Page 140 of Biggest Player
The paps catching me looking pissed isn’t news, and it isn’t new. I’m a big dude and often look angry—why the hell should I have to stomp around blowing sunshine and roses up everyone’s ass all the time?
“Damage control?” I run a hand down my face. “That’s all you can think about right now? My relationship has gone to shit.”
“You know how this works.” My agent ignores my whining. “They get pictures, we post a comment. Whatever you did to make your girlfriend mad, apologize—make a grand gesture, do whatever it takes because it’s too soon for a breakup announcement. Not when we just leaked that you’re dating her.”
Unfuckingbelievable.
I feel a surge of anger. “Jesus Christ, if only it was that simple. You are my agent, not my publicist. This isn’t just about my image or my career. This is about Margot, her daughter, and the mess I’ve made.”
“Margot isn’t my responsibility—you are. No offense, but I really couldn’t give a shit about how some random woman you’re dating feels right now.”
I am not on her payroll.His unspoken words linger.
Trent sighs, clearly frustrated with my lack of cooperation the same way I’m frustrated by his lack of consideration for Margot.
“Dex, you have to separate your personal feelings from your professional obligations. This is what you signed up for.”
“No. I signed up to play football—I didn’t sign up to fuck with someone’s emotions.”
“Listen, man, you—”
But I don’t give him a chance to finish his sentence; I hang up without another word.
He doesn’t get it.
I hear Carrie fussing in the kitchen, so I walk to my office door, shutting myself in—and her out. I pause, hand on the doorknob.
Carrie has always been a sounding board; perhaps I should talk to her.
No way, she’ll tell you to your face that you’re a stupid bastard, and she would be right.
I need someone who won’t kick me while I’m down ...
Someone who knows what I’m dealing with because they’ve been where I’ve been.
I flop down in my massive leather chair and settle in, dialing the only person who can talk me off this ledge.
“Dude. Why do you look like you have to shit your pants?” he greets me, and from the looks of it, he’s in the backyard of his house, tongs in hand.
For once in my life I don’t have a smart-ass comment for my friend.
“I fucked up.”
“Sorry to hear that, man.” Landon’s tongs go down, and I can see him lean against his grill, sobering up when he realizes I’m being serious. “What’s going on?”
“Margot thinks I’m only dating her because it boosts my reputation.” He knows the backstory, so I spare him the dirty details. “She’s furious, and I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Do not tell me you listened to Trent.” Landon stares at me through the phone. “Harlow would claw my fucking face off if I pulled a stunt like this—no offense.”
“None taken.” Tons taken. I need help, not to be made to feel worse. “I fuckinglikeher, man. She and I were texting a lot and making each other laugh before Trent made his suggestion. So I didn’t think it would hurt to go out with her a few times to see how things went. And if it, you know, made me a media darling—great.”
He rolls his eyes. “Don’t ever call yourself a media darling. It makes you sound even douchier than you already do.”
“Sorry.”
Landon hums. “I think you need to provide me with a few more details. Catch me up to speed.”
That I can do. “Honestly, bro, I didn’t mean to tell her. Everything is great—totally falling for her. Wyatt is awesome, too—if I’m gonna date someone with a kid, this would be the one. But Trent called while I was in her bedroom, I had him on speaker, she overheard everything and now wants nothing to do with me.”
