Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Do they want you to work with them instead of repping athletes?”
“Pretty much.” He sounds defeated. “They don’t like that I work in such a money field. But I donate to plenty of causes that matter to me—helping families who need it, helping rescue animals, and environmental causes. But they’ve never masked their disappointment over me working in this field.”
I sigh, a little hurt for him. “That’s such a bummer.”
“I wish I could make them happy without giving up what I love to do, but I can’t. So at least I try to take them out to dinner when our schedules line up,” he says, a man resigned to his reality.
“I’m sure they’re proud of you in their way,” I say optimistically. “How could they not be? Their son is this brilliant agent and attorney who strikes killer deals for his clients.”
“Knock wood,” Maddox says.
“I have faith in you.”
He flashes me a smile that’s vulnerable around the edges. “Good. I want you to, Zane. I want to make this happen. I can’t wait to deliver this for you.”
His passion and determination tug at my heart. His commitment to his job may even be sexier than those abs, and that’s saying something. “Me too,” I say.
A pause makes it clear we don’t have more to say about the deal. It’s clear, too, he’s not in a rush to get off the phone.
Nor am I, though I should cut this getting-personal convo off while I can.
Instead, I ask, “How was London?”
“Have you ever been?”
I shake my head. “Nope.”
“I bet you’d love it there.”
“Why do you say that?”
Maddox hums thoughtfully, his brow furrowing as if searching for the answer. “It’s like you. It’s full of energy, excitement. Lots to see and explore, lots of interesting people.”
“Sounds great. I think I’d dig it.”
“You definitely would,” he says. “It’s the kind of city where you can wander for hours down alleys and across bridges.”
“I’d like that,” I say.
“And the nightlife is great too,” he adds. “Music, bars, clubs. If you like to dance…”
It sounds like the cusp of an offer to hit a nightclub. “I do. Do you?” I ask.
“Absolutely.”
“I’d take you dancing some night,” I say, spinning the start of another fantasy.
His lips twitch in a hint of a sly grin. “You would?”
“Hell, yeah. Take you out. Show you off,” I say.
Maddox drags his teeth against his lower lip. “It’d be dark in the club, the music too loud to talk. There’d be a sheen of sweat on my neck.”
I growl. “I’d move behind you. Kiss the sweat on your neck.”
His shoulders rise and fall. “You’d wrap an arm around my chest, lock me against you.”
“Curl my other hand nice and tight around your hip,” I continue.
“You’d drag me closer. Grind against me,” he says, casting a wickedly sexy spell.
“Everyone would know who you were going home with,” I say, my voice raw.
“I’d drive you so crazy we’d have to leave.”
Yes, fucking yes. “I’d take you home and fucking have you all night long.”
His eyes float closed, and I’m sure the rest of the scene is playing out as a dirty film inside his mind. I’m watching it too. And I’ll watch it again in slow-mo a little later.
Maddox opens his eyes, breathes heavily, then says, “So, that’s London for you. Like I said, you’d like it.”
“I would.” I bite my tongue, so I don’t say let’s go sometime, you and me.
Already this man makes me want him in more ways than one. I can’t have him, but I can, at least, be completely honest with him.
Next time I see him, I’m going to tell him the true story about my tattoo.
12
THE REAL STORY
Maddox
During lunch at the golf club in San Francisco a few days later, Zane courts Priyam like a Regency era suitor. Over chicken salad, Zane asks about the London man’s family, then listens attentively to tales of Priyam’s grandchildren back in England.
I sit there and observe, enjoying the ease of their conversation.
I never know whether a celebrity will be a likable human, let alone come across as one. Thankfully, my client is genuine and warm, sharing stories of his brother and his niece.
“Eliza has a game coming up soon, so I’ll be there,” Zane says. “And get this—Gage convinced her Little League coach to let me be a guest first-base coach.” He’s full of unbridled enthusiasm, like the coach might have turned him down.
“Make sure to wear something dapper,” Priyam says cheerily.
“Always,” Zane says.
“And what about your mom?” Priyam asks. “You said she runs a coffee shop in Sacramento. Does she go to the games too?”
“She’ll be there. She goes to every one of Eliza’s games. But pray for me—she’s been bugging me to give her more grandkids,” Zane says. I note that he doesn’t mention his father, and I file that info, perhaps to pursue later.