Page 2 of The Hotshot vs The Reporter

“What?” I finally give in and ask her because I’m not used to Jenny being quiet, and I don’t like it.

“Your reputation is in the toilet. You get that, right?”

I feel my body tense as I try swallowing away the lump in my throat, but it doesn’t work. I hope she can’t see my hands trembling as I try to play it cool. “Isn’t that the point? To have a bad reputation. To be a bad boy? The Hotshot?”

“No,” she answers instantly, leaning forward and putting her glass on the table before straightening her back and eyeing me intensely. “People aren’t rooting for the villain anymore. They don’t want the bad boy. They want justice. They want good to win. And you, my friend, are playing on the wrong side.”

“There will always be room for the villain,” I try to argue.

“No.” Her eyes pin mine, sending a shiver through me, and a coldness I’m not sure I’ll ever overcome sweeps over me. “There won’t. They don’t want the loudmouth jackass to win. Your merch sales are down. Your sponsorships are dwindling, and you need to pull your head out of your ass and listen to me.”

I work my jaw in irritation but otherwise remain still. “What do you want me to do? I won the race.”

“And you won it the dirty way. That’s not going to fly anymore, Royal. If you win, it has to be the right way. With integrity.”

“I have integrity,” I say, hating the way what she said hurts.

“I believe you do.” Her gaze softens just a bit before it hardens again. She stands up, pulling her blazer down to smooth it out. “You have to start showing it. We have to find a way to soften you to the fans.”

I cringe at that. “I’m not soft.”

“You better find your softer side and soon, Royal.” She starts toward the door, her heels clacking on the floor. “Or your career is going to be over sooner rather than later, while the nice little rookies come in and steal your spotlight.”

“That’ll never happen.”

I sense her eyes rolling, even though I haven’t moved from my seat. The door clicks when she lets herself out, and I curse my racing heart and sweaty palms. My career isn’t close to over.

It can’t be.

CHAPTER2

SOREN

I can’t believe I’m here. I mean, shit, I shouldn’t be. Of course, Jenny had to catch me when I was home in Kansas City, and I’m a terrible damn liar, so I couldn’t say I wasn’t here.

Not to mention most of my life is fully documented on social media. Damn Plaza last night. Why did I have to post pics at the fancy restaurant.

Oh. Right. Comped dinner.

That was nice.

I’ve made a damn good living so far in my twenty-five years. Not only by becoming a sports reporter in Kansas City, but my lifestyle/sports blog and social-media presence has quite the following.

Still, I’m here as a favor to my cousin, Waylon. I haven’t seen the guy for years, but blood is blood, and we share it. My mother would kill me if I didn’t take his call, and she’d have been super angry with me if I’d told him there was no way I would meet his friend Jenny.

In memory of my sweet mother, who left me when I was only twelve—the result of a horrible disease she fought hard against and lost—I’m here. Waiting for Jenny, one of the top sports agents in the country.

I’ve met her a few times in passing, but I don’t remember ever actually speaking to her. Truth be told, the woman kind of scares me. The definition of fierce. She’s strong, but I’m sure she’s had to be.

Women agents aren’t taken seriously in the sports world—about as seriously as they take full out and proud gay men who are sports reporters. But my point is she’s had to be tough. There’s no doubt in my mind.

Still, nerves swirl through my belly, wondering what the hell she could possibly want from me. I go through the roster of her clients in my head and all the insults I’ve thrown their way on my podcast and Insta Live.

Shit. She’s going to murder me.

I start to get up to run for my life when I hear the clicking of heels and find myself in Jenny’s presence, her eyes calmly assessing me. “Soren.”

I nod my head, even though it wasn’t a question. “Jenny. Hello.”

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