Page 35 of Rebellious

His anger brings a smile to my face. Call me a kinky psycho, but I’m all kinds of turned on and Bennett knows it. Okay, me moaning as I slid off the bench probably gave it away. “See you at dinner, Jameson. Don’t make me come back and drag your sulking ass out of here.”

I leave the barn, beaming. Bennett might be pissed and avoiding our dinner company, but he’s no coward. Accusing him of being out here sulking should snap him out of his funk.

Pushing open the wooden doors, he calls after me. “I need a shower.”

I tip my chin, a prominent smirk on my face as I keep walking, never looking back. “I’ll save you a seat.”

Like I promised, I saved Bennett a seat right next to me. He would probably rather sit next to Drew, but when Liam eyed the space, he claimed it quickly with a curt, “I’m sitting there.”

Fifteen minutes later, dinner hasn’t gotten any better.

“So, Aspen, your dad tells me you’re a big baseball fan. When you come to Boston, we should catch a game. I’ll give you a tour around the park.”

You have to admire Liam’s bravery. Honestly, if Bennett was shooting hate glares at me every other chew, I probably wouldn’t be as chatty.

“I like football better,” I clarify. “Baseball is in my blood, but football…” has my heart.

Liam nods, considering my answer. “Any particular team?”

I smile over the fork and knock my knee into Bennett’s. “Not yet.”

“I see.” Liam’s smile is quite contagious. He’s blond, tall, and looks like he came straight out of a fashion magazine. He isn’t all that awful to look at. “So no dreams of challenging your father for a spot on the payroll?”

I swallow thickly, forcing my smile to hold. “Uh, no,” I lie. Well, it’s kind of a lie. I don’t want to work for my dad or even be a baseball scout like he is. I want to take the prospects scouts find and represent them before their contracted teams can offer them shitty deals. These guys have incredible talent. Just because they don’t have the credentials or time spent playing in the pros, doesn’t mean they aren’t worth the investment to a team. I’m not saying rookies should earn more than veteran players. I’m simply saying clubs are notorious for acquiring exceptional talent by luring them in with lengthy contracts with no increase, only empty promises of later negotiations.

These rookies need someone to look out for their interests from the get-go. Most of them are just looking for an opportunity. They love the game and playing professional ball is their dream. They’ll jump at any deal offered and when they grow, and make the clubs billions, their talent is still only worth the minimum dollar the clubs offered in the beginning.

“Speaking of which,” my dad interrupts, “I called Cooper Lexington the other day. I needed to give him the number of a club who was interested in acquiring him.” Dad eyes me suspiciously. “Any idea why he referred me to you?”

This time, Bennett knocks into my knee.

Dammit. Now isn’t the time.

I sigh. “Probably because his brother and I are friends,” I offer. “I’ll talk to Lexington about it. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

It’s all a lie. Every word.

Truth is, I’ve been building my client list and Maverick, Cooper Lexington’s brother, has been helping me. Cooper was the one who suggested I be his agent after I agreed to get eyes on his pitching, aka my dad.

I laughed it off at first, but then Maverick shrugged and said it was possible with the right help. He suggested if I took on clients such as his brother and Bennett, I’d have more follow suit. Both Bennett and Cooper are already stars in their respective sports of football and baseball. All I would need to do is negotiate a solid deal for both of them and bam, street credibility.

Another knock to my knee sends a glare at Bennett. I know I didn’t tell him about Cooper, and he thought he was the only one. But he knew I gave out advice on campus. He also knew I helped Cooper a few months ago. The only thing he doesn’t know is that I agreed to be his agent. Clearly, I’m in over my head. I’m confused, I’m torn, and I don’t have my shit together.

“You’ll talk to him?” my dad muses, his eyes narrowing. “Alright, Aspen, when you talk to Lexington, make sure he knows New York is offering him a good deal.”

I react.

I didn’t mean to, but the words are already out of my mouth before I could stop them. “A good deal?” I scoff. “Three hundred and twenty-five thousand for three years is not a good deal. Maybe if Coop were thirty-three and on Tommy-John Surgery number two, I would consider that offer.” I suck in a breath. “But an eighteen-year-old southpaw with a side arm that yielded a 1.3 ERA last season, is worth over three-twenty-five. You and I both know that.”

The table is silent as my father grins over his beer. “Sounds like there’s a reason Cooper referred me to you,” he chuckles. “I didn’t realize he had a shark in his back pocket.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I chance a look at my mom, who is also sipping on her wine, enjoying the show with a smug look. “Sounds like you need to tell New York to pony up a better offer,” she tells my dad.

“I guess so.”

The table goes quiet once again and I distract myself with food, shoveling in as much as I can manage without choking. I don’t need anyone else asking me questions. Thanks to Liam bringing up the topic, my dad now knows too much. This conversation will inevitably lead to a much deeper talk later. Not to mention, if Bennett knocks into my leg one more time, I am going to stab him with my fork.

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