Page 6 of Chasing I Do
Gage walked through the doors of the historical craft beer bar in downtown, letting loose a string of choice words when he saw three of his five brothers. He knew why they were there. Even knew why they wore amused as shit looks on their faces.
After the day he’d had, Gage wanted nothing more than to go home, shower, and grab a cold beer. Which was ironic, because the day he’d had left the first two as non-options. Only leaving the cold beer still in play.
That was the reason he’d asked his brothers to meet.
Stout was known, not only for its deal making environment, working as the official meeting place for politicians, businessmen, and celebrities, but it was started by their late father. So not only did it feel like a second home, it was the one place the brothers always came when they needed to talk.
And tonight, they had a lot to consider.
Deciding the best course of action was to man-up, take the reaming, then drop the bomb that was sure to wipe those smug looks right off their faces, Gage headed toward the bar. Fancy pranced behind him with his head high and his tail waving proudly, as if he wasn’t the pussiest dog known to man.
“You courting a new client around town?” Clay, the youngest and, up until two seconds ago, his favorite brother, wanted to know. He was dressed in his usual sports jersey with a cracked lip and black eye, looking as if he’d been in a bar fight or training hard for the upcoming season—which being an NFL MVP, it could have been either.
“Funny thing about that,” Gage said, handing Rhett the leash. “I called Stephanie to see where she wanted to meet for the hand-off, you know, the one I offered to do on the way to my big meeting, because you were at that interview and she couldn’t make it to the groomer in time. She explained she was getting her dress fitted in L.A., then thanked me for agreeing to dog sit.”
“That was nice of you,” Rhett said, picking up the dog and setting him in his lap.
“I’m not dog sitting,” Gage clarified. “And how the hell is she supposed to plan a wedding if she’s out of state?”
“The woman could organize a hostile takeover of a first world country from her iPhone.” Rhett leaned back and folded his hands behind his head, making himself right at home. “The in-person stuff, that’s why we have you.”
“You don’thaveme. I said I’d pull a favor with the location. Not plan a wedding while dog sitting a glorified rat who likes to tear off people’s fingers.” He glared at Fancy, who was too busy licking himself to notice. “What’s up with that?”
“They must have been wearing R-I-N-G-S,” Rhett said.
“Rings?”
Littleshit lunged forward, nearly taking Gage’s hand off in the process. “Jesus, what’s wrong with that thing?”
“Nothing.” Rhett patted the rat’s head in praise. “Stephanie paid some fancy dog trainer to the stars to teach him how to carry the rin—” Rhett stopped abruptly when Fancy’s eyes went into Cujo mode. “He’s our R-I-N-G bearer, so he’ll carryitdown the aisle.”
Rhett pointed to his ring finger in case anyone missed whatitreferred to. Then he glanced at Gage’s shirt, wrinkled with little muddy paw prints, and grinned. “How did the meeting with the potential client go?”
“He was the NHL’s rookie of the year, right?” Owen, the middle brother and the owner of Stout, asked. He reached over the bar to refill the pitcher, sure to ruffle Littleshit’s ears in the process. “Tony Carter. He was in here the other night, served him and a couple of his teammates. Nice guy, big tipper.”
“But did he seem like a dog lover?” Rhett asked, and all of the brothers burst out laughing. Loud, amused, shit-eating laughter that made Gage want to punch someone in the nuts.
Even Littleshit was laughing. Those lips of his peeled back to give a nice flash of his damn needle teeth. The ones that had done a bang up job of turning his leather car seats into strips of jerky on the ride over.
“Didn’t matter,” Gage said, taking a seat, sure to elbow Rhett in the process. “Told him my brother was so pussy-whipped that he had a set of matching bows and collar at home that his soon-to-be-wife bought him. Playtime attire, is what I hear they call it.”
“Jesus, man,” Rhett said, suddenly serious. “That leaks and the press will run with it. I’ll never be able to go into a pet store again without someone wondering why I’m buying dog treats.”
Fancy never came up in his meeting because he paid the doorman at his building a hundred bucks to watch the rat while he landed a new client. Not that Gage mentioned that to Rhett. He’d gone out of his way to screw with Gage’s day, so letting him sweat it out for a bit wouldn’t hurt.
“So he signed?” Clay asked.
Clay might be two years younger than Gage, making him the baby of the family, but he was the most level-headed of the brothers. Always had been. His ability to keep focused in the storm made him one of the best running backs in the NFL. And a big reason why Gage wanted to meet with his brothers—get their opinion.
“He signed,” Gage said. “Thanks for intro, the way the kid was pumping my hand, like I was the pope, told me you really hyped me up.”
“It’s not hype if it’s true. You got me a ten percent jump in bonus during the last negotiations with the Seahawks. That’s more than any other running back in the league makes. As far as I’m concerned, Tony is the lucky one,” Clay said, then raised his glass. “Congrats, bro.”
Gage did a round of toasts, with a few hard pats to the back from each of his brothers, and he waited. Waited for the rush, the excitement he normally experienced after closing a big deal. But, just like at the meeting, it was nowhere to be found.
For a fleeting moment, when Tony had signed on that dotted line, making Gage the top agent at his agency, he’d felt the adrenaline course through his body, felt that cocky thrill of accomplishment, knowing he’d done it. Knowing he’d created a profile of clients that was unrivaled by someone his age.
But it faded as fast as it had come.
