The Mavericks rooftop is packed in summer, but my buddies and I have a corner booth tucked around the side of the bar. It’s close enough to the action, but far enough away to hear each other talk. On a lazy Saturday morning, there’s a great vibe going, and we’re mixing business with pleasure, catching up on the latest company updates, while taking in the rays.
Flynn returns to the table with another round, dressed in his trademark work jeans and a dusty cotton T-shirt, fresh from one of his construction sites. “Drinks for five,” he announces, setting the tray on the table.
“Yes, and delivered with masterful speed,” Seb smirks, taking a beer. He has the dry humor that befits him as an Englishman, and he’s our resident liquor expert. “Should we be worried about the service? Can’t have our bartenders falling behind.”
I chuckle. “He took so long because he was giving the full-court press to a pretty girl.”
“Guilty,” Flynn says, with absolutely no guilt in his voice. “And I got her number. Like I’m always telling you, Austin, you should try to grow a beard like mine. Then maybe the ladies would be into you.”
“Thanks for the tip, Flynny-boy,” I joke. “Getting laid has always been so difficult for me, as a pro athlete. A true struggle.”
Charlie snorts, glancing up from a thick stack of business documents. “Should we host a telethon?” he teases. “Canvas for a date?”
“Like we can find a woman in New York who hasn’t hooked up with Austin,” Dash drawls, joining the table.
“Says the world’s most devoted boyfriend,” Flynn cracks. “I’m surprised you dragged yourself out of Callie’s bed to join us.”
“And miss gracing you with my presence?” Dash jokes. “I would never.”
I sit back, sipping my beer with a smile. During my decade on the road playing ball, I missed out on a lot—catching up over an impromptu beer, quick meetings about bar business, getting razzed by these dummies. Retiring from baseball was difficult and self-confidence-jolting but also a huge relief. It’s great to be settled in one place now, just shooting the shit.
Dash nudges my arm. “I’m surprised you’re not out there with Flynn, turning on the charm.”
“He’s slowing down, must be getting old,” Flynn says. “I haven’t seen you exit our fine establishment with anyone on your arm for… months now.”
“Just because I’m more discreet than you two…” I smile. But it’s true—I haven’t been dating much at all lately. Younger me would be horrified by my priorities, but the work side of my life has taken over everything. Hopefully, when I have the spa up and running, I’ll be able to think about what comes next. Dating. Love…. Maybe they’re right, and I am getting older, because recently, I’ve started to wish I had someone to come home to—sharing laughs and dinners and a new Netflix show.
That’s not to say I don’t still want this relationship to include frequent, mind-blowing sex. Just, you know, sex and great conversation.
At the thought, I find myself checking my phone.
“Aha!” Seb crows. “There is a woman.”
“No,” I say. “At least, not like that. I’m waiting to hear back from a candidate,” I explain. “The office sent her an official offer letter yesterday, and I figured I’d hear back right away. But… Nothing.”
I frown. I was certain Jenn had a great time at the interview, and I told the recruiter to make it a generous offer. Plus, it felt like we really clicked.
“Playing hard to get?” Seb asks. “Maybe she wants to make you sweat.”
“She’s doesn’t seem like she plays games,” I tell him. The memory of Jenn dick-punching that sleazy guy comes into my mind, and I smile. “She’s a pretty straight-shooter.”
“So maybe you need to sweeten the deal?” Flynn suggests. “Since when do you let a pitch sail by?”
He’s right. I already know, she’s the perfect woman for the job. So what am I waiting for?
I dial Jenn’s number. Voicemail.
“Hey, it’s Austin. I just wanted to check in about the offer we sent over,” I begin. “I hope the package is to your liking, and we can talk more about the size, if you want. I think it’s already pretty impressive, But I can always make it bigger, if that’ll make you happy. I want to make sure you’re satisfied,” I add, “so if there are any extra perks you need, to get you really excited, just let me know. Talk soon, I hope.”
I hang up—and find all four of my friends staring at me.
“Who,” Seb smirks, “are you grilling about the size of your package?”
“You think it’s impressive, huh?” Dash adds, with a shit-eating grin.
“Well, he does want to make sure she’s satisfied,” Charlie points out.
“Right, anything to make her real excited,” Flynn agrees.
Then they all crack up in hysterical laughter, and I realize to my horror what I just said.
“Nooooo!” I groan out loud.
The whole message replays in my mind—in all its dirty detail. “I said it was a benefits package, didn’t I?”
“Nope!” Charlie grins. “Just that you can make it way bigger, if that’s what it’ll take.”
“Fuck,” I groan again, just imagining how Jenn will receive the message. Judging from the way she punched that asshole the other week: Not well! “She’s going to think I’m a dirty creep now. She’ll never take the job!”
“Tough break,” Dash says, taking pity on me.
“Nothing tough about it,” Dash laughs. “That shit was hilarious.”
“Uh-oh. What did he do now?” a nearby voices asks. Dash’s girlfriend, Callie, joins us with Grace, Charlie’s other half.
“Nothing,” I say, glaring at Dash.
“Nothing that Austin didn’t deserve,” Charlie amends.
He and Grace exchange smitten smiles, and I roll my eyes. I’m happy for my bros—of course I am. But sometimes it stings a little that love dropped into the laps of two guys who were resisting it the most. And here I am, ready and waiting for something real, with no sparks in sight.
Except with a woman who’s probably reporting me to the cops for nuisance calls as we speak.
“You ready?” Grace asks Charlie and Dash, who are sliding out of the booth.
“Where are you kids off to?” Flynn asks.
“Brunch,” Callie says, happily.
I give her a serious look. “All right, listen. Unless you want to end up at karaoke and possibly arrested, do not let Dash get the bottomless sangria.”
“That’s true.” Seb nods vigorously. “Good pointer.”
“Fuck you very much,” Dash says, good-naturedly. “I was twenty-three.”
“Karaoke,” Callie repeats, scanning Dash’s sheepish look. “I might have to see that. Sangria, you say?”
“I do love sangria,” Grace muses happily.
Charlie shoots me a dark look and mutters, “What are you doing to me, man?”
That’s what they get for giving me shit about my call to Jenn. Enjoy your boozy brunch and the absolute shitshow that is Phineas Dashford IV on Spanish wine and sugar.
“You wanna fifth-wheel it?” Dash asks, clapping my arm.
“Dash,” Callie scolds.
“He’s fine,” Dash assures her. “Austin loves being the last single man at the table.”
I was, for most of my life. But maybe even Callie can sense that things are shifting for me. I’m halfway through my thirties, retired from one career and onto another. I want the spa to succeed as much as I’ve ever wanted anything. But, more and more, I want a life beyond my business, too.
I climb out of the booth behind them. “I’ve gotta meet up with Hakeem anyway. Enjoy your brunch. Send a video if Karaoke Dash tries to hit Mariah’s high notes.”
I meet my business manager at one of our lunch spots—a hole-in-the-wall falafel place we found a year out of college. Back then, I had a flood of pro-ball money and no idea what to do with it. Plenty of big-time business managers would have helped me for a hefty fee. Hakeem was fresh out of business school, but I trusted him more than all the experts who were strangers to me. He kept my finances on the straight and narrow for my whole career.
When I retired, some friends and contacts just coincidentally fell out of touch. Not Hakeem—he was delighted that I’d have more time to hang out.
I spot him at a café table near the window. He’s a handsome bastard, with a neatly trimmed beard and a quick smile that worked on a lot of ladies before he met his fiancée. He used that well-honed charm to lock her down in less than a year.
Maybe that’s why I’m thinking more about settling down lately. My buddies are dropping like flies.
Annoyingly happy flies.
“Hey, big man,” Hakeem says, standing to hug me. “How’s it going?”
“It’s okay.” I clap him on the back. “The Hamptons event turned out all right, so we’re rolling along.”
Hakeem gives me an update on our finances, in his casual way. His confidence always makes it seem like I have nothing to worry about—and maybe I don’t. But, for years, it felt like baseball was the only thing I’m good at. What if I completely blow the spa launch, which I’ve been planning for years?
“And I’ve got another quick meeting with Duncan later this week if you want in,” Hakeem says, finishing up.
Do I want in? Sinclair Duncan is an oddball—and the main investor in my whole business. He has a thick Scottish brogue, nearly white hair, and bushy dark eyebrows. The effect is that he looks like an owl who’s up to something. And he usually is up to something. Duncan’s a sharp man, but he loves whisky and risks.
“That guy…” I shake my head. “I never know what’s coming with him.”
Hakeem nods. “Absolutely. Eccentric millionaire to the max. But his money’s good. And that’s all we need from him.”
“Then I’ll let you do the meeting,” I decide. I have outside investors, but launching my own company is still a massive swing for me. Thanks to Hakeem, I could live off investments made in my baseball days and never work another day. But that’s not me—I need purpose, and I have a vision. That means I really, really need Vital to work.
Hakeem notices the change in my energy. Not many people realize how in-my-head I can get, but he’s known me a long time. “Uh oh, I know that face. You freaking out?”
“I’ve got a lot on the line here,” I admit, lacing my fingers together. “It’s hard not to feel the nerves.”
“That’s normal,” Hakeem says simply, waving a hand like he can swat my worry away. “But you’re a winner, buddy. Remember when you got passed over by the Braves? That could have been it for your baseball career.”
“I know, but—”
“But then you came out of training in absolute beast mode and ended that year as MVP win. Epic stuff.”
“True,” I agree. “But this is a totally different industry.”
“So?” Hakeem challenges. “The skills are transferrable.”
“Oh yeah?” I joke, doubtful. “My batting average?”
He raises an eyebrow at me. “Knowing when to swing and when to let an opportunity pass. So…yeah, kind of.”
Huh. I guess he has a point. But Hakeem is still going, counting on his fingers. “Using all the people skills you honed as a public figure. Earning a reputation as a closer. Listening to your gut. Staying cool under pressure. Want me to go on?”
“I get it,” I say, laughing. “I can’t say I’m staying cool under pressure, though.”
“No?” Hakeem crosses his arms, considering that. “Okay. What would you need to feel a little more chill? More money?”
“Nah. We’re solid with Duncan on-board.”
“What then?” he challenges, and a face pops into my head.
Light brown hair. Blue eyes. And a smile that lights up the whole room.
“Honestly? I need Jenn Walker on my team.
There’s this marketing manager,” I explain, “She nailed down exactly what the business needs. And we get along great,” I add, thinking about our banter, undercover at the spa. I thought I’d never keep a straight face, with her teasing me.
“Sounds great,” Hakeem says.
“Not when she hasn’t responded to my offer,” I grumble.
“What did I just tell you?” he asks, shaking his head at me with a grin. “You’re a closer, Banks. So go get the deal done.”
I drove Jenn home after the Hamptons event, so I know I’m right near her apartment. I try her buzzer, but there’s no reply. A delivery guy is heading into her building, so I step inside behind him, ready to give her the hard sell.
About why this job is the perfect fit for her. About how I need that sharp brain of hers to keep things clear for me.
About how much fun it’ll be, getting to know her more…
Nope. Focus, I tell myself, heading up the stairwell. I need Jenn for the launch, that’s all that matters right now.
I reach her apartment, and knock.
“Just a sec!” There’s the sound of movement inside, and then the door swings open. “That was fast—” Jenn is saying—then she sees me, and her voice drops. “Oh.” She blinks at me. “You’re not Pizza Pizza Pizza.”
“Or even just pizza, singular,” I offer lamely, trying to keep my eyes at face level. Because Jenn has clearly just stepped out of the shower, with wet hair, damp, glistening skin, and a towel wrapped hurriedly around her body.
A skimpy towel.
Around her naked body.
I gulp. Fuck, she’s pretty. Strands of hair are curling around her face, and her cheeks are flushed and natural.
Focus, dumbass.
“Umm, hey,” I start, feeling like I’m screwing this up all over again. “Sorry, I didn’t—”
“No, it’s fine!” Jenn blurts. “I just…” she laughs, flushing. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to apologize for my message,” I say, direct. “I didn’t realize, well, how it sounded.”
“What message?” Jenn replies. “I didn’t get one. I did, however, get a weird call from a local porn company…” Her lips twitch in a smile, and I exhale in relief.
“Communication isn’t my strong suit. Which is why I need an amazing marketing head,” I add.
Her smile grows. “Nice pivot.”
“I mean it. I keep thinking over the things you mentioned out in the Hamptons. Your ideas, your whole approach—that’s what I need.”
“I’m glad,” Jenn says, hesitant. “But there are plenty of other marketing pros who can—”
“I need you.” I stop her. “So tell me, what’s your hesitation? Whatever it is, I can beat it.”
Her eyebrow shoots up. I groan. Double fuck. “Fix!” I blurt. “I can fix it!”
Christ. I don’t know whether it’s the way that towel is barely covering her smooth thighs, or her smile, but my brain is seriously scrambled right now.
Jenn exhales. “Look,
This is… Different work than what I’ve done in the past,” she says, sounding like she’s carefully picking out the right words. “I’d be in way over my head. I’m not the person you’re looking for.”
“You are,” I insist. “Everything you laid out for me: That’s what I need. I know I’m being aggressive here, but I’ve followed my gut feeling my whole career. It’s never been wrong.”
But she shakes her head. “You don’t want me,” she insists again, “I’m trying to be honest here. I’m not qualified for this, and I don’t want to pretend to be someone I’m not. I would only let you down.”
Unqualified… Is she kidding? Jenn is one of the most competent, capable people I’ve met. I can’t imagine anything getting the better of her.
But maybe I’m going about this all wrong.
“Look, I understand,” I tell her.
She looks up hopefully. “You do?”
“Sure. Imposter Syndrome happens to the best of us,” I say. “I mean, look at me: I’m trying to start a business after years as a ball player. I still take meetings with the guys who think I’m nothing but a dumb athlete, and I stand there and say ‘fiduciary’ as if I could spell it on the first try.”
This makes her smile, at least. “It’s not imposter syndrome—” she starts, but I don’t let her finish.
“I don’t care what it says about you on paper,” I swear. “Qualifications don’t mean shit, at the end of the day. This is all about what I’ve seen in the time we’ve spent together. Please,” I continue, my hand pressed to my chest. “Look, it’s not very dignified, but I’ll get down on my knees if that’s what it’ll take.”
Her eyebrow goes up again.
“Fuck,” I groan, “Not like that, just, you know, to beg…”
“Austin…” She’s still smiling, but she looks torn.
“We’d make a good team,” I insist. “You know we would. So, what do you say?”
I watch her pretty mouth as she purses her lips. Sighs. And, finally, quietly, says, “Okay. I’ll take the job.”