“You okay?” Trevor asked. He casually popped a chunk of bread in his mouth and chewed, watching me closely.
Trevor was dusty blond haired, clean shaven, young, and covered in lithe muscle. He was beautiful, but in an entirely different way than Damon. Trevor had easy looks. They were the kind you could trust—at least for a fling. He was the prototypical hook-up guy. Too wild and free to tie down, but too good natured to mistrust.
Then there was Damon. I looked at him again as he brooded across from Trevor. He’d dressed in a sharp suit that highlighted all the serious edges he had. Damon was rugged and coarse. He was dark and confusing.
If the two of them were movies, Trevor was the blockbuster hit that you’d probably forget a week after watching it, even though you enjoyed the ride. Damon was the indie flick loaded with enough twists and turns to keep it in your head forever.
“I’m great, yeah,” I said. Prove to Damon that you can do a good job at this. Be personable. Win him over. “I saw your match last weekend. That comeback was incredible. It might’ve been the most amazing thing I’ve seen on a court all year.”
I couldn’t quite tell from the corner of my view, but I was almost certain Damon rolled his eyes.
“Thanks,” Trevor flashed a confident smile. “Truth was I was shitting myself the whole time. Gerard has always had my number, especially on clay.”
I nodded. “But you still have the edge on him historically. Last time I looked you led him by what was it, twenty wins?”
Trevor hooked his thumb toward me while looking at Damon. “I see you brought in an expert. I’m impressed.”
Damon, always the serious grump, nodded as if this was exactly what he’d planned. “Chelsea used to play herself. Not at your level, of course, but—”
“Oh, I know. I recognize her. We played against her in a mixed doubles tournament when she was in college. I still remember that wicked kick serve you had, Chels.”
Chels? I couldn’t quite believe Trevor Castle was giving me a nickname. I didn’t know if I should be annoyed or flattered. I did know what Damon thought of it.
He was leaning forward so the vein on the side of his head was visible, fists clenched on his fork and knife. He looked like a caveman about to bang the table and demand food.
I wanted to laugh but didn’t want to antagonize him. Did I find guilty pleasure in seeing him squirm? Yes. Did I want to intentionally fuel the fire? No. I wasn’t cruel, unlike some people.
“We’re prepared to make an offer,” Damon said.
I shot him a look. So much for being a smooth negotiator.
Trevor popped another bite of bread into his mouth, chewing between perfect, ivory white teeth. “I’m here, so I’m obviously considering. Although I’ve got a meeting with Trish Jameson tomorrow, too. But I’m done with Dwight. That much is for sure. He really fucked the pooch with my sponsors. How would you have handled it better?”
Damon launched into a discussion that went back and forth until we’d reached dessert. I was taking as many mental notes as I could.
I gradually realized Damon’s negotiation technique was about pure confidence. He didn’t bullshit. He didn’t sugarcoat. There were no sales pitches or corny lines. He simply laid out the facts, and the facts were that he had a track record of success. Massive success, at that.
I could tell Trevor was convinced before we even got our entrees, but he also impressed me with the depth of questions he’d prepared to ask Damon. He clearly didn’t want to be saddled with another sub-par agent again.
I had to pee. Badly. I’d been draining waters since we sat down, partly out of nervousness. I didn’t want to embarrass Damon by excusing myself in the middle of the meeting, but enough was enough.
“Sorry, I’ve got to use the restroom,” I said.
Trevor and Damon continued their conversations, both barely touching their dessert.
On my way out of the bathroom, a woman I recognized but couldn’t immediately place stopped me. “You must be Chelsea.”
I squinted. Oh, shit. I recognized her because I’d spent a solid chunk of time internet stalking her. Trish Jameson. “You’re Trish,” I said, not bothering to pretend I didn’t know who she was.
She looked exactly like her pictures, except taller. She was wearing some expensive checker patterned dress and a huge pair of diamond earrings. “I happened to be eating here when I noticed you and Damon were wining and dining my client.”
“Trevor hasn’t decided on a new agent yet.”
Trish sniffed dismissively. “He’s mine, and it looks like I need to remind Damon that he’s my bitch.”
“Excuse me?” I didn’t expect the rush of anger I felt to hear her say that. Her bitch? Who was this woman?