Page 172 of Studs Up
Our agents were there on their respective phones, muttering the way agents do. Goldstone sat at the head of a long conference table, glowering at the two of us.
Alice was on her computer, glanced at us over her glasses, and gave me a sly wink. Terry James, our general manager, and Sebastian Caldwell, sat on the other end of the conference table. There were a few other people there I recognized but didn’t know, a representative from the MLS front office and the international team PR rep.
“Alright,” Frank said to the room and pointed to two chairs in the middle of the table for Holden and me to sit. It was a lot of people to be in a room with. “Let’s get started.”
I pulled a chair out for Holden and did a precursory glare around the room.
“We’re waiting for one more.”
Frank stopped, and Alice looked up.
“We are?” She asked.
“Yeah,” I sat next to Holden. “He’ll be here soon.” Holden gave me a curious look. Right on time and saving me the duty of explaining, the door opened again, and a man in a crisp and perfectly tailored suit strode in with a shoulder bag hanging across his body.
Holden shot to his feet so fast his chair almost fell over. I caught it and righted it again.
“Allen?” He gasped. Allen smiled with deep affection. Holden glanced down at me and then back to Allen and sputtered.
“Hi, Holden,” Allen said.
“What-I mean-um-I-”
“Who the fuck are you?” Goldstone barked. Allen’s face snapped from kind and warm to cold and professional.
“I’m Allen Shepherd,” he announced. “I’ll be representing Mr. Reed and Mr. Monroe.”
“You came with a lawyer?” Alice asked.
“Goddamn right, I did.” I tugged on Holden’s hand, and he reluctantly sat.
“You called him?” He hissed in my ear.
“He called me, actually,” I replied.
“When?” He demanded in a stage whisper.
“I had a lot of downtime.” While it was slowly getting better, Holden still slept a lot, and I was left to my own devices for hours. It’s really not recommended.
“But-,” Holden started, but Goldstone hadn’t heard himself speak in three seconds, so he interrupted. I didn’t like him very much.
“I don’t even know why we’re doing this bullshit.” He stood. “Monroe won’t be playing with the Rovers.”
“Oh,” Allen unslung his bag and dropped it in the empty chair beside me. He slid his hands into his pockets and made direct, unflinching eye contact with Goldstone. “I didn’t get to finish introducing myself. I’m a civil rights attorney. I called Mr. Reed after watching the videos posted online from the night of the Western Conference final. If you continue with this course of action, I will have an excellent case against this organization for discrimination.”
Holden’s mouth dropped as he stared at his ex.
Goldstone clenched his jaw, and a vein in his forehead exploded. This was way more fun than I expected.
“So please,” Allen said cooly and unbuttoned his jacket, sliding it off. “By all means, continue.” He pulled out a chair to take his own seat and turned to Holden with a subtle, smug smile.
“Sit down,” the guy next to him suggested sternly. Goldstone submitted under Allen’s threats and lowered himself back into his throne. I did not like that man.
“If the Rovers want to cut Monroe,” Terry said, and the attention of the room shifted from one end to the other. “The Guardians are prepared to offer him a contract.”
This time, my mouth fell open. So did Holden’s agent. He was on his phone again.
“Uh,” Holden glanced at me and then at Terry. “Thank you, but I don’t think I can do that. The Rovers are the only team I plan on playing for. If they don’t want me, I am prepared to retire.”
