ELIZABETH STARED OUT OVER DOWNTOWN SAINT LOUIS from her office on the twent y-seventh floor. The sun shone brightly over the Mississippi River. Tugboats sailed down the muddy river, and the sun glinted off the silver Gateway Arch, nearly blinding her.
It was about damn time the sun came out after two weeks of nonstop rain. Just in time for baseball season’s opening week, too. At least that would make some people happy.
Not her. But some people.
Bright and sunny outside. Dark and moody inside.
With a sigh she pushed off the credenza and paced her office, staring at the clock on her laptop just waiting for the call from her prospective client, NFL pro Jamarcus Daniels.
Rumor had it Jamarcus’s agent was in a financial free fall, and Jamarcus was ready to bail on him, which meant every sports agent out there had been courting Jamarcus for the past week, including Elizabeth. She’d flown to Cleveland and met with him and his wife, wined them, dined them, talked terms, and offered representation. She had a really good feeling about this guy. He seemed honest and genuine, and his wife was very sweet. Elizabeth laid it all out there for him, told him what she could do for his career and advised him not to wait too long before making the change. Rod Franklin, his current agent, was in deep trouble financially due to some risky investment strategies. He was losing clients left and right, and the sharks were circling.
Elizabeth should know since she was one of the sharks hoping to grab some of Rod’s clients.
Showing weakness could destroy a sports agent, and Rod was bleeding heavily. His time in the industry was over, and he knew it. The best he could hope for was being able to pay his taxes on time in the coming year, because he was sure as hell going to lose every one of his clients.
Not her problem. Business was business, and only the strong survived.
She sat at her desk and checked her e-mail, excited to see an e-mail from Jamarcus.
“Son of a bitch.”
He thanked her for meeting with him, said a lot of nice things about her, then said he’d signed with the Davis Agency.
Fuck!
She shoved her laptop and stood, kicked her chair across the room, crossed her arms and stared out the window again.
Another loss to the Davis Agency. What the fuck was Don Davis offering to these guys as incentive to sign with him anyway? That was two she’d lost to him.
Three if she counted Mick, who was also with Davis now.
Mick. She wondered if Mick had something to do with all of this. As mad as he’d been at her over the whole Tara affair, she wouldn’t put it past him to try and sabotage her agency.
Mick was a draw, a huge name, and a lot of athletes followed who was repped by what agent. Successful sports stars got great deals because of who their agent was. Smart players knew who those agents were.
Elizabeth had many big names on her client roster, but there was no doubt Mick firing her had hurt her—continued to hurt her—as evidenced by losing Steve and Jamarcus to the Davis Agency.
Dammit. She hated being suspicious of Mick, but being suspicious had kept her on top of her game for the past ten years. She hadn’t become successful by being blind. She was almost certain that Mick and Don Davis were working together behind her back.
She picked up her phone and pressed the button for her assistant, Colleen.
“Yes?”
“Get me the list of the Davis Agency clients, Colleen.”
“You got it.”
She turned around and glared out the window, missing Florida and the fun she’d had there.
She missed Gavin, too. Then again this was like it had always been before, so she was used to it. She’d kept her distance from Gavin to protect her heart, and she’d let her guard down, allowed herself to get close to him, and gotten used to having him around.
Big mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again. It was best to keep her relationship with Gavin professional.
She hadn’t heard a word from him since she’d left him that note.
Not that she’d expected to. He had probably grown tired of her being there with him and just couldn’t figure out how to ask her to leave. Good thing she was smart and insightful and knew when it was time to pack up and go.
She inhaled, sighed, and returned to her desk and her paperwork, burying herself in her work so she didn’t have to think.
Her assistant buzzed in about an hour later.
“Tyler Anderson is on the phone,” Colleen said.
Elizabeth’s brows raised. Tyler Anderson was a premier hockey player for the Saint Louis Ice. And not one of her clients. “Thanks, Colleen.”
She picked up her phone. “This is Elizabeth Darnell.”
“Ms. Darnell, this is Tyler Anderson. I play for the Saint Louis Ice hockey team.”
“I know who you are, Tyler. What can I do for you?”