I tap my pencil on my desk, anticipating that my phone will buzz at any moment. How do I know it will buzz? Because apparently when Derek puts his mind to something, he really commits. He rarely lets me have any downtime before calling with a new command. It’s only been two weeks on the job, and I’m exhausted.
I’ve figured out his tactic by now: Never allow Nora time during the day to accomplish actual work. Keep her busy with annoying stuff at all costs.
Which is why I’ve been working until the early hours of the morning getting the important stuff done like responding to email inquiries, researching interview and appearance opportunities, and talent-scouting online for potential clients. My nights are full of agent productivity, but my days…not so much.
I’ve washed and detailed Derek’s SUV, run busy errands for him all over California (yes, sometimes going so far that I’m forced to make a day trip out of it), reorganized his closet (which was actually really fun and also gave me the chance to use my emergency sewing kit to mend a few articles of his clothing—specifically raising the hemline an inch on only the right leg of each of his pants). And of course I’ve had to unsubscribe him from all junk emails he’s ever received in the last several years because isn’t that every professional agent’s responsibility? At this rate, I’ll never grow Derek’s career or have time to scout other clients. He’s making sure I want to quit.
And any of the endorsement deals Derek’s been offered and I’ve brought to his attention? Forget it. He never lets me finish pitching them before he cuts me off with another chore to accomplish. Which is really starting to stump me, because even though I know this is all a ploy to make me so miserable I supposedly quit, he hasn’t truly intended to go through with it, right? I guess I thought this would be something he’d get out of his system and then we could all move on happily into the grown-up realm of business. He needs a good agent. He’s a smart guy—and should know that he’s at the point of jeopardizing growing his income with how many opportunities he’s passing up. It’s starting to feel like there’s something else at play I haven’t considered.
There’s even a top-of-the-line suit company, Dapper, that wants to pay Derek an enormous amount of money to represent their brand and star in their next commercial. But Derek said no immediately because he was too busy and couldn’t take a day off from training. I can’t quite explain it, but I’m starting to get the feeling that excuse is nothing but BS.
I’m supposed to give Dapper an answer by the end of the day today, but I’m dreading severing that lucrative connection.
Another problem is the tug of my traitorous heart in the rare moments when Derek does something unexpected. Something like handing me a water bottle if we’ve been outside too long. Always making sure I’m fed when he keeps me busy with tasks. Pretending he doesn’t see me if I accidentally nod off on the job from the super early mornings combined with my sleepless nights. Yesterday, I could have sworn I fell asleep sitting at his kitchen island while going through his emails, but when I woke up, I was lying on his couch with a blanket. I asked him if he knew anything about that and he shrugged and said I must have sleepwalked. Not likely.
And it’s in these small moments when I realize that the old Derek—my Derek—is still in there somewhere. The Derek who would blow me a kiss from the field before every game in college. The Derek whose hands felt like the first day of summer when you’ve been seasonally depressed for too long. Who would wink and make my stomach dip. And let me tell you—no one can wink like Derek. Most people try and it makes them look like a creep who might follow you out to your car. Not Derek. It looks so effortless and genuine. Like you’re both in on this extravagant, delicious secret together.
Against all odds, I’m still enormously attracted to him. I need to get a lock on my feelings. Because if there’s one thing I’m certain of after working closely with Derek all week: He doesn’t like me, or at best doesn’t want to.
A knock sounds at my office door.
“Come in,” I say in complete despair.
The door opens and I peek up through my lashes to see Nicole lean her pencil-skirted hip against my doorframe. Today she’s in her gorgeous black power suit. It wraps around her body tightly and screams Don’t mess with all this! It’s hard not to have a girl crush on her.
She crosses her arms and lifts a brow. “Napping at work?”
“No,” I groan into the crook of my arm. “I’m giving up. This is my giving-up position.”
“So soon?” She pauses and then casts a disgusted glance around my office. “Then again, I would too if I had to work in here every day. Gross. How do you have a window but still no natural light?”
“The sun only comes through for five minutes sometime between two-thirty and two-forty-five each day.”
“It’s oppressive.”
I lift my head. “You know I think you’re a powerful, beautiful goddess in all ways—but you are not great at pep talks.”
She raises both eyebrows now. “Oh. Is that what I’m supposed to be doing? I was only here to see if you knew where the paper clips are kept.”
I’m already standing up from my desk and tugging her into my office. “Well, you’re here now, so might as well stay awhile and impart your all-knowing wisdom to me.”
“But I really need to—oh, no, don’t shut the door. It’s so musty in here.”
“You get used to it quickly,” I say, practically shoving her into the chair in front of my desk. She looks at the armrests like if she touches them, she might come away with sludge on her sleeve. I turn to face her and hop up on my desk. Her lashes lower to assess my chambray daisy-printed overalls, with a yellow short-sleeve shirt underneath.
“Did you just come from milking cows?”
I gasp in offense and hook my thumbs around the straps. “These are stylish. I got them from the most fashionable store in the country.”
She looks skeptical. “Where?”
“Target.”
She rolls her eyes away from me. “Hopeless.”
“Baby, if this hopeless, I never want to be hopeful.” Nicole makes like she’s going to stand and leave. I hold out my hand. “No, wait! Stay. Please. I need your advice.”
“You have one minute of my time. Go.”
It’s a good thing that I’ve been training to go on Supermarket Sweep my whole life and therefore turn on stopwatches periodically in my day just so I’m used to the sudden time crunch. I thrive under pressure.
I fill my lungs with so much air it makes Nicole cringe. But I need all the air I can get if I’m going to come clean and unload my entire romantic history on her. “I haven’t been able to do any real work for Derek yet because he’s sort of hazing me by making me do all this busy work instead. And it’s all because—”
“Let me stop you there and save us both the next fifty seconds,” she says, holding up a hand. “I’ve dealt with his type many times before. And the answer is simple: You need to beat his ass at his own petulant little game.”
“But how—”
Apparently, Nicole is feeling benevolent today because she continues right on talking. “You’re a grown woman with a career, and you don’t have time for men like him to mess around with it. If he wants a fight, give him a fight. But you play by your rules from now on.” She stands up with the authority of a commander addressing an army. “Believe me, Mac, sometimes the only way to gain a person’s respect is to demand it. You’re his agent. Act like it. Do your job regardless of what busy errand he tries to send you on, and if he fires you, his loss.”
I want to slow clap for her, but I refrain because she hated it when I did that to her last time. Plus she’s already standing up from the chair and walking toward the door. There’s no time to play around.
“It won’t look bad on me if he dissolves the contract?” I ask.
“Not if you explain the situation.” She pauses and hesitates before saying the next bit. “Plus—you have me on your side. I’ll make sure you’re not penalized.”
This changes everything.
“Okay,” I say with a grateful smile. “Thank you, Nicole. For everything.”
She nods and almost smiles. “And for the love of fashion and professionalism, please stop wearing clothes like that.”
“Never.” I hop off my desk and pat my thighs. “It has pockets.”
A look of agony crosses her face. “It keeps getting worse.”
“Careful, you’re starting to sound like Marty.”
Nicole grunts a dismissive laugh. “The difference being I have impeccable fashion sense and want to see you succeed. Marty wears out-of-date suits two sizes too big for him, still thinks he dresses like a god, and only criticizes your fashion to cut you down.” She pauses. “But I see your point. Wear what makes you happy, I suppose.”
The look on her face as she delivers that last line while walking out of my office tells me how painful it was for her to say. I chuckle while rounding my desk and take my seat again, this time pulling one foot up into the chair with me to think. I have to find a way to beat Derek at his own game. But how?
I pick up my pencil and tap it against my lips. Just as that five-minute sliver of sunlight bursts through my office, my phone starts ringing. Derek’s name flashes across my screen and I growl before answering.
“Hello, Derek Pender’s personal minion, how may I be of service?”
“Why do you keep answering like this?” By this he means in a cutesy way. I’ve been changing the tagline each time, but the gist of it is always the same.
“Because it annoys you, and it’s the only way I can fight back against your malicious hazing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says deadpan, but I hear a note of mischievousness in there. “I’m going out tonight. I need you to pick up my suit from the dry cleaners and bring it to my house.”
I drag in one deep breath through my nose and release it slowly.
“Hm, that sounds like a lot of fun, but I happen to know you have several killer-looking suits in your closet. And rumor has it, they’re feeling pretty lonely and forgotten. I bet if you wore one of those, it would boost morale for your entire closet.”
He’s not having it. “I need my dry cleaning by six.”
“By six…?” I draw out the word and then let it dangle in a question.
“Yes. By six.”
“No, I’m saying, by six what?”
“Six on the dot. Not before, not after.”
I groan and refrain from banging my head on my desk. “No, Derek! You’re missing the word please! I need for you to at least say the word please when you’re being a demeaning poop-nugget.”
“And I need for you to use real insults like a grown-up, but we can’t both get our way. Feel free to quit if—”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the speech. I’ll have your suit to you by six.”
I hang up before he has a chance to not say thank you.
Nicole’s advice pings in my brain, but how can I be expected to turn the tables on him when he’s in the offseason and seems to have all the time in the world at his fingertips to boss me around? And don’t even think I haven’t noticed the way he’s been avoiding his friends. Never hanging out with them or returning their calls and texts. It seems Derek’s entire life is devoted to training and ruining my life. Which at first, I thought was simply because he hates me…but now, I’m thinking it’s for an entirely different reason I’ve been overlooking.
And then it hits me. The most glorious plan ever. But I’m going to need to recruit some help.
If it’s a suit Derek wants…it’s a suit he’s going to get.
