date another sports agent—their egos are worse than a professional athlete’s.

It’s when I put the cap back on my lipstick that I realize I left my binder on the table when I was doing my banter-y thing with Finn.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

The binder isn’t the big deal. It’s the scrap of paper on the inside with names of five of Las Vegas’ most prominent professional athletes and the times I’m meeting with them over the coming days that’s the big deal.

And big deal as in I’m going to try and court them away from their current representation and over to KSM.

Unethical? Possibly.

Something that is done every damn day in this business? Definitely.

But the last thing I need is another agent discovering my binder, opening it to see whose it is, and then finding my name written in big, black sharpie on the inside pocket, right below where that scrap of paper is stuffed.

Without trying to look like a worried woman on a mission, I hurriedly head back into the crowded room.

When I spot my binder right where I left it on the table, I slow my stride and acknowledge a few colleagues with smiles as I pass them on my way to get it.

With my binder now in hand and too many days under my belt swimming in these testosterone-laden conferences, I decide it’s the perfect moment to make my stealthy exit. The quiet of my hotel room, the room service menu, and the need to kick off these heels sound like the perfect way to spend the rest of my evening.