Page 41 of Presley's Christmas Catch
She steps inside first, and when I try to follow her, I basically put us in what Lyra might tell Kael is a compromising situation. So instead, I step back and hover in the doorway, hoping my voice doesn’t carry. Or that the conversations will keep happening around the room to cover what I’m about to ask. I glance over my shoulder at Presley, and she’s watching us with her head tilted in curiosity.
“What are you doing?” she mouths at me.
I give her a thumbs up and turn to Sapphira. “Listen, I will participate in whatever social media videos or commercials or whatever for TOK stuff you want if you can get me and my friend, Presley, into the gathering with Thornridge.”
She immediately shakes her head. “I’m not in charge of that, Mr. Hunter?—”
I flash my most charming smile. “You can call me Brock.” Yeah, I have a reputation for putting my foot in my mouth with the media from time to time, but all those times Ididn’tsay what I was thinking? That takes some major acting chops too. I’m telling you. And I will pull out every stop necessary to get this for Presley.
Sapphira lets out half of a breathy laugh before she cuts it off. “Brock … I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. I don’t even have the tickets.”
“Who has them?” I ask.
Sapphira pauses and then motions for me to step out of the doorway. She leans out, her hand on my arm, and I don’t say anything about her familiarity. Sapphira Ranier is probably about fifteen years older than me, but I’ll flirt with everyone in this room to get those tickets for Presley.
“Alexis?” she calls out. A woman at the sales counter looks up from an iPad. Sapphira waves her over.
“Brock,” Sapphira says when Alexis reaches us. “This is Alexis Sterling, Mr. Thornridge’s agent.”
“Brock Hunter.” I stick out my hand.
“He plays for the LA Rays,” Sapphira says, but she ends it like a question, and I have to stop myself from laughing.
“The football team?” Alexis asks, shaking my hand and then dropping it. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, but her look is very New York City power agent. Sleek, silver-gray hair cut in a short bob and impeccable makeup. I nod.
She taps a finger against her chin. “I’ve heard your name in the news.”
I keep calm and try not to let my frustration show. “I just got traded to the Rays, so it’s been around.”
“I see. What can I do for you?” she asks.
“Tell her what you told me,” Sapphira says encouragingly, so I repeat my request that Presley and I get to see Thornridge.
Alexis glances over her shoulder at the people still gathering. Twenty more people have squeezed into the shop since I arrived. “Ihavebeen pitching TOK to Hollywood,” she muses. “Response hasn’t been what I want, but if we can get even more buzz with someone like you talking about it?—”
“I know Sophie Edwards and Layla Delaford,” I break in. Again, I’ll name drop every person in LA I can claim any kind of acquaintance with. “And Nick Cane,” I add, remembering that Lincoln’s dad is best friends with a TV network executive in LA.
Alexis’s expression doesn’t change from contemplative, but something flits through her eyes. She reminds me of my agent, with her cool, calm expression no matter the situation. She never even batted an eye when the Devils let me go, just went to work.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Alexis says. Then she turns and walks away.
That’s not the answer I wanted, but there’s also no way she’s going to turn down my connections if she really is fishing for Hollywood on this. I make my way back to Presley. It’s much harder than when I left since the store is filling up steadily. This has to be breaking the fire code.
“What was that?” Presley asks when I return to her side.
“Me playing the part of the diva most people think I am anyway.”
She cocks her head to one side at the word diva, but then grabs my arm. “Did you get us in to see Thornridge?”
I grin at her. “I think so.”
“Brock!” she whisper-shouts and shakes my arm. “That’s not fair.”
I lean toward her. “I don’t care.”
Her cheeks turn pink, and that’s when I remember myself. Still, I don’t want to ruin the ease we’ve had so I wait a beat before I step back and then pretend not to notice how long it takes her to remove her hand from my arm.
“Brock?” a voice calls to us from somewhere behind me. I turn to see the dark-haired woman I noted when we first walked in, pushing her way through the crowd toward us. “Hi, Brock!” She waves around a copy ofThe Obsidian Kingdom, the first book. It’s pristine, and I’d bet money she bought it today.
