Page 5 of Play Hard
“Yeah,” he nodded, “we can be cordial.”
“Okay. Good.” A breeze lifted the ends of my hair and my not-so-steady fingers pushed the tendrils behind my ear. “Take care, Noah.”
“You do the same, Serra.”
This time, we both walked away.
CHAPTER 3
Serra
“Angel’s running point with my clients,” I stated hating every word as I sat on the porch swing watching the sun setting over Lake Accotink. “There’re a couple of endorsement deals that need finalizing before contract negotiations begin. Other than that, everyone on my list is in good shape for a while. I finished all the follow-up meetings I had with the possibles after CIAA. But I wanted to take another trip down to Winston-Salem before summer break.”
It took everything I had in me to keep the tears at bay and hoped the quick inhale and slow exhale wasn’t noticeable on the FaceTime call.
I watched Freddie nod, her flawless copper-hued skin sported a full beat that only amplified her stunning beauty. “Graham hasn’t been signed yet,” she said. “I called him myself the moment the first story popped up on social media. He felt comfortable with you. He trusts you and you know he’s not used to trusting anybody.”
She meant those words to be consoling, affirming, but they only made my temples throb more fiercely. The anger and embarrassment I’d been carrying with me like an unlucky charm was lodged in my chest. “And I reinforced that mistrust bygetting caught up in a gambling ring that could not only destroy the career of one of the NBA’s most powerful point guards but could also tank mines too.”
I hated every ounce of truth in that statement. Hated that I’d been so stupid, not just in love—again—but this time, in a more serious and impossibly public way.
“Look,” Freddie said, shaking her head. “Adrian brought this shit on himself. He was sloppy, arrogant, and stupid as hell. Not only did he know better than to be making bets on his own team, but he should’ve also known better than to fall into bed with a damn reporter. A messy as hell and immature one at that. I can’t stand a bitch that doesn’t know how to play her position.”
Frederika Valentine, partner and senior agent at the Agbara Agency, was the daughter of an NFL team owner and former beauty pageant queen. She was the most confident and loyal person I’d ever met. And she was also the closest friend I had since being introduced to her four years ago by my then-roommate, Gita. Freddie and Gita were cousins, and that meeting had not only led to a great friendship, but also the start of my career as a sports agent.
“I don’t even care about that,” I said knowing that was a lie. “I could dump his ass and get over the cheating but this…having my name and reputation linked to a damn gambling ring that was clearly breaking the NBA’s policy is unacceptable.”
“I agree,” Freddie nodded. “And that’s why you’ve hired a lawyer to protect you in the investigation. Have you talked to Zora yet?”
“No,” I replied with a huff. In my increasing agitation, my legs started lifting and falling, making the swing go a little higher and faster. The growing creaking sound was evidence that it was probably higher and faster than this old swing was meant to go, so I forced my legs to still. Clenched the fingers of my free hand on my thigh as if I thought that would help them remain thatway. “We were playing phone tag before I left the city, but her assistant sent me an email this morning with some appointment slots.”
“Take one,” Freddie replied. “Get off this phone with me and respond to that email. You need a full team behind you on this.”
Zora Masterson was a notable public relations expert. She was the fixer of all fixers with a reputation for being as cutthroat as any scandal in the sports industry. And she was best friends with Michaela Monroe, another one of the three partners at the Agbara Agency.
“No, what I need to do is work,” I snapped. “This leave of absence is going to kill me, Freddie. You know how much I need this career to work.” I hated the weakness in my voice. I’d worked so hard for so long to get rid of that shit.
The look came instantly as Freddie sat back in her office chair and stared at me through the screen. The look of pity that I despised.
“I know,” she said, her tone softer. “Just like you know my hands are tied here. We’re friends. Hell, I love you like a sister, Serra, but the agency is business. Not only do I have a third of an interest in its success, but I’m also dedicated to my partners, to making us one of the largest, most reputable Black women owned and staffed, talent agencies. We all agreed that this was the best course of action to protect that.”
She was right, I knew it. But I didn’t have to like it. I didn’t have to be okay with finally finding the thing that I was not only good at, but that I loved, then having to walk away from it—even if temporarily—because some dumb ass, fine ass, rich ass, stupid ass, ballplayer decided to deny his side chick’s baby.
I sighed. A loud and long one this time, not caring if Freddie noticed my frustration. Sometimes it took too much strength to hide the obvious. “You’re right. I know. I hate this. Hate that I was so stupid.”
“Uh-uhn,” she said wagging a finger to amplify what I already knew was going to follow. “You can’t be the stupid one in this mess, that’s all on him. You did everything right. You did your job and you were loyal and loving in what you thought was a reciprocal relationship.”
“But what actually turned out to be just another game to Adrian’s trifling ass,” I added. What I didn’t say was that I was sick and tired of this scenario. Of giving my heart and expecting it to be cared for and cherished by the person I was giving it to. Of falling in love, again. And losing badly, a second time.
Adrian was supposed to be my second chance at happiness in love. My father and brothers adored himandthe floor seats to his games. We looked amazing together; two beautiful people living their best young lives in the limelight. It was perfect…until it was madness. And before I could shake myself and call on the resolve and resilience, I’d built brick-by-brick over the past eleven years, I’d actually blamed myself. I wondered what the hell I’d done to once again be the owner of a broken heart. To contemplate why I didn’t deserve the pure, unconditional love that others held so dear.
“Right!” she exclaimed. “His trifling ass!Him, Serra, this is Adrian’s fault, not yours. Now, do you have to jump into this fight you didn’t anticipate? Yes, you do. And I’m standing with you, as a friend, because I know you would never do anything to jeopardize your career.” She paused and leaned in so that her face was closer to the screen. “And as your immediate supervisor, I’m telling you to accept this leave of absence as a reprieve. Visit with your grandfather, go fishing, eat some of that delicious fried catfish at his restaurant, find somewhere to get you a good massage, and talk to Zora. In six weeks, the investigation should be over, you’ll be cleared and your chair in that pristine bright white office of yours will be waiting.”
I chuckled at that last part. “You’re such a hater. Everybody can’t love the gloomy black as much as you do.”
Purple was my favorite color, but my taste in décor—at my condo on New York’s Upper West Side and my office in Agbara’s Manhattan location—was all white. The color was clean, pure, perfect. It was the color that exemplified everything I was raised to be.
And while that was another path I declared unfit to continue on in the past few years, there were parts of me that still clung to everything my mother said—the good and the bad. The toxic and the destructive. I was a mess of contradictions, a total wreck of a person who, in my parents’ haste to mold, ultimately turned out to be their biggest disappointment. Well, at least for my father. The one good thing to come out of my mother’s passing when I was fifteen, was that she hadn’t lived long enough to see me toss the life they’d wanted for me out the window. And now, make a mess of the life I thought was the better option.
