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“It’s an agent’s job to protect you so that, one day, you don’t end your career penniless. Because you all know that happens.”
“She’s right,” Drew says.
“How would you protect your client, Mac?” Gray looks genuinely curious.
“What? Me? I’m not an agent.”
“If you were,” he prompts.
“Well, let’s take Drew here as an example. I’d get him voice coaching, for one thing, because the camera loves him. If he wanted it, one day he could be on ESPN, wearing a chunky purple tie and bringing home a nice salary.”
They all laugh, but Drew nods. “Yeah, that’d be pretty cool.”
“As for you.” I look Gray over and begin to chuckle. “You’re not gonna give me shit, are you?”
Gray’s smile is lopsided as he braces his forearms on the table. “Hit me with it, Mac.”
“Jockey, Under Armour, anything to show off that body in action.”
He turns bright red, as the guys roar.
“That goes for all of you, really,” I say to them.
“Hell yes, it does. The world needs to see these abs.” Rolondo pulls up his T-shirt, to reveal tight abdominals.
“Nice,” I tell him honestly.
Rolondo winks. “You know it.”
“Why does Drew get an anchor position, and I get underwear?” Gray protests over his friends’ laughter.
“Honestly? I don’t think you would like sitting still for that long.” I give him a soft smile. “Would you really like to be an anchor, having to follow a script? Because they totally do.”
Gray tilts his head and regards me. A pleased expression softens his features. “No, I don’t think I would.”
His voice lowers, yet I hear it loud and clear over the music. “You should be an agent, Ivy.”
“What? No.” An uncomfortable knot forms in my chest. “That’s... They’re...” I shake my head. “That’s my dad’s thing, not mine.”
I can’t tell these guys that I’ve always resented Dad’s job and how it took him away, broke my family. In truth, how deeply that anger runs in me is a shock. I hadn’t realized until just now, and it chokes me.
My hand shakes as I reach for my beer and take a deep drink.
“I’d sign with you,” Drew says, making me sit back with a thud.
“Yeah,” Dex says. “I would too. You give a shit. That makes all the difference.”
“Experience and clout in the industry matter, as well,” I say faintly.
But the idea of helping them is seductive because I know how satisfying it would be to ensure their safety.
Twitchy, I get to my feet. “I love this song,” I say to no one in particular. “Who’s going to dance with me?”
The guys look like deer in headlights. It takes me a second to even concentrate on what the song actually is. And I bite my lip hard. Madonna’s “Material Girl” is playing. It’s a struggle to keep a straight face. Gotta love Eighties Night.
“Uh-uh,” Johnson says with a rampant shake of his head. “This is a girl’s song.”
Drew points to his leg. “I need to rest it. Doctor’s orders.”
