Page 7 of Seal the Deal
“Are you talking to me?” Andrew asks, unsure why he’d think Andrew wanted an autograph.
“You’re the only one here staring at me.”
“I wasn’t, um—” but Andrew stops, pretty sure he’s not a good enough liar to get out of this one but also refuses to admit that he was staring.
“I can see why you picked him.”
“Picked me for what?” Andrew asks.
Nicholas turns to Amanda, lifting his sunglasses to glare at her. Without his glasses on, there are dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes. He looks horrible, like maybe he was up all night—and maybe all day given that it’s dinner time—drinking.
“You didn’t tell him?” Nicholas drawls.
“I was trying to when you got here. Late, I might add.”
“I was busy,” Nicholas shrugs. “You got anything to drink?’
“You can have water to sober your ass up,” Amanda snaps.
“I’m sober, unfortunately.” He turns to look at Andrew, expression hard to parse. “Sure you don’t want that autograph?”
“I’m sure,” Andrew grumbles, crossing his arms.
He’s not sure he’s going to want to do Nicholas’s accounting if he’s always like this. Andrew had wondered if the portrayal of him in the media was wrong. Maybe everyone was too harsh on him, and he wasn’t just an asshole playboy with talent and money coming out of his ass. So far though, it seems to be a fairly accurate representation of him.
“I’m starving, Gumby.”
“Call me Gumby again, and I’ll fire your fucking ass,” Amanda says. “No other agent will take you as it is.”
“You wouldn’t dare fire me.”
“Just watch me.”
“Wait, he’s your client?” Andrew blurts, connecting the pieces. He knew Amanda had a hockey player client she took on a few months ago, but with her strict client confidentiality clauses along with her desire to keep her work and personal life separate, Andrew had never asked about it. He’s always respected her work boundaries, but now that they’ve crossed over into his personal life it’s fair game. “He’s the pain in the ass hockey player?”
“Pain in the ass,” Nicholas echoes. “The fuck you telling people about me, Amanda?”
Amanda scoffs, seemingly unruffled by a six foot six hockey player the size of a Zamboni cursing at her.
“I don’t tell anyone anything about you because you didn’t want anyone to know we knew each other prior to our working relationship.” She glares at him, somehow managing to get him to tip his face down to meet her gaze. “You’re the one who asked me for help here, and Andrew is here to help.”
Nicholas’s features tighten as he turns his gaze on Andrew in a way that makes him feel like he’s being appraised. “Where the fuck did you find him, the Khaki Warehouse?”
Andrew’s fingers dig into his forearms, acutely aware of every place his clothing is touching his body.
“You’re always an asshole, Nicholas, but insult Andrew again, and I’ll throw you out of my house.” Denise says it sweetly, but the threat hangs in the air.
“I ain’t insulting him,” Nicholas protests. “I’m just saying he looks like an ad for?—”
“Finish that sentence, and you can find a new agent,” Amanda interrupts.
“Testy lesbians,” Nicholas grumbles.
“Why don’t we all just sit down and have dinner,” Denise suggests while Amanda and Nicholas have some kind ofstaredown. “Give everyone a chance to relax and get to know each other.”
Andrew has no desire to get to know Nicholas. Between his previous preconceived notions about Nicholas and his new first impression, he’s learned everything he needs to know about him.
Whatever desire Andrew previously held to appreciate the works of art that adorn the majority of Nicholas’s body are gone. He ignored the rumors, not wanting to judge someone he hadn’t met while also feeling confident he’d never meet him in person. Sure, Andrew works for the same team, but he works in the accounting offices, not at the rink. Their odds of meeting were slim to none, or so Andrew thought before tonight.
