Page 105 of Blitzing Emily

Emily stepped into her own high heels so the dress wouldn’t drag on the floor and rounded the corner to show them.

“What do you think? Mom, Suzanne, Amy?”

Emily’s mother let out a gasp, and grabbed for Suzanne’s hand. Her cool, collected, elegant potential mother-in-law burst into tears.

“That’s the dress,” Amy said, with tears in her eyes, too. “Buy that one.”

Chapter Twenty

BRANDON GLANCED AROUNDthe Sharks’ workout facility a few weeks after his parents’ unexpected visit, mopping the sweat off his face with a well-used hand towel. He had the place to himself. Early morning sunshine through floor-to-ceiling windows bounced off a fortune in exercise machines, free weights, and other paraphernalia. He glanced up at the ceiling-sized panoramic photo of Sharks fans that the team photographer took during a game last year. Every crunch, every butterfly, every rotation of the elliptical meant he improved his game for those fans and for himself.

The other guys didn’t usually show up here till later in the morning. He stuck theiPodearbuds in, turned the beats up as loud as they would go, and draped the towel over his head. It was time to work his neck.

Forty-five minutes later, the smart phone in his shorts pocket was on perma-vibrate. Five calls from his agent in an hour. The Sharks must have agreed to their latest contract extension offer. He clicked over to an incoming text: CALL MY OFFICE. ASAP.

The team’s front office probably wanted him to sign before the first home game. They’d make a big production out of it, too. He grinned, imagining how long it would take his little diva to choose an outfit before the press conference. Maybe he should buy her a new dress for the occasion. He’d make sure it was scheduled on a day she could attend.

His phone vibrated again. A text from Emily: PLEASE CALL YOUR AGENT. HE’S LOOKING FOR YOU.

“What the hell’s the fire drill?” he muttered to himself. He got up from the weight bench, loped into the locker room, stripped, and stepped into the shower.

BRANDON THREW HIMSELFinto his Land Rover twenty-five minutes later, and hit “Josh” on his contacts list. Most guys saw their agent as a necessary evil—someone who handled the business end of football. They didn’t want to think about contracts and endorsements. The year he was drafted Brandon came home from the Senior Bowl with a fistful of business cards from potential agents. He hired Josh when Josh answered his own telephone and didn’t hide behind bullshit when Brandon asked him tough questions. Their relationship over the years was businesslike but cordial.

Josh’s contract negotiations with the Sharks were a work of art. He managed to stay on good terms with the team, while getting Brandon every dollar and perk one of the best pass-rushing defensive ends in the NFL deserved. He put multiple lucrative endorsement deals together for Brandon, endorsements that would live on long after his football career was over. Brandon was a very wealthy man as a result, and Josh hadn’t done badly for himself, either.

Today, Josh didn’t even say “hello.”

“McKenna, where the hell have you been?”

“Lifting. Shower. You must have prevailed in the negotiations.”

Josh waited a few beats. “I’m at Sea-Tac Airport. My flight just landed. We need to meet.”

BRANDON NOSED HISvehicle into the curb by the Alaska Airlines baggage claim area. Josh moved through the crowd of passengers waiting to be picked up by loved ones, tossed a laptop backpack onto the back seat of the car, and hopped into the passenger seat.

“What’s up?” Brandon asked.

“Let’s get a beer. It’s on me,” Josh told him. He stared out the windshield of Brandon’s SUV.

Brandon felt the first icy fingers of dread slithering up his spine.

TEN MINUTES LATER,they sat down at the bar in a restaurant across the street from the airport. Josh ordered two microbrews. Brandon ordered a glass of ice water.

“Out with it,” Brandon said. “I’m guessing you’re not here because you missed me.”

Josh took a sip of his beer. “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this, so here it is. The Sharks declined your contract extension. This is your last season with them.”

Brandon didn’t drink during football season. He took his training regimen seriously, not to mention his commitment to staying out of trouble. He’d been quizzed on this fact many times by sports reporters over the years. Good thing it was still pre-season. He wrapped one hand around the second beer on the bar, lifted it to his lips, and chugged it. He nodded at the bartender for a second.

“Did they give you a reason?” Brandon said.

“The team wanted a significant pay cut for an extension. They also wanted a waiver from the injury guarantee portion of the contract.” Josh put his empty glass back down on the bar. “I reminded them you restructured two years ago to help them land McCoy when the Vikings cut him loose due to the salary cap, and restructured again when they went after Tampa Bay’s backup QB last season. I reminded them you live here in the offseason. You encourage most of the defense to live here as well, so the group hits the ground running in July. I reminded them you had twelve sacks last season.”

Brandon drained his refilled pint glass in three long swallows. He nodded at the bartender once more and said, “A shot of Jameson’s, too.”

“Please tell me you’re not driving,” Josh said.

“I’ll have my rig towed home.” Brandon dropped the full shot glass into his third beer. “How long until this hits the national news?”

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