Page 23 of The Forever Game

I really need them to see me as more than just some pathetic assistant. I’m after responsibility, a chance to use my initiative. And the only way I’m going to get that is by doing my time. Yes, it sucks, but it’s all good practice for where I want to go. If I can work my way up in this company, the world will be my oyster. That’s what Ryan assured me, and I have to believe him. I’ve already given these guys over a year of my life on pretty pathetic pay. But I’ve been promised at the end of my second year that there’ll be a promotion in the works, and then I can finally start becoming the sports agent I always wanted to be.

Maybe I’ll even get back to those dreams I had in college. I snicker at my naivete and try to tamp down those lofty goals. It’s so easy to dream when you’re a student. The whole world is ahead of you, and you believe that anything is possible.

Then reality hits you like a Mack truck once you graduate and you realize that your sweet little internship won’t be enough to get you where you want to go.

Reality is so much harsher than I thought it’d be. But I’m going to get there. Sometimes you just have to pay the piper to get what you want.

Focusing back on the game, I watch the players whip across the ice and nearly jump out of my skin when someone touches my shoulder.

“Shit!” I drop my phone, and it clatters onto my desk as I whip a look over my shoulder.

“I’m sorry. Am I keeping you from the game?” Ryan narrows his eyes at me and I quickly sit up in my seat, tapping the contract and shaking my head.

“Nope. I’m nearly done here.”

“I should think so.” He winks at me, his smile cheesy and annoying. “Hey, after this, I want you to head out for a coffee run, and Sean needs his dry cleaning picked up.” He drops the stub on my desk. “Then when you get back, you’re all mine. We’ll spend the afternoon going through next week’s schedule, and then I need you to join me for drinks at Ryerson’s Hotel so you can take some photos for social media. I’ve invited some of our clients along, plus a few guys from that new sports label—Heracles. I want to feel them out, see what kind of sponsorship we can pull together. It’ll be mutually beneficial to get our athletes in their gear, so my demands will be high. If our guys are wearing their stuff, it’ll be good for business, right?” He smooths back his slick hair, and my insides roil.

“I can’t tonight, sorry. My husband is due home, and we’re having dinner together.”

“Not tonight.” He shakes his head.

My insides pinch with annoyance. “Yes, tonight. I haven’t seen him in a week.” His smile drops, and I take on his blue glare with one of my own. “You told me I could have this weekend.”

“But I need ya.”

“Anyone can take a photo.” My voice is getting weaker as my argument starts to flail. He could fire me on a whim. He may not be the big boss in this place, but he’s the guy holding my puppet strings, and it won’t take much for him to snip, snip, snip.

Sean will always side with Ryan because they go way back, and it’s obvious he thinks the sun shines out the sleazy agent’s ass. I’m pushing it by trying to argue with Ryan, and I need to shut the hell up or start packing my stuff.

He glances at my desk, eyeing the contract, then spotting my rings next to my pen holder. His lips rise into a smirk and I snatch them off the desk, shoving them on and giving him a baleful stare.

“You’ll be an hour late at the most. Come with me to the hotel, snap a few photos, and then you can be on your way. I’m sure hubby won’t mind.” He leaves before I can argue again, and I slump back in my chair, spinning the rings around my finger and wincing when the diamond scrapes my pinkie. I pull my engagement ring off, setting it down on the desk and staring at it. My wedding band is also studded with diamonds, and last time I wore it, I ended up catching it on my favorite ribbed sweater and pulling a thread.

Closing my eyes, I pull that one off, too, and gently lay it down on top of my engagement ring. They clink together, and I’m swamped with this emotion I can’t even identify. But it’s not good. It’s not happy, whatever the fuck it is.

Shit. Ethan’s going to be so pissed. I wanted to be at home waiting for him, but it looks like I’ll be walking in the door late yet again.

I grab my phone. “And fuck you very much!” I spit, dropping it back on my desk when I see the game is over and I missed the end.

Resting my head in my hands, I pull in a calming breath and feel anything but as I try to finish up the contract, then head out for the coffee run.

* * *

I’m nearly two hours late when I finally walk through the door. Ethan is waiting for me on the couch, glaring at the TV screen while he watches some inane show that I can tell he’s not concentrating on.

The table is set with take-out pizza that’s probably cold by now. I did try to keep him up-to-date on my movements with texts, but I admit, my last one said I’d be another thirty, and it turned into fifty-five.

“Sorry,” I mutter, dumping my bag and slapping down the folder in my hands.

“More work?” he mutters.

“Just some last-minute contracts I need to read over the weekend.”

Ethan tuts and shakes his head.

I clench my jaw, forcing a smile. “Welcome home.”

“Thanks.” His voice is gruff and sarcastic.

---