Page 86 of Turn Me On

“Right. I remember getting your group texts when you were flying to and from London,” I say gently, trying to get him to ease up. If he lightens up, he might realize we can give this thing between us a shot. “But c’mon. You’re being hard on yourself.”

“No. I’m not. Accessibility is literally part of the job. I represent multimillion-dollar athletes and I want to take care of them. It’s what I’ve told clients to expect. I have to be available in case of emergencies. And I slept in. I never do that.”

“It was just once, Mad,” I point out. Maybe he’ll take back hisI can’t be with youpronouncement if I can just make my case.

“And once was enough. He’s going elsewhere because ofthis. He told me from the start he wanted my ear. He laid out his expectations, and I failed to deliver. He was in the right when he said I should have answered at least one of his phone calls.”

Damn. I’d like to give this football player a piece of my mind and tell him to grow a pair. “This guy sounds like an ass,” I mutter. “I wouldn’t have been bothered if I couldn’t reach you right away.”

“But I never missed your calls,” he says, gentle but firm. “And the point is—I made this mistake. And I’m paying the price. I was tasked with courting him, and now I’ll have to go in and tell Vance the client decided to go elsewhere,” he says, sounding like he just drank sour milk.

“Will you tell him why?” I ask, concerned for him.

“I won’t tell him I was with you,” he snaps, totally reading me wrong.

“I know. I’m not worried about that. I’m worried about you,” I huff. “I just meant will you tell him you had your phone off? How will you handle it with Vance?”

“I’ll have to say I fell asleep early and missed the call,” he says, biting out the words. “I’ll be lying once again too. I can’t keep justifying this thing with you. There’s no justification for sleeping with a client, let alone—”

But he cuts himself off.

“Let alone what, Maddox?” I ask, hating the desperation in my voice. But I’m dying to know what he didn’t let himself say.

Just fucking tell me you’re crazy for me too. We can figure this out together somehow.

“Nothing,” he mutters, then clears his throat. “If you don’t want me to represent you, I’ll understand.”

We fuckedandhe’s dropping me?

Oh, hell no. “You said you wouldn’t do that,” I throw back, not bothering to mask my annoyance now. If I can’t win him back for me, I’mnotgoing to lose him when it comes to work. No way. This Bespoke deal matters too much. He doesn’t get to dump me in two different ways.

“That’s not what I meant,” Maddox shouts, and he’s the desperate one now, unraveling before my ears, raising his voice. He never raises his voice. But all of a sudden, he seems to recalibrate, because he’s cool and calm again, as he was on the night of the rooftop party as he says, “Zane, I want to work with you. I care about you. I will gladly, happily, professionally represent you, but I also understand if you don’t want to work with me.”

I don’t move. I can’t believe he thinks I’d do that.

Fuck him.

I’m not that kind of a scorned lover. Fuck him for thinking I am.

But I can take a page from my own playbook. The one I used the night I met him. I return to the ice age, cool as tundra as I say, “That’s big of you to say that. Really it is,” I say, drily. “But you know what I’d like more?”

“What would you like?” he asks, worry stitched in his voice, like he thinks I might drop him.

Good. Let him fucking squirm.

I take my time, wrestling back some of the control that’s slipped through my fingers. “I’d like another deal. See, Maddox, everything can change on a dime when you least expect it. I’ve got my family to look out for. And myself. So maybe you can get working on that water bottle endorsement. Or a podcast network. Or something. But don’t worry if you don’t hear from me tonight, it’s because I’m hitting the clubs with Gunnar, and I will definitely have my phone off.”

Maddox is dead silent for several seconds. New York flashes by in that time—honking horns, chattering pedestrians, the sound of a jackhammer from a construction site somewhere.

Then, with a defeated sigh, he says, “Have fun, Zane. I’ll see you at Ava’s Bistro tomorrow night with Priyam. I’ll text you the details.”

That damn dinner.

Guess I will need a poker-face strategy after all.

24

BEWARE OF SCALLOPS