Most Likely to Score

My previous agent, and the money manager he worked with, are in prison now for embezzlement. Turned out my agent wasn’t actually investing the money from my contract like I hired him to do. Nope. The bastard furnished false financial statements to make it only look like my money was turning into more money.

In reality, he gambled it. Then gambled some more. Then used more to pay those gambling debts. The manager helped him cover it all up.

Poof. Millions of dollars up in smoke.

That’s a bitter pill to swallow.

I was wary of signing with any agent again, but my buddy Cooper convinced me, since he’s worked with Ford his whole career. I need someone who is above board, without question. But we’re still learning how to work together, and I’m not sure I trust him, or anyone, for that matter, who isn’t related to me.

“All I want is to know that the money I earn goes to me and to my family. That’s all I need,” I tell him, since I’m well aware of what it’s like to not have it. When I was growing up, my dad worked as a truck driver and my mom was a nurse. With four kids to feed and a house that was mortgaged to the hilt, money was stretched thin in those years, but they made it all work somehow and still made sure the four of us went to college, thanks to loan after loan after loan.

Fortunately, I nabbed a scholarship, so my school was paid for. After graduation, when I was drafted in the fourth round, I didn’t earn the highest signing bonus or the fattest contract, but it was more than enough to pay off the loans for my brothers and my sister.

And my parents’ mortgage.

And then to buy a new home for them.

That’s just what you do. When you get that kind of jack at age twenty-three and your parents worked their asses off your whole life, you buy them a new home.

Despite what happened with my agent, none of the Becketts are suffering. We’re all doing just fine, thank you very much. But still, I don’t like that a whole heap of my hard-earned dough was siphoned off.

I want to protect what I earn so my family is taken care of, and so I’m taken care of when I can no longer play. One wrong step, one illegal hit, and you can be toast.

You need to sock your money away while it’s coming in, because the gravy train can end on any given Sunday.

Ford swings his club like a pendulum. The man is a torrent of energy; stillness is anathema to him. “I hear you loud and clear. You know that’s what I’m already doing on your behalf. But I want to turn things around for you. I’m talking to some brands. It’s high time we start getting you some marquee sponsorships to match your star power.”

That was another thing that had vanished. Deals my agent lined up for me went belly-up. I was radioactive, right along with Chuck and his money manager. “That’s all well and good, but Margulies promised that, too, and no one wanted to do business with me after working with him. You really think you can pull off sponsorship deals?”

Ford stops mid-swing then drops his club. “Yes. That is my job, and I take it seriously. And you aren’t with Margulies anymore. You’re with me.”

“I need you to be clear with me on what they want and don’t want. Margulies set me up with an energy drink company two years ago, and he said they didn’t care what I did. There were no clauses or whatnot. Then boom—a picture of Annika and me leaving a club shows up”—I mime slicing my throat—“and it wasn’t even the shot where she had the bottle of champagne in her hand.”

“Exactly,” Trevor adds, leaning on his club. “It was a guilt by association thing, and they dropped him, and that’s why we need you to be upfront about this. You need to set the expectations.”

“I will,” Ford says. “You have my word.”

“And I need to know everything,” Trevor says to Ford. “That’s why I’m here. That’s why I’m involved this time around. It’s my job to look out for my brother and make sure he doesn’t run into the same shady shit as before. I’m going to vet everything. Be his eyes and ears.”

Ford spreads his hands to show there’s nothing up his sleeves. “Whatever you need. I want this to be an open book. No back-room deals, no shenanigans, no secrets.” Ford looks to me. “You need me to go through Trevor, we’ll do that.”

I glance at my brother. He gives me a meaningful look that says I’ve got your back.

“Let me deliver this hole-in-two, and then you can tell me about these deals.” I tap the ball and bam—it rolls beautifully into the hole.

Lucky me.

After we finish up the round, we amble off the course, heading for our cars. Ford tugs off his golf glove at the edge of the parking lot. “Listen, I have a new company I’m talking to. A quick-serve food chain that makes all organic food. Tofu and kale and all that good-for-you green shit you probably love.”

I grin. “Of course I eat organic. How the hell do you think I’m as durable as I am? No corn chips or fried crap for me.” I flex a bicep.

“But beer counts?” Ford says with a wink.

I laugh. “Beer always counts. It’s like a tax exemption. Same for chocolate chip cookies.”

“Excellent. Glad to see you have your priorities straight. I’m all for making the most of those, too.” Ford tosses the glove into his bag. “In any case, this deal could be good for you. I’m going to keep talking and see what they’re looking for, but listen, it’ll help your cause if we don’t see any more shots of you and half-dressed women hanging out the sunroofs of limos.”

“I think half-dressed is an understatement.” I heave a sigh. “Also, that was a long time ago.”

Ford points at me. “And elephants have long memories. If you can keep that party-boy image of yours in the rearview mirror, we can get some sweet deals. Make you a golden boy. America’s sweetheart. Earn back some of the money that was stolen. Be patient, and I’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” he says, clapping my back then shaking Trevor’s hand. “Now, I need to go and do my job, and I will keep you both apprised.”

Ford takes off, and as I slide into my sleek black Mercedes, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I grab it, and a very pretty face appears on the screen. Long, silky black hair, milk-chocolate eyes, pretty lips like a bow. I snapped the picture of Jillian at an event last year when she was standing at a table in the corner, nursing a club soda and looking pensive.

“Jones, did you just take a picture of me?” she’d said, when she noticed me holding up my phone.

“Yes, it’s a free country.”

“Let me see it.” She made grabby hands.

“See. You look all serious,” I’d said as I showed her.

“I look mad.” She parked a hand on her hip. “Take another where I look happy.”

I shook my head. “Nope. This angry face will make me answer the phone when you call because I’ll think you’re pissed at me.”

“And that entices you to pick up?”

“Hell, yeah. There’s nothing as motivating as a woman ready to tan your hide. Just ask my mom. Jones Edward Andrew Beckett, get inside.”

“Should I use your full name, then, any time you’re in trouble?”

“Please do,” I’d said, then I winked and walked away.

But I’d answer Jillian’s call no matter what picture I had for her contact. Trevor gets into the passenger seat as I bring the phone to my ear. “Good afternoon, Jillian, and yes, if you continue to insist over and over, I will take you out to dinner tonight at the fanciest restaurant in San Francisco, and you can make a pitch for why you want me to be your boy toy.” I heave a sigh. “But I must warn you, it’ll have to be a good pitch.”