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I’m at the top of my game—my stats are looking great, and I’m playing better than ever. Now it’s time to get my hands on that one last thing I need to make my life perfect—Lennon Handler.
That woman has had me twisted in knots for the past eighteen months, trying to convince her to give us a shot. She says sleeping together was a mistake—I say it was the wake-up call I needed.
Luckily, I am a man not easily deterred, and I’ve never shied away from hard work. Hell, just take my career, for example. As a kid, I dreamed of being the best pitcher Major League Baseball had ever seen, and look at me now—I’m one of the highest-paid starting pitchers in MLB.
If Lennon thinks I’m going to drop this, she’s lost her damn mind. I’m every bit as stubborn as she is, and this is a game I’m going to win. Even if I have to play dirty.
FOUR MONTHS AGO . . .
“Are you sure you’re not a lesbian? You know you can tell me if you are. Carrie Larson’s daughter just came out and she’s thirty-two,” my mother says into the phone.
“No, Momma. For the last time, I am not into chicks,” I mutter, rolling my eyes. “Why is it that everyone thinks that just because I have a vagina, I should want someone to come home to at night? I don’t hear you hassling Bates about his relationship status.”
“Don’t be so crude,” she chastises, and again, I roll my eyes, thankful this conversation is taking place over the phone. “And Bates is a man. They take longer to mature. Besides, he’s so focused on his career right now. A girlfriend would be too distracting.”
I scoff. “Wow.”
“What?”
“What about my career? Am I not allowed to put my wants and needs ahead of some antiquated belief that women should be wives and mothers first and foremost?”
My mom huffs, clearly getting frustrated with me. “I didn’t say that, Lennon. I’m simply saying you haven’t brought anyone home since you were in high school. Don’t you want a family, sweetheart?”
I sigh. This is not an argument I want to have right now—or ever. “Look, Momma, I’ve gotta go. I have a meeting with Archer in a few minutes, and I need to get ready.”
“Oh, how is he? I’ve always loved that boy.” She practically swoons over the line.
I’m so very tempted to roll my eyes again. “He’s fine. Now I really do have to go. Love you. I’ll talk to you next week,” I say, ending the call before she can get another word in. It’s the only way. As my little Aussie grandma would say—my momma could talk the leg off an iron horse.
Flopping into my chair, I rest my head back and rub my temples. I have goals, and they require all of my time and attention to achieve them. I’m driven and on a mission. I will be the best damn sports agent this city—no, this country has ever seen. Having a man in my life would only slow me down. They’re like children; you have to feed and walk them every day, and I don’t have time for that.
Archer strolls into my office and drops into one of the seats across from my desk, pulling me from my thoughts. I shift my gaze to him, and he grins at me, looking better than any man has a right to with his dark-brown hair hidden beneath his backwards baseball cap.
“How’s my little spitfire today?” he asks, relaxing into his seat.
“I’m not your little anything,” I mutter, but he catches it, judging by the smirk on his stupidly attractive face. I straighten then run a hand through my hair, pushing it away from my face. “Right, so how would you feel about an endorsement deal with Primal?”
His piercing blue eyes lock on me as a slow smile curves his lips. “Seriously?”
“Would I joke about this? You asked me for Primal, and I got it.”
Archer is out of his seat and around my desk in seconds, scooping me into a massive bear hug. “You are the shit, Lenny!” he hoots as he spins me around in a circle.
Oh my God, he smells good.
Shit. Why am I smelling him? “Put me down, asshole!” I demand, slapping at his broad shoulders.
Gently, he places me on my feet but hovers in my personal bubble.
“You’re looking particularly fine today, spitfire,” he murmurs as his gaze dips all the way to my pointed stilettos then rakes slowly up my body, over my black, high-waisted, skinny trousers and pausing at the lace camisole peeking through the low cut of my emerald-green blazer.
I arch a brow and smirk. “I know.”
His grin is devastating, and I fight like hell to keep my reaction to it and him under wraps. But he knows what he does to me—he always has, the bastard.
Drawing his bottom lip between his teeth, he shakes his head. “I bet you do,” he murmurs. “But I like telling you anyway.”
His nearness causes my heart rate to spike, and butterflies swarm in my stomach. My fight-or-flight instinct flares to life, and I’m about to kick him in the shin to make him back the hell up, but Archer knows when I’ve hit my limit and retreats to his side of the desk again.
“I knew you’d land the deal, but I didn’t think it’d happen this quick,” he says as he sits then stretches his long legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankle.
I shrug, relief spreading through my veins now that there’s a barrier between us once more, then lower into my own seat. “You said it—I’m the shit.”
We spend the next twenty minutes going over the finer details of the contract before I hand Archer a pen so he can sign on the dotted line. His fingers brush mine as he takes it from me, clearly a deliberate move. Everything with Arch is intentional.
“What up, bitches?” Bates’ voice booms through the room as he strides in like he owns the place then deposits himself in the chair next to Archer.
“Bitches?” I query. “Is that the way you refer to your best friend and the best freakin’ agent you’ve ever had?”
Bates snorts. “You’re the only agent I’ve ever had.”
“Yeah, but I’m still the best,” I tell him, sliding a stack of papers across my desk to him.
His beefy hand shoots out to take them the second they’re within his reach. “What’s this?”
“Read it,” I say in a bored tone.
Archer tilts his head, curiosity in his eyes as Bates reads the first few lines of the contract I just gave him.
“Fuck yeah!” Bates yells, jumping to his feet and pumping his fist in the air.
“What is it?” Archer asks.
I grin at my stupid big brother as he strikes half a dozen different poses with his hand on or near his face. “You’re looking at the new face of Lux Moisturizer for him.” He says ‘for him’ in a hilarious French accent.