Page 10 of Roughing the Player
“Have you met anyone from the Outlaws’ team?”
“No.”
“They don’t know you then.”
“Even if I don’t know them now, I might meet them in the future if I represent one of their athletes.”
Should have known she’d return a great come back. But I have one of my own. “Do you represent any football players now?”
“No. But give me a couple of years, and I will.”
“Marty said you were good.”
“I am. I do my homework, and I work very hard for our agency’s clients.”
“Do you have any of your own? Clients, I mean.”
“Not yet. It takes time to learn the ropes. Get to know the athletes.”
Marty might think the world of her, but she’s got a long way to go. I’ve heard of a few women who represent athletes, but I don’t know a single one who represents football players. “If you came to the dinner on Saturday, you’d get to know some. I can introduce you to the ones I know. In the meantime, I can keep my ears open to see if anyone is unhappy with his representation.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Of course, Ellie. What are friends for?”
“We’re not friends.”
Man, that’s harsh. But I get it. She wants me to think of her as a professional. Thing is, I don’t know if I can. Seeing her again stirred something in me, feelings I’d only felt when I’d been with her.
“We were friends once.” And for one glorious evening, we were a hell of a lot more than that. I’d gotten a great grade on my Macbeth midterm, something I’d never expected to do. Wanting to celebrate, I’d driven through a hellacious thunderstorm to get to her. When the storm had knocked out the power in her house, she’d been terrified. I’d tried to comfort her, and before I knew it, we were doing the deed on her mother’s kitchen table with me riding her bareback. Something I’d never done before. Or since.
“Thatwas a long time ago.” Clearly, it’s something she’d rather forget. A shame. I never could.
But why would she want to remember? We were young and stupid. Well, she was young. I was stupid. But that’s neither here nor there. Sensing I’m losing my window of opportunity, I change tack. “All right. Not friends. Business acquaintances, then. You scratch my back. I’ll scratch yours.”
“That’snothappening.” She thinks I’m putting the moves on her. Can’t blame her. Not with my reputation.
But for some reason, I’m offended. “It’s nothing dirty, Ellie.”
“Then what is it?”
“Simple. You come as my plus one. I introduce you to some football players. At the end of the evening, you go home—alone—with the knowledge you’ve made some contacts in the team. Win-win all around.”
“I don’t know, Brock. It sounds skeevy not to identify myself as an agent.”
“But you wouldn’t be on the hunt for clients. You’d be my date. If anybody asks, which they won’t. Please.” What’s wrong with me? I’ve never had to beg a woman to go out with me. They usually jump at the chance.
“When is it again?”
“Saturday at the Hilton Chicago. Dinner’s at eight.”
“Let me check my schedule.” Something rustles in the background. A few seconds later, she’s back. “That works. I can meet you there.”
“Okay. Thanks.” Can’t very well say I’ll pick her up. Although my SUV might be here by Saturday, it hasn’t been delivered yet. I could rent a car, I suppose, but I don’t know this city. And GPS gets you only so far.
“Anything else, Brock?”
I should let her go. She’s got things to do with her kid. “No. That’s it.”
