“Michael Lambert.”
Kat shrugged her shoulders. “Never heard of him.”
Sawyer took that as a reason to continue. “He’s a center for the Bobcats, and he mentors the younger guys on the team. He’s got a calming way about him. He’s the athlete whisperer.” When Kat rolled her eyes, he grinned. “Fine, that last bit was bullshit. But he’s doing me a favor. Look, hang out with him a bit. See a new part of the country. Relax. Stay the fuck out of the media for a few weeks, maybe a month or two. Come back refreshed and ready to train for a new tour, and we can put this year of debauchery behind us.”
That…was not a plan she would have come up with by herself. But the more she thought about it, the more the idea of a new place, a new location, a new arena for her to breathe and reboot began to sink in. She could get out from beyond the frustrating, smothering layers of her coach, her agent, the people around her who knew the story and wanted nothing to do with her and just go be somewhere else for a while.
Yes, the idea of needing someone to “babysit” was infuriating, even demoralizing. But that was slowly taking a backseat to trying out a new location for a while. A new crowd. A new… life.
But there was no way she was about to make Sawyer think she was looking forward to the excursion. Never that.
Casually, so as not to tip her hand, she took another sip of water and rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”
Sawyer narrowed his own eyes a moment as if gauging her sincerity, then nodded. “Good.”
Peter muttered more Russian. She might have caught the word shit in there, but she couldn’t be certain.
She flicked some extra-saucy hash browns onto Sawyer’s plate, splattering his food with the red stuff. He just sighed.
Michael locked his door, tested the knob behind him, and sighed inwardly while lifting the phone to his ear. “Sawyer, you’re sure she was supposed to be here by now? Because the front desk swears nobody has asked for me.”
“She texted me and said she’d arrived. I checked with Peter—her coach—and he received the same message from her. I’d have hand delivered her myself if I didn’t have another fire to put out.” Sawyer growled. “I’ll text her again, but she says she’s there.”
“She got the address wrong then.” Michael punched the button for the elevator harder than necessary, then reminded himself to rein in his temper. “I’m the one doing the favor, Sawyer. Remember that. My in-season off time isn’t all that plentiful.”
“I know, and I love you for it,” his agent said in that voice he used to soothe problem clients. Michael knew; he’d witnessed him doing it before. Just never to him.
“Don’t use that you’re the crazy client, I’m the sane agent voice on me, Sawyer,” he warned. “I’ll find her, but Jesus, next time you send a kid my way, actually bring them.”
“Kid?” There was confusion in his voice. “What kid?”
“Kid. Kat. The rebellious teenager I’m about to straighten.” Maybe she wasn’t strictly a teen, but Michael had gotten the impression from the few bits of info he’d received from Sawyer, she was young and impulsive. He hadn’t Googled her—always tried to avoid information so he could get a read on the mentee fresh from outside influence—but he’d do that later after meeting her.
When Sawyer said nothing, Michael held the phone away from his ear and checked the screen. Disconnected, thanks to the elevator. “Not that you were a help anyway,” he muttered, stuffing the cell phone in his pocket. As the car rested on the lobby floor, he stepped out and into a mess.
Bobcats. Bobcats everywhere. Not unusual since so many of them lived in the building. But they usually didn’t convene in such a public spot. If the apartment guys got together, they did so privately, in someone’s place.
Even as he watched, another one—Sam Henderson, offensive line—busted in through the door leading to the stairwell and ran to join the huddle of guys standing by the benches.
With a shake of his head, Michael wandered over to the front desk. “Hey, Tiff,” he said, greeting the college student who worked the desk on the weekends. “Nobody’s come by for me, huh?”
“No,” she said, giving him a quick, apologetic smile before looking back toward the crowd. “Nobody’s come looking for you.”
“No young girl wandering around, looking a little lost and confused? Maybe walked by without saying anything?” When Tiff said nothing, he moved back into her line of vision. “She told us she was here, so…”
“Oh. Uh, young girl? Like a kid?” Tiff blinked, straightened the uniform blazer she wore with her name tag over the breast and started tapping what he assumed were codes to bring up a security camera. “You didn’t mention it was a child. If there’s an unattended child in the building, I—”
“Not child. Just… kid. Younger than me. Probably a teenager who doesn’t know where she’s going.”