Page 6 of Hard to Hold

Sure, I love the hustle and networking of these conferences, but I’m exhausted.

As if the universe is against me and doesn’t think gorging myself on room service is a good idea, I get stuck behind a group of ten or so conference attendees crowding the path to the exit. They’re watching something on one of their phones and so my “Excuse me’s” fall on deaf ears.

Just when I’m about to find my way around the men, I’m stopped in my tracks.

“She didn’t know shit about Chicago. Not a goddamn thing. Do you think Papa Kincade realizes she’s the weak link of their organization and isn’t letting her go?” That voice and then that chuckle following the words, belong to the prick himself, Finn. “Seems to me like he’s coddling her and her precious ego. Being pretty only gets you so far.”

I’m frozen in shock, indecision, hurt—you name it—as laughter rings out around him. Do I stay where I am, hidden by the crowd before me, or let my presence be known?

And what in the hell is going on in Chicago?

“Rumor is all the Kincades coddle her. Ever notice how when they’re going after an athlete who might be tough to recruit and sign, they send one of the other three sisters?” another male voice says followed by a whistle.

“They can send Lennox my way any day to negotiate,” a third man says. “Like we can negotiate how she should leave those heels of hers on when she takes everything else off.”

“I’ve heard there’s plenty of that. Hell, maybe I should pretend to be an athlete, because that’s the lengths she’ll go to convince someone to sign with her,” the whistler says.

My stomach churns and I can all but see the elbow nudging in that boys will be boys manner. I’m dumbfounded by the comment but know exactly where it comes from. It’s a misrepresentation of the truth, but how stupid was I to think the perception would be any different?

“You talking about Bradly?” guy number two asks.

“Of course, I am,” the whistler says. “Last thing I need to be reminded of is how I lost one of my top clients because I don’t have a pussy.”

My jaw falls lax and I swear I blink rapidly as if either of the two actions will make me unhear what I just heard.

Is that what the rumor is? That I’m sleeping with clients to entice them away from their current agent?

Anger inflames and emboldens my disbelief. I knew there were rumors—hell, I’m a female agent dealing with male athletes, so I expect rumors—but not this.

Call me naïve, but holy shit.

I’m jostled from behind and brought back from my shock to listen again.

“So is that what happened with Chicago? The organizers realized they were getting all boobs and no brains and rescinded the offer?” the second man asks.

“Don’t be an asshole,” another man says, but the chuckle he emits after it sounds more like encouragement than anything.

“Or was she too stupid to realize this might be a good thing for her?” the second man continues.

“Who knows,” Finn answers. “She was on the list and then the next thing I know she was off it. Best guess? The Kincades fear she’ll embarrass the family name and agency.”

“Once a beauty queen, always a beauty queen,” another guy says.

Another ring of laughter sounds off as if the prick is demonstrating a pageant wave. I’m gripping the binder so hard I’m not sure how it hasn’t broken.

“Who’s stupider? Chicago for asking her to speak, the MLS for thinking she can bring value to their league, or her for not taking the job when it might give her some credibility?”

“Credibility?” another voice says. “As in how short her skirt and how big her bra size, spank bank, type of credibility?”

I don’t have time to process the words or the insults or anything other than the fact that I’m hurt beyond belief. Sure, it’s Finn and he’s a prick but we have a strained history given he dated my sister, Chase, for some time. And being that we are on the same playing field in competing for clients, we’re allowed to hate each other. But I don’t have history with these other guys—fellow colleagues—and now he’s poisoned their opinions of me.

Or maybe they already had those opinions.

Maybe everyone in here does.

And just as that thought hits me, the crowd parts, and Finn and his merry gang of pricks come into view on the other side of them.

My hands may be trembling and tears may be burning in my throat, but I lift my chin, square my shoulders, and stalk right over to them.