DEKKER

 

MELODRAMA AT ITS FINEST.

It’s the only thought that runs through my mind when I take a seat at the conference table in the back office of Kincade Sports Management.

Brexton sits with her arms crossed over her chest, and her resting bitch face in full effect. Her foot bounces where it’s crossed over her knee, and she scrolls through her phone with complete disinterest.

Chase sits ramrod straight, her business suit crisp and pressed and everything else about her perfectly styled to match. Christ, even the leather cover of her notepad matches. Perfection in a sickening fashion.

Lennox inspects her fingernails. They’re too long and too red, but I’m sure she has her reasons for looking like she wants to claw someone’s eyes out with them.

Let’s hope this time, it’s not mine.

I sit back and wait and watch and wonder.

Aren’t we all the perfect picture of disdain? I’d rather be anywhere—anywhere, like even shopping—than sitting right here with them right now. I’m more than sure they feel the same way.

Thrilled was the last thing we all probably felt when we got the call to be here.

My competitors.

My rivals.

“Ladies.” Kenyon Kincade’s voice rumbles when he walks into the room. Our heads turn and only two of us nod in response, but all of us watch him.

The same paranoia that has me questioning why he’d invite the chaos by inviting us all in here at the same time, has me eyeing his movements closely. Is he moving slower? Is there something wrong with his health?

Fear tickles its way up my spine in a way I’ve never known before.

“Thank you for coming.” He clears his throat and takes his time taking a sip of his coffee, hissing when it scalds his tongue. “I know it’s a rarity for you to all be in the office together, but humor this old man in wanting his four daughters in one place, at the same time.”

Brex bites her tongue while waiting for him to get to the point. Patience has never been her strong suit, and he takes note of it with a nod of his own.

“Why did you ask us to all be here, Dad?” Taking the lead as per usual, I ask the question we’re all wondering.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes over the course of my life. Even more so when your mother died, when I was left alone at thirty-something to raise four girls without much experience. I did the best I could, but by the way you guys prefer not to be in the same place together at times, it feels like my best wasn’t good enough.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then what is it, Lennox?” He calls her out. “Why can’t the four of you get along?”

I think of the years of competition for his attention. A single dad with clients we felt were more important than we were at times. Not by any fault of his own, but more because of his caring nature. We wanted his attention. We lived for it.

And the bittersweet taste of being the oldest still stings. Stepping in to be a mom at fifteen when you’re not the mom, fosters a lot of resentment. Telling your siblings what needs to be done inside a house ruled by estrogen doesn’t exactly make for long-term peace.

Lennox flips a lock of hair over her shoulder and meets his eyes for the first time. The only man who can tame her constant snark and fiery temper. “We can get along just fine.” There’s a muffled snort somewhere, and I fight not to look up and glare down whoever it is . . . because I’m not the mom, and I never wanted to be.

“You fight like cats and dogs,” he says.

“And we love like lions,” she says and we all snicker. “We’re just very different people.”

His laugh is boisterous and takes us all by surprise. “Maybe it’s because you are all so much alike.”

When each of us physically bristle at the thought of actually being like the other, he holds his hands up to stop us. “Sanderson is killing us.”

The name of our rival agency.

“As in Finn Sanderson?” Brex asks. “What do you mean?”

He purses his lips and takes his time meeting each of our eyes before he speaks. “Twelve clients over the past year. That’s what he’s taken from us. I’m not sure if he’s undercutting our commission or if he’s stroking more than just their egos, but it’s not acceptable to me.”

And my father’s tone says it all—he’s worried.

Shit.

“Are we in trouble?” Brexton asks, concern weighing down her voice as she sits forward in her seat. “Is something wrong?”

He looks to where his hands are clasped in front of him and his pause in response sets the mood.

“Dad? Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice shaky as worst-case scenarios fill my head. Is he sick? Is he hiding something from us? He’s been the unbreakable pillar of strength to this family. Slayer of Boogie Men and the King of Bear Hugs for teenage broken hearts. He’s been my strength in dark moments, and I can’t imagine him anything other than redoubtable . . . larger than life. But not now.

When he looks up, his smile is forced, his eyes somber, and that feeling of dread settles in me again. “It’s fine. I just . . . this is all I have to give you girls—this company, my reputation . . . each other.” He twists his lips and nods. “And lately, it feels like I’ve done a bad job at fostering and preserving all of it.”

We all meet eyes across the table. While the four of us may be fiercely competitive, Brexton was right—we love like lions and will fight to the death to protect each other. By the looks on my sisters’ faces, right now is one of those times.

“Is it because of your doctor’s appointment the other day?” Lennox asks, disquiet flooding every syllable, as she voices the one thing I think we’re all wondering but are afraid to put words to.

“We need to take care of Sanderson.” It’s all he says, and a quick glance at Lennox tells me she’s just as worried as I am.

“I think your meaning to that term and my meaning are very different,” Chase says, blasé as can be, when I know the simple mention of her ex-boyfriend has what he did to her flooding back and boiling her blood.

“Don’t worry, Chase. We’ll post your bail,” Brexton murmurs.

While we all laugh, it’s our father’s lack of response that’s most noticeable. He takes his time sweeping his gaze around the table, making sure to stop on each one of ours in that way he has that tells us he’s about to say something profound like he used to do when we were kids and he wanted to make us feel like adults.

He stops when those bright blue eyes stop on mine. “What is it, Dekker?” he asks as I twist my lips in thought and mull over my assumptions.

“Of course, he asks Dekk,” Lennox says to the singsong tune of my other sisters murmuring, “His favorite one,” like they used to do when we were kids.

“You’re just jealous,” I say with a megawatt grin to annoy them.

“Jealous of your shoe collection, maybe,” Chase teases.

“Ladies,” my dad warns. “You have the floor, Dekker.”

I clear my throat and speak. “Obviously the gloves are off when it comes to

stealing our clients. Sanderson doesn’t give a shit about decorum or professional courtesy or—”

“—or anything else other than money or how far her legs are spread.”

If I were taking a sip, I would have spit out the water in reaction to Chase’s remark. It’s a rarity to see any kind of emotion from her, so I nod slowly in response. She’s still hurting all this time later. “That too.”

“You’re the dork who dated the competition,” Lennox says and rolls her eyes as we all laugh. I nudge Chase, hoping Lennox’s comment will ease some of the anger in her eyes, and am glad when a smile creeps onto her lips.

“What are you thinking?” my father asks me, attempting to bring us back to the topic at hand.

“If he has no morals and he’s a prick—”

“A savvy prick,” he adds.

“Exactly. So why can’t we be the same way? As much as I want back the clients he stole from us, we need to think bigger than that.” I tap my pen against my pad. “Maybe we all work together and try to land a huge name.”

“As much as I’d like that”—he shakes his head and chuckles softly—“I’m not quite sure you four working together in that capacity is a wise move. Remember the last time we tried that?”

Brexton shifts uncomfortably, as Dad glances to the wall to his right where the hole in the drywall from her fit of rage has long been patched up. We’ve since banned paperweights from the office.

“I think we should steal his clients in turn,” I suggest.

Lennox snorts, and the sound about sums up everything about the suggestion: it’s impossible, it’s ludicrous, it’s freaking genius.

Plus, it’s the easiest thing to say—I’m going to steal some of the top athletes in the world away from their current representation as a fuck you—but implementing it is a whole other ball game.

But the slow crawl of a smile across my dad’s mouth tells me he was thinking the same thing. “Agreed. Fighting fire with fire is the only option . . . especially when it comes to him.”

“What did you have in mind?” Brex asks.

“I think we should tackle this on four fronts. Each one of you with an athlete to win over to our side,” he says.

“Besides more clients, what’s this going to prove?” Lennox asks, despite it being obvious to me.

“People look at you and they can’t help but notice your overall appeal. They see the former beauty queen”—he looks at Lennox—“the Olympic athlete”—then Brexton—“the girl who graduated top of her MBA program”—then Chase—“and the lawyer”—he meets my eyes—“and they forget the most important thing of all, that my four girls are just as damn dogged, professional, unflinching, and successful as their old man was.”

“Was?” I catch the word immediately.

“Is.” He waves a hand my way without meeting my eyes. “Slip of the tongue.”

“Dad—”

“You have all been successful recruiting clients thus far, but it’s always been under the umbrella of my name. It’s always been my company. Now I think it’s time you make Kincade Sports Management yours.”

Silence falls as each one of us wonders why this sudden push, and I hate the answers I assume.

“Should we assume you have it all planned out as per usual?” Chase asks, making Dad’s smile widen and the sadness clear from his eyes.

“Of course, I do,” he says. “We divide and conquer. When have you ever known me not to have it all worked out?”

He always does.

“What do you need from us?”

His grin is lightning quick, and it’s the first true glimpse I’ve seen of my tenacious, work-addicted dad since he walked in here.

“You’re up first, Dekk.” He looks to my sisters as they start their singsong “you’re the favorite one” again. “I’ll get to you next, but yours”—he points a finger my way—“might be making it easier on us with his current antics.”

Current antics?

Words no sane agent ever wants to hear.

Shit.

This is not going to be good.