Page 64 of The Confidentiality Clause
We get to where we’re tied six-to-six. One more point to win. I hit the puck toward Ariel, but she doesn’t move. Doesn’t even try to block me. She’s too busy staring over my shoulder like there’s a ghost behind me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her.
“Houston is here,” she says, panic lacing her voice.
“Vonjerkface?” I question and she nods, so I turn to see the idiot in question.
It’s not hard to spot him in his too-tight designer suit with a model giggling on his arm.
“We should go,” she says.
“Absolutely not. We’re having a good time. I just won, and you’re bound to eventually win at least one game if we keep playing.”
She glares at me. “I can’t deal with him tonight, Brock. He’s going to ask about my boyfriend and the gala.”
“So? I already said I’d go with you. Tell him we’re dating.”
Her eyes widen. “Are you sure?”
“He’ll probably assume that anyway, since we’re here together and you’re in my jacket.” She wraps it tighter around her like she’s nervous. “On second thought, if he’s as much of an idiot as you’ve said, then we might need to spell it out for him. I’m game if you are.”
She looks at me for a long moment. Vulnerability shines in her eyes, but it’s quickly replaced by desperation as she looks beyond me again. “I hope you mean that, because he’s headed this way.”
“Ariel, is that you?” Houston asks with the smarmiest grin as he saunters up. “What are the chances?”
I walk over to Ariel and slide an arm around her waist. Houston eyes the movement. I stick my other hand out.
“Brock Jones, nice to meet you. How do you know my Ariel?”
I grip his hand much harder than necessary. He pulls away before I do and tries to discreetly flex his hand by his side.
“Houston Vonclout. We work together. And you are?”
I smile. “Her boyfriend. She’s told me about you. I think it’s so nice how you work together. She takes the clients to hundreds of showings, asks them questions, answers their concerns and–” I tip my head to the side. “I forget, what is it that you do again? Take clients to lunch?”
Ariel stifles a laugh next to me. Houston fumes, while the woman next to him just looks confused.
“I close deals,” he says through gritted teeth.
“Right, right, that’s what I meant,” I say with an easy grin.
“And what is it thatyoudo?” he asks with a condescending tone that matches his pompous face.
“He’s a sports agent,” Ariel speaks up. The pride in her voice warms my chest. “Maybe you’ve heard of some of his clients? Shaw Daniels, Miles Day, Jason Kingsley, Emmett Foster?”
The surprise in Houston’s gaze tells me he knows at least some of those names, if not all. It would be hard not to, what with how much success my friends have.
He shrugs it off. “I’m not big into sports.”
The woman glued to his arm giggles. “Yes you are, silly!” She looks at us. “He bets on games all the time. Last time he won, he bought me a Chanel bag. He’s so sweet like that,” she coos.
Houston does not look thrilled with this admission. I don’t think his girlfriend could read a room if her life depended on it.
“We should really get going,” he says, taking a step back. “It was nice meeting you.”
“You too,” I say with a wide, fake smile. “Looking forward to seeing you again at the gala.”
His expression is tense when he replies, “Sounds great.”
