Page 32 of The Hanukkah Hoax
“Or one of those blow pump gadgets.”
“You’re right!” Marisa breathed, cradling her forehead under the realization of just how much she had going for her and how much of it she just couldn’t see until Alec pointed it out. “My business is more than the sum of its parts. So much more. I just need to get in the game and make some noise about it.”
“And speaking of noise, I bet this’ll help.” Alec pulled out his phone and showed her his screen, specifically all the notifications that had come within a span of only a few minutes. There were more likes, thumbs-ups, smiley emojis, and Can’t wait to go! comments than any one of her posts had ever received. Page after page of people asking how they could buy tickets to the Crystal Christmas Ball, what other kinds of candies Sweetest Heart’s Desire would be offering, and which one of Marisa’s treats was Alec’s favorite.
Mentally, she’d tried racking up the numbers, but her brain stalled out when the comments bled over to subsequent pages. If even just a fraction of the people who interacted with this post actually bought tickets and showed up at the Ball, Marisa wasn’t only going to win a spot on Monica’s List, but she’d be in business for who knew how long.
Wave after wave of emotion flooded her system, causing her cheeks to heat and misting her eyes with good tears for a change.
But then another notification popped up on Alec’s phone. A single text message from a man’s name she didn’t recognize.
Alec’s face pinched and sank into a worried scowl. “My agent. Wants me to call him back. Must be in L.A. Give me a moment.”
“Sure.”
She didn’t know why, but when Alec let go of her hand to take the call, she worried he was letting go of something far greater.
Chapter 13
Alec excused himself and ducked out onto the back patio, one, to give his retinas a rest, and, two, because he didn’t want Marisa’s family to hear in case Brennan’s mouthiness caused him to inadvertently slip about his story.
Without his coat, his muscles felt the shock of the mid-December air in a way they did not appreciate, and boy, did they let him know. A prickling tension seized up at the base of his neck, shooting straight into his skull and behind his eyes, a stark reminder that he’d been slacking on Dr. Campbell’s exercises and his body had earned the right to file complaints.
Bloody perfect. As if speaking to his agent alone wouldn’t have given him enough grief.
“Hey, Brennan. Are you out at the Los Angeles Sevens tourney?”
The sour Irishman’s gruff guffaw wasn’t the reception Alec expected, but he couldn’t say it was entirely surprising. After more than ten years working together, he’d learned to make peace with whatever needed to come out of Brennan’s mouth, as it usually made them both loads of money.
Until the damn fool had started bringing up Alec’s possible retirement.
“I am, and watching some smarmy bastard mangle the shit out of your routes.”
“Is Marty not playing flanker?”
“Nah. His dad took ill. It’s more serious than he thought. Had to fly home to be with his family.”
“Shit. Can Fin step in to help?”
“And who do you think’s trying to train up the other two fly-halves while also keeping our conversion numbers up? We barely pulled out a win against Fiji yesterday, and that was because half their best players are dealing with a bout of food poisoning. It sure as hell wasn’t because we were stopping them from scoring. Fin’s doing more than his contract’s paying him for, I can tell you that much. And speaking of contracts . . .”
Through the patio door, the party shrank down to a speck, threatening to implode along with Alec into whatever black hole Brennan was surely about to throw his way.
Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “If you’re going to go on about retirement again?—”
“I’m not.”
“You’re not?” Alec quickly had to pull back the fight that was on the tip of his tongue.
“No.” Brennan paused for a few breaths, which would normally have been silent for anyone else, but for him, they were solid grumbling wheezes that likely portended certain doom. “I’m talking about a trade. And before you get on my arse and protest, you owe it to yourself to at least hear me out. I can already tell you’ve not been taking your meds, ‘cause I can practically hear your teeth grinding through the phone.”
Alec willed his jaw to unclench. “I’m taking my fucking meds, Brennan. My anger has nothing to do with my concussion, and you bloody well know it. A trade? Really?” Just saying the words left a sour stain on his tongue, to speak nothing of the sting of betrayal they left all over his heart.
“Yes, really. And once you hear what I’ve got on offer, you’ll be thanking me more than cursing me.”
“That is highly, highly unlikely.”
“Well, good, then. I’d rather have you angry than stupid. You always played better when your blood was up anyway, so here’s to hoping your emotions will finally let you hear some sense. While you’ve been recuperating, I’ve been shopping you around.”
