Jocelyn

My chest constricts as my phone buzzes. It’s my cell phone. Boxer is calling my cell.

Try as I might, it’s hard not to read too much into it. Boxer has my office number, he’s called it before. Yet he chose to call my cell.

“Miss Jones?” A voice says my name before I can answer Boxer’s call.

My heart is beating a million miles an hour with every fiber of my being wanting to answer the phone. Instead, I look up at Duke, wipe my palms against my standard black dress, and reach out to shake his hand. “Duke. Thank you so much for meeting me here. On short notice, too.”

“You said you’re buying, didn’t you?” His voice is gruff. “I told you I’m only here for the food.”

“Great. Me too.”

He raises an eyebrow and gives me a once-over. “You don’t look like you eat all that much.”

I catch a glimpse of myself in the window, but it’s the same thing I see every day. Blonde hair tied back, button down black dress, high heels—tights if it’s chilly outside, bare legs if not. It’s a bare leg day today because, frankly, nylons make me itch.

The dress is always knee-length, no longer and no shorter, with just enough of a neckline to let me breathe. Small diamond studs are the only jewelry I wear besides the occasional watch or bracelet, and more often than not I keep my hair tied in a sleek bun. It’s just easier this way.

“Table for two,” I say, once Duke and I have made our way inside. “I tried to make a reservation, but they don’t take them.”

Duke grunts. “That’s because it’s Dougie’s.”

“How’d you ever hear about this place?” Duke has the same taste in restaurant decor as Boxer. Much like Gabe’s ice cream shack, this place is a dump. Crooked sign dangling across the door, sticky floors beneath our feet. “It’s... unique.”

“I’ve been coming here for years. Boxer and I meet here.”

The host, a guy in a stained shirt smelling of meat and grease, leads us to a corner table overlooking a back alley and a dumpster. The air, heavy with cooking odors, smells surprisingly delicious.

I had offered to take Duke to Moonshadow—a celeb-heavy bar overlooking the ocean in Malibu—a place meant to impress. Or Sugarfish, the best sushi in town. Or Nobu, a combination of sushi and Malibu. But no, Duke choose a hole in the wall that even rats had abandoned for greener pastures.

“Nice place, huh?” Duke gestures toward peeling walls, a grimy floor that, upon closer inspection, has actually been washed clean. It’s not as dirty as it first seemed, it’s just ancient. “Not much on the eyes, but wait until you try the food.”

“I can’t wait,” I lie, wondering if I’ve stashed Pepto-Bismol in my purse. I suspect one bite of meat from this place will have me hugging the toilet in ways I haven’t hugged it since college.

Then, my stomach growls.

“Glad you brought your appetite,” Duke says with a smile. “I respect a woman with an appetite.”

“That’s me,” I grimace. I debate having Lindsay cancel the rest of my afternoon meetings so I can be at home to digest this meal in peace. “Bottomless pit.”

“Let’s get the business crap out of the way. When the food arrives, sorry, lady, but I’m going to eat in silence.”

“I’m going to cut to the chase,” I say. “I want Boxer.”

“Well, I can’t say I’m surprised,” he says, eyeing me over two sweating glasses of water. “He’s a great client.”

“I imagine so, and I asked you here to go over a few questions.”

“Well, I figured. I’m not an idiot.” Duke’s got hair coming from his nose, his ears, the top of his t-shirt—everywhere except his head, which is bald. “You want my advice about how to rope Boxer onto your team?”

“Yes.”

There’s something about this man that almost reminds me of Boxer. An older, less attractive Boxer—maybe his great-grandfather once removed. There’s a playfulness in Duke’s eyes, an understated taste in accessories and food.

Duke’s got money, that much is clear. He’s got status and a bit of fame, at least in our industry, but he flies under the radar. Just like Landon Boxer.

“Well, I have a big nugget of advice for you,” Duke says, pausing mid-thought to put an order in with the same server who acted as the host. He orders for me, too, without asking. “Listen, Miss Jones.”

I nod and inch my chair forward.

“Give up now, doll.” Duke crosses his arms and offers a polite smile. “You and Boxer aren’t a good match.”

“Excuse me?” His words surprise me, and I struggle for patience as I process them. “With all due respect, I’m not quitting. I didn’t ask you here so that you could tell me to give up.”

“What’d you ask me here for, then?”

“Your advice.”

“I’m advising you to let it go. Let him go.”

“Let’s say I bite. Why are we not a good match?”

Duke shrugs as the server arrives to top off our water glasses. “For starters, you don’t even know the man.”

“No, but I am willing to learn.” I fold my hands across my lap and lean back. “That’s why I asked you here. To learn how I can become his friend.”

“I don’t know how I can help. I’ve been friends with the guy for years.”

“Exactly.”

“How do you know my shirt is red?”

I look at his shirt which, as he’s stated, is a vibrant shade of cherry. “It just is.”

“Exactly,” he echoes. “I’m friends with Boxer because we get along. I didn’t have to fake anything; we just clicked.”

“Where’d you meet?”

“Gabe’s.”

“The ice cream place?” I try not to let my jaw fall open. “You’re kidding me.”

“We have the same interests.”

“What other interests does he have?”

“Give it up, Miss Jones. He’s not your type.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” I fire back, no longer trying for polite. “Why are you so intent on keeping me away from him? I can help him. I want to help him. If he signs with me, we’ll have Charli’s college fund set up in three damn months. You know it, too. I’m good at what I do, Duke, and you’re retiring. He has to go somewhere.”

“Listen to me.” Duke’s voice is calm, softer, and he leans forward, eyes landing on mine. “Boxer’s different than most of the players, and I’m not going to let him sign with an agent who doesn’t respect that. He’s not out to earn the most money. He doesn’t want to be famous, or earn millions from endorsements—sure, he wants success and to earn a living, but that’s all.”

“But—”

“Don’t tell me what he wants,” Duke says. “Boxer’s a simple guy. He loves his daughter, hockey, and Gabe’s ice cream, and I’m pretty sure that’s the right order.”

“But—”

“He’s not looking for a boss, he’s looking for a friend. A partner. With a guy like Boxer, he’s not making every decision with his head.”

“What else is he making it with?”

“If there’s an endorsement deal across the world, and it promises to take him away from his daughter for longer than a few nights, he’s going to turn it down. If you aren’t okay with that decision, then let him go.”

I swallow, feeling like Duke’s walked me into a corner.

He knocks back the last of his water as if it’s whiskey. “This is why I took this meeting instead of sitting at home in my undies.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“I respect you, Miss Jones, and if it were any other client, I’d happily sign them over to you. But this one... he’s different.”

“He took me to Gabe’s.”

Duke’s silent as he raises an eyebrow. “Is that right?”

“I’m trying to get to know him.” I lean forward, steepling my hands over the table. “Andy Rumpert is in the game, too. If I give up now, Andy’s going to get Boxer. At least you know I won’t lie.”

“You’re honest, I’ll give you that.”

The host-turned-server-turned-chef walks across the floor, balancing trays of food. My time to beg Duke for help is running low.

“Give me a shot,” I plead, both hands pressing against the table as I lean in. “A little help. If I fail, I promise to lose gracefully.”

“I’m not playing games here,” Duke says, so serious he ignores the plates of steaming meat being placed on the table before us. “There is no secret sauce to making a friend, Miss Jones, but I’ll give you one piece of advice.”

“Oh, thank God.”

“The man loves his daughter, hockey, and Gabe’s.”

“What?” I blink in disbelief. “You already told me that!”

“Well, think about it some more.”

Plates clank on the table, the smell of barbecued meat heavy in the air. It’s thick enough to taste on a breath, and I can feel Duke’s fingers antsy to dig in. Even my stomach is throwing a welcome parade at the sight of the meat.

“Let down your guard, Miss Jones,” Duke says. “Spend some time with him, and the rest will fall into place. Now, let’s eat.”