Chapter Nine
Amy
I got back in the elevator and fanned myself with my hand. Nobody, not even other men, could deny Parker was movie-hero good looking. Unlike actors, Parker didn’t have to spend two days dehydrating himself, then pumping himself up with fifty pushups and a bunch of arm curls to have a camera ready body. Not to mention having no need for a hair stylist or professional makeup artist and all the lighting effects and post-production stuff they did in Hollywood to make people look better than real life. Parker walked into a room, and everyone in it half expected him to say, “Excuse me a moment,” before ripping off his shirt to reveal brightly colored tights and proceed to fly out the window.
I didn’t know him and had no desire to date him, but I still had to catch my breath. On top of that, the way he behaved with that little boy and his mother was adorable. It wasn’t just how he charmed them, and the perfect personal note he wrote on the boy’s shirt that made both he and his mother feel special, but his quick thinking. Parker Starr was smarter than I’d expected, given what the tabloids had already started saying about him even while he was still in college.
By the time the elevator reached the top, I’d also realized something else. In spite of my vow to stick with total professionalism, my ego had been taking some blows in recent days with Peyton and Tristan spending so much time together. Having a slightly younger man, with Parker’s obvious magnetism, flirt with me had lifted my spirits, probably more than it should have.
I headed back toward my desk and Tristan’s office, thinking I would tell him about the touching scene I’d just witnessed downstairs, when he called out from his desk.
“Amy!”
I walked in, peering at a blank area on the wall behind him and near his desk. I hammed it up, squinting and leaning forward. “What’s the name of that movie where they get into a knife throwing contest at the end?” I asked him, still studying the wall.
“Expendables. Statham and Mickey Rourke,” he said.
“That’s the one. I think we should put up a big wooden target right here, so if I’m busy when you bark out my name like that I can just send a knife flying.”
“Think you can hit the target?” he joked.
“Might miss about two feet low and three to the right,” I said, pointing to his head.
I saw his eye trail down from the imaginary target and over, looking up in the middle of his forehead, cross-eyed. I couldn’t help laughing.
“Can I do something for you?” I asked.
“Reservations for a late lunch. I need to pick Peyton’s brain again about the Parker situation with that reporter. And I want to go over some of the party stuff.”
I just about ground my teeth. “I can do that. But about the party stuff, don’t you want me in on that?”
It had nothing to do with Peyton other than my concern he was looking for any excuse to be with her and starting to let other things slide, including his own emotional well-being. My problem was that I was juggling about four hundred things having to do with the party, and without even having to check, I knew a woman like Peyton would have a thousand ideas she thought would make it better. There’s an old truism about cooks-in-the-kitchen.
I could see Tristan opening the door for event planning and then the great ideas start pouring out. We’d already had the great ideas. Before she even started, we had the meetings with a ton of brilliant minds in the office who’d been here to see the previous parties. We’d been planning this event as a firm since before I’d even gotten promoted to Tristan’s PA.
He’d listen to her and then start tapping on his phone, and then after her second or third fantastic thought, he’d tell her to write it all down and send it to me. Then I’d be scrambling with designers, decorators, musicians, entertainers, caterers, florists, drivers, valet parkers, travel agents, ice sculptors, other agents, invitation designers, advertisers, sponsors, and probably even politicians, God help me, to accommodate Peyton Worth’s brilliant, creative, last-minute ideas.
“Oh, no, you’ve got more than enough to do. I need you here. We’re just going to kick around some ideas.”
I groaned.
“What?” he asked.
“If you guys try to revise the plans we’ve already put in action for the party, there’s a gift you have to get me!”
“Oh, really? And what is this ‘gift’ I ‘have’ to get you?”
He had the grace to not actually make air quotes with his fingers, but his voice put them there just fine.
“A gun. So I can shoot myself,” I retorted.
I walked out, leaving him to chuckle and chew on it.
“Don’t forget the reservation,” he called after me.
The only reason I didn’t reach to slam his door was because I knew it was heavy and on a shock absorbing lever. I’d have looked like as big of an idiot as I felt.
* * * * *
Less than an hour later, Peyton stood in front of me. I tried to give her a genuine smile, but if my smile was anywhere near as strained as hers, we’d probably have frightened off any males of the species within sight.
“Hi, Amy. How’s it going?” she asked politely.
“Great. It’s been the best day. Remind me to tell you and Tristan about this sweet little moment I got to see between Parker and one of our client’s kids in the lobby.”
“Oh, can’t you tell me now?”
“You guys are going to be late for your reservation as it is,” I countered.
“What reservation?”
I rolled my eyes. I meant it as a kind of commiseration, but the look on her face made me wonder if she thought I had directed it at her. Jesus. If she was going to be that sensitive, I couldn’t help her out. I decided to just be blunt with her.
“Peyton, please do me one favor.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Remember when Tristan starts getting excited about your ideas, we’ve been planning this party for a year, starting before the last one was even half over.”
“Amy, I’m just here to talk with him about Parker and his PR issues,” she assured me.
“Right. Just please remember,” I said.
“Uh, sure. Will do.”
I smiled again, and it’s just one of those things I guess when a girl knows she’s already come across as exactly the kind of snippy bitch she was trying not to be. I’m sure my expression looked curt and dismissive. If I were her, I’d probably have wanted to smack it right off my face. If her gritted teeth were any indication, I was right on the mark.
If I were a guy, all I’d have to do is offer to buy her a beer, and all would be just fine.
Right as she put her hand out for the door, I said, “Pey.”
She paused. I’d never called her that before. It had just slipped out, but I guess it was okay because she just waited.
“Later, or whenever, soon though, can I take you out for a glass of wine. Just to relax. I’ve been, well, it just—”
“A shit load going on in a brand new job that has you doing the work of about three top professionals?” She turned and smiled. She really was a beautiful woman.
I laughed. “Nail on the head.”
“Sure. Maybe tonight, late, when we get a chance to get out of here?”
“That would be great,” I said.
She smiled, nodded, and went in.
The phone rang. It was from the bullpen. I picked up. “Amy.”
“I’ve got Zack Brighton on the line.”
I sat down. Brighton was a potential top twenty draft pick, like Parker Starr. He had also made a big impression during the combines. The only problem for Zack was that he was a fullback, an absolute battering ram and undeniably gifted athlete. But the NFL had been relegating fullbacks to permanent run blocking duty. Few of them got carries, and even fewer the occasional short pass. They were still extremely valuable in many circumstances, but the reduced utility of the position had come with smaller contracts, and people of Zack’s caliber were often being shifted to linebacker or even tight end. Even then, some people were betting he’d go high in the first round.
“Put him through,” I replied.
“Hello?” the voice sounded confused.
“Mr. Brighton?” I asked.
“Zack.”
“Zack, I’m Amy, Tristan’s personal assistant. He’s in a meeting, but I am sure he’ll pick up for you. Would you like to speak with him?”
“Not yet,” he said, surprising me.
“How can I help you?”
“Well—” I heard him take a breath, then he chuckled.
I had a moment of inspiration and decided to go with it. “I bet right now you’re wishing there were agents to help you deal with agents.”
He laughed. “Yeah, that’s about right.”
“Look, Tristan’s very easy to talk with. I’m new on the job. His old PA just resigned to spend more time with her kids. But I’ve seen him work with a few potential new clients in your shoes already. There’s no pressure. We’ll answer any question you have. You can pick our brains and go right to some other agency and compare notes. Don’t let anyone rush you.”
“Well, the draft is coming up,” he stated.
“That’s true.”
“Here’s the thing, Amy. I probably shouldn’t say this if I knew the first thing about negotiating, but I’m already a fan of Mr. Th– er, Tristan’s. I’ve read and heard really good things about him. The truth is, I’m already pretty much sold, I just don’t want to, well—”
“Let your enthusiasm make you end up taking a worse deal than you should have worked out?”
He laughed again. “Are you sure you’re new at this?”
“Oh, definitely. But I used to work in contracts, so I know what I’m saying when I say Tristan gives every one of our clients the same exact rate, and all the same clauses. If there is any special treatment, it happens naturally, not in the contracts. I shouldn’t try to explain more, though. Then I’d be getting into agent territory.”
“No, I get it. That makes sense. Like if Drake Mathison gets some star treatment it’s because he’s closed that Nike deal that everyone was talking about last season.”
“Right. Pretty much. But you should really talk with Tristan.”
“Okay. Don’t interrupt him, please. I still want to do a little research, come up with some smart questions. Can you call me back tomorrow and set up a time?” he asked.
“Of course. Do you want me to send you a list of some of the questions I’d ask in your shoes?”
“Would you? That’d be great!” he said.
“No problem.”
I got his email address, and he thanked me like a gentleman. About ten seconds after we hung up, I sent him a nice follow-up with my contact info. Then, I went to Tristan’s door. I heard laughter before I knocked.
“Come in!”
There they were, him at his desk, her sitting across, both grinning ear to ear. I felt like an intruder.
“We were just talking about that time Drake picked up the paparazzo like a sack of flour,” Tristan said.
Peyton giggled, wiping the corner of her eye.
“I never knew he did that,” I said, trying to keep my expression from giving me away.
“Yeah, he realized right as he had him in the air it was a huge mistake, so he, uh, improvised,” Tristan continued.
Peyton chimed in. “He acted like he was doing a waltz with him, so the other photographers started getting pictures of one of their own with a superstar.”
“I remember that photo. That was hilarious. I thought that was on purpose,” I said.
“No, he was about to shake the guy like Tommy Lee Jones did to that Pug in Men in Black!” Tristan started laughing again.
I giggled. “The man’s feet were about a foot off the ground.”
After the laughter died, Peyton must have picked up on me wanting to tell Tristan something. “Should I meet you downstairs?”
Before I could say anything, Tristan jumped in. “Nonsense. There are no secrets from you in my office.”
Why that suddenly made me angry, I mean really angry, I had no idea. I maintained my poker face which meant Tristan was oblivious, but Peyton must have picked up on it. She gave me a look that could have meant, “Oh, well, I tried,” but at the moment it seemed more like, “Deal with it.”
That’s when the fear kicked in. I had thought I’d gotten a handle on myself. I’d even been proud of my analytical maturity, identifying the problems, separating them, setting my own ego aside, looking out for my boss as best I could, and sticking to work, as a professional. What a laugh.
I was jealous. That’s all there was to it. And if I couldn’t handle it, I’d lose my job.
“Uh, Amy?” Tristan called to me.
“Oh, right, sorry. Zack Brighton just called. He’s beyond excited about meeting you.”
“Why didn’t you put him through?” He wasn’t chewing me out, he was just excited, as he stood up from his desk.
“I told him you’d want me to, but he asked me to hold off. He wanted to think of some good questions, but he told me he was already a big fan. Honestly, Tristan, I got the impression he’d made up his mind. He as much as said so, he just doesn’t want to let his enthusiasm make him a pushover.”
“Wow. Holy shit. Brighton. I was hoping he’d reach out. Something about him made me think I should just hang way back and wait. It’s gotten so late in the game, I thought I was being an idiot.”
“You’ve got great instincts, Tristan,” Peyton said with a proud mama look on her face. “It’s good you trusted them.”
I resisted the urge to stick my finger in my mouth and do the barf pantomime. Then I realized, if Peyton hadn’t said it, I might have.
“Uh, yeah, thanks,” he said. It seemed like he didn’t realize he’d been talking out loud. I thought it was cute, seriously adorable, and wanted to kick myself for it.
Peyton must have been thinking the same thing because she giggled.
I said, “Mr. Brighton asked me to call him back tomorrow and set up a meeting.”
“Fantastic. Soon as possible, before the party. Maybe he’d like to go,” Tristan said enthusiastically.
“Shouldn’t you be thinking about Parker?” Peyton said.
Silence in the office. Peyton seemed to realize as soon as she’d said it, that she shouldn’t have. I couldn’t help but think serves you right!
Tristan looked at her and said in a very gentle voice, “We can walk and chew gum around here, Pey.”
I turned to leave and glanced over. I still couldn’t believe she had actually said that out loud to the man whose name was the firm’s, former girlfriend or not. She looked at me, miserably, and I only hoped my expression didn’t say exactly what was going through my mind—What the hell were you thinking?
Well, part of me hoped I didn’t give away my thoughts. The part I’m not proud of wanted to do a fist pump and an electric slide right out the door and back to my desk.
As I sat down, trying to sort out everything that was going on inside, I decided right then to re-confirm my vow, to keep everything strictly professional from here on out. If that meant cutting back on the fun little banter I’d been enjoying with Tristan, so be it.
I took a deep breath and got back to work.
Tristan and Peyton came out, and if they even smiled at me, I wouldn’t have known, being so very, very busy at my screen. As the elevator doors closed, I felt myself getting angry again, and then sad again. I had no idea what was wrong with me, but I figured with a little snort that my wine date with Peyton was off, indefinitely.