My (Mostly) Secret Baby - Penelope Bloom Page 0,52

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?

Trish gave a smug wiggle of her shoulders. “Maybe you should ask him about it. I’m sure he’ll tuck his tail between his legs and dodge your questions. Try it, sweetheart. Oh, and if you haven’t already, don’t let him put his cock in you. You have no idea where it’s been.”

I stood there frozen in rage for too long to actually do anything. All I managed was to run through a few imaginary scenarios where I grabbed wine glasses or plates of food and tossed them on her stupid face. Except I was too slow, so she was gone by the time I snapped back to reality and realized I still had to pee. Badly.

When I came back out of the bathroom, Trevor was leaning against the wall of the small bathroom hallway, apparently waiting for me.

“Hey,” he said, flashing a crooked smile.

Jesus. Does anyone else want to bump into me while I’m up from the table?

“Uh, hi.”

“Once you’re off the clock, maybe we could grab drinks.”

“Oh. I’m flattered, but I—”

Before I knew what was happening, Damon was standing between us. He hadn’t put a hand on Trevor, but I could see his knuckles were white and his jaw was clenched.

“Can my employee leave the restroom in peace?” he asked after a tense moment of silence.

Trevor pulled a face. Damon might’ve just undone all the good rapport they’d built, if the expression he wore was any indication. “Yeah, man. Didn’t realize you two were a thing. Is that how you run things at Rose Athletic? You bring a little sex buddy on all your work trips, or—”

Now Damon’s hands were on Trevor’s shoulders. He had him pinned against the wall. “Careful.”

“You’ll wish you were,” Trevor said. “We’re done here.”

“Are we?” Damon asked.

“Yes,” I said firmly. “Let him go.”

Damon grudgingly obliged.

Trevor dusted off his jacket, then shook his head. “Fucking waste of time.”

Once he