Hard to Hold Read online

  “What is your problem? Jesus, Lennox. Chill out.”

  “Chill out?” I say in angered disbelief.

  “Yeah, chill, you’re getting all worked up over shit that’s not making any sense. You knew the Bradly thing was going to cause a stir and obviously it did or else you wouldn’t have brought it up. And of course, you’re gorgeous, and that does you a million favors but what does that have to do with your job? When it comes down to it, KSM is Dad’s company. What he says goes. End of story.”

  Her words are like mental whiplash meant to distract and distort, and I feel more confused than ever. But the one thing I know for sure is we’ve never called it our father’s company. It’s always been ours.

  “Since when?” I laugh mockingly. “When was the last time no one spoke up against something they disagreed with in our office? We’re always speaking our minds and asserting opinions.” I sink down onto the bed, hating the sudden churning in my stomach. “Besides, what is this it’s his company bullshit? When was the last time any one of us referred to it like that?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  But it is what she meant. It is what I heard. It is how I feel.

  “What about the MLS offer, huh? Did you all discuss that too? Did you all worry that I’d sleep with Cannon Garner and, by doing so, would sully the Kincade name? Is that why Dad made up some lame excuse that there was more to the offer than meets the eye?”

  “We didn’t discuss it at all. Dad’s been around a lot longer than us. Has more insight. When he says there’s something shady going on, there typically is.”

  “So now you all think I can’t handle myself.”

  “You’re plate’s pretty full. All of ours are. If Cannon wanted you for the right reasons, then he would have persisted. One phone call asking isn’t enough to prove otherwise.”

  “So, what? Everyone’s looking at Little Lenn and thinking she isn’t capable of handling more than one thing at a time?” I snort. “Is this when you pat me on the head, hand me a lollipop, and tell me to sit in the corner like a good, quiet little girl would?”

  “You’re kind of being a bitch, Lenn.”

  “And you’re kind of not being honest with me,” I snap as her sigh fills the line. “Does this have to do with me losing Austin Yeakle?”

  “Of course not.”

  That hesitation before she says the three words tells me, it does. I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose. It was a screwup on my part—definitely—so now I’ve been relegated to window-dressing duty?

  “Because if I’m being punished for him then you should all be punished for the last client you lost too.”

  “This isn’t a you thing or a me thing, Lenn. This is a decision by Dad. Maybe he thinks you’ve been running full bore for so long you need to step back and not be stretched so thin.” She mutters a curse word. “God forbid Dad assumed you could use a little time off to . . .” But when her voice drifts off and she struggles finding the right words to say, I can’t help but superimpose their words with her silence and know what they said holds merit.

  But there are two things that bug me about the conversation more than anything.

  My family knows I like to roam. To be in new places, new towns, and when I’m not, I get restless. Being somewhere new calms my restlessness. I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with the reasons why—she still searches for her mom in every crowd, being in New York reminds her what she’s lost—and while they might have a point, I’ll never admit it.

  But for my dad to say I might want to stay home for a bit and use that as an excuse, doesn’t sit right with me. He knows me. He knows this is what I thrive on.

  The second thing that eats at me?

  Chase is my sister, the one I’ve typically always been the closest with out of the three, so doesn’t she realize that I know her?

  And I know more than anything that she’s lying right now.

  LENNOX

  I STARE AT THE DEPARTURES board, hands in my pockets, and an unsettled feeling owns me more than I’d like to admit.

  The closing lecture of the conference was the last thing I wanted to attend this morning.

  So I didn’t. Instead, I had a few meetings with the potential clients I had noted in my binder and now, here I stand, way too tired after too many sleepless hours. Hours where I overthought what Finn and his gang of pricks said, about my conversation with Chase, and recalling the things that have happened here and there over the past months that now I look at with a different perspective.

  Feeling hurt isn’t anything new to me, but when it stems from those I love, it stings more.

  Self-reflection doesn’t exactly ease what I’m feeling either, but maybe it’s called for here. I can’t trust Chase to be frank with me, and Finn is an asshole. But is there some truth to what he said? Do I pass up opportunities if I feel one of my sisters could do a better job? Yes, but some of that is because it’s one of our strengths as a family business to do that. But is that the only reason?

  Do I doubt myself and hide behind my looks? Maybe it’s time to test that out.

  So with my cell phone in my back pocket burning from too many unanswered texts from Chase, I stare at the departures board and long to be somewhere else than where I need to be.

  Eeny, meeny, miny, moe.

  I play a random game of it, visually moving from city to city with each word of the nursery rhyme like I always do, but for some reason, this time around when I land on Los Angeles, I smile.

  Sunshine, sand, palm trees, and Johnny.

  Johnny.

  My smile widens at the thought of one of my oldest friends.

  But Johnny makes me think of soccer and how he used to play in college, and soccer makes me think of the MLS offer, and the MLS offer makes me think of all the crap that was said last night.

  I glance at the departures board, my teeth worrying my bottom lip between them for a few seconds, while I ponder my colliding thoughts.

  Los Angeles.

  Johnny.

  A change.

  A little avoidance in not going back to New York for a while to deal with my family.

  I slide my phone out of my pocket, scroll through my contacts, and have it ringing within seconds.

  “Cannon Garner,” the head of MLS league development says on the other end of the line when he answers. For some reason, I fumble over the words on my tongue. “Hello? Lennox?”

  Shit. Damn caller ID.

  “Yes, hi. Sorry. I had a bad connection,” I lie. “I know we talked previously about the offer—”

  “You mean the offer you turned down?” He chuckles.

  “Yes. That one, but it was strictly because of my schedule, and it’s since opened up.”

  “So something happened between now and when I spoke to your father two days ago? I guess miracles do exist,” he says sarcastically and knocks the ground out from underneath my feet.

  He called my father again?

  Chase lied to me. Either she lied to me or didn’t know about the call. Either way, my spine stiffens and my defiance fortifies.

  “They do indeed,” I murmur.

  “So what exactly do you want to know about the offer?” he asks with a smugness in his tone that has me shaking my head.

  Yes, I’m asking for the job, Cannon.

  “I was curious. We never went into specifics. What exactly do you believe I can bring to the organization to help promote it?”

  He emits another low chuckle that makes me feel like I’m a mouse being toyed with by a cat. “Interesting you should call. I was sitting here pondering what my plan B was going to be considering you were leaving me high and dry by not taking my offer to work with me.”

  “Plan B’s never pan out,” I argue playfully.

  “Lucky for you, then, I hadn’t figured it out yet.” There’s silence for a beat before he continues. “I’d love to meet you face to face to discuss what value I think you can add.”

&n
bsp; My eyes find the departure board again and scroll down to the flights headed to the City of Angels.

  I hate feeling like a pawn in my dad’s mastered game of chess and know without question I’m going to take this offer just to prove a point—no one makes decisions for me.

  “When would you like to meet?” I ask.

  “What works for you?”

  I rock back on my heels, knowing what I want and what I should do are two different things.

  “I can be there by three today. Does that work?”

  “It does. I’ll send over the address and information.”

  “Sounds good.”

  The call ends and all I can do is shake my head and laugh as I walk toward the ticket counter, well aware that he never answered my question: what he wants from me.

  Los Angeles.

  Sunshine, sand, palm trees, friends . . . and now possibly an additional responsibility.

  The sunshine, sand, and palm trees are a given.

  The best part about Los Angeles is my friend of eight years. Someone who knows everything about me so I don’t have to pretend I have it all together. I’m already in a better mood thinking of him, his goofy smile, and everything his presence seems to bring me.

  Even better is the last one. A new professional role. One that will have me juggling my everyday KSM duties with who knows what Cannon will require of me. In his initial pitch, he told me the role would be small, influential, and for a limited period of time. All things I can more than handle with my current workload.

  I might have to jet off here or there for a day to deal with a client, but the best thing about my job is I can do it anywhere. Negotiations are rarely done face to face these days and most athletes can be soothed via text, phone, or Zoom. My home base can be a Starbucks, my bed, or while pacing on a sidewalk somewhere.

  So this MLS deal is perfect. It’ll let me escape from my everyday scenery for a bit, while the new challenge might be just what I need to get my head back in the game.

  Besides, it’s a good excuse not to return home and face my family when I’m not one hundred percent ready to.

  I should call people—my family to let them know I’m not coming home, Johnny to let him know I’m headed his way—but I don’t want to.

  All I know is that this feels good—right—and I’m not sure why.

  As I approach the counter, the attendant looks up with a bright smile and asks in a too cheerful tone, “May I help you?”

  “Yes. I need to change my flight.”

  “Where to?”

  “Los Angeles, please,” I say, then hate when I look to the counter beside me and see one of the men from Sanderson’s circle last night. I don’t acknowledge him but rather skim over him as if I never saw him before turning my attention back to the lady in front of me.

  “And a return date?” she asks.

  “No. One way, please.”

  LENNOX

  I TAKE A DEEP BREATH and prepare myself for whatever the next few moments will bring. I’ve been rushing nonstop since my plane landed.

  A text to Johnny while sitting for endless minutes on the tarmac letting him know he has a visitor for the next couple of weeks.

  A frantic scramble for a rental car so I could get here on time.

  Then there’s the traffic. Christ, if I thought New York was bad, it has nothing on Los Angeles and its myriad of complex, congested freeways where you have to merge and change roads more than I ever have before.

  But I’m here with a few minutes to spare, and the powder I just dusted over my nose is still fresh on my fingers.

  I glance around the conference room at its rich colors and dark wood tones. Its walls are lined with the logos of each soccer team participating in the league. The glass wall on the other side of the room looks out over a warehouse space with cubicles upon cubicles, but with hoverboards and dog beds littered throughout resembling a Silicon Valley tech start-up.

  Soccer.

  Ugh.

  Not exactly my most favorite sport to say the least, and I’m not immune to the irony of the moment. That I’m here, seated in the MLS’s offices, waiting to hear what skill sets I have that will grow the love of soccer country-wide for MLS.

  “Lennox Kincade.” Cannon’s deep baritone fills the room and by the time I turn to face him, my eyes are bright and my smile is welcoming.

  “Cannon.” I rise from my seat and shake the hand of the man in front of me. Tall and broad-chested with dark features and from what I remember, assertive with a touch of that authoritative arrogance that is both attractive and annoying. “So good to see you again.”

  “Can I get you anything to drink or eat?” He motions for me to sit. “I’m assuming you just came from the conference in Vegas.”

  “I did, but I’m good, thanks.” I take a seat and grab the pen on top of my notepad.

  Cannon takes a seat and folds his tall body into the chair. I study him as he takes his time preparing what he’s going to say. He’s handsome, in a too polished type of way, which makes me think his hands never get dirty and that if I held his handshake long enough, there wouldn’t be a callous anywhere to be found.

  Not that that’s bad . . . but just not my type.

  His eyes meet mine again, followed by a smile before he starts. “As you know, it’s been a struggle for soccer to find mainstream success in the US like other sports per se, such as football or baseball.”

  “It’s definitely been a challenge,” I muse with a nod. “We don’t have the foundation in America like there is overseas in the Premier League or La Liga. On the other hand, with the rise of youth club soccer here in the US, and with those kids growing up loving the sport, you might be able to take advantage in the coming years of the building blocks that are happening.”

  “Exactly.” His smile grows wider. “Funny you should mention the other leagues, but we’ll get back to that in a moment. Part of my promise in taking the helm here is to get the public excited about the league and what we have in store for them. I’m to encourage more players to come on board and play here versus venturing to teams overseas. I’m trying to attract the right star power for lack of a better word.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “And that’s where I’m hoping your expertise will come in.”

  “You have my attention,” I say.

  “I heard about how the Women’s National Basketball Association asked you to join their board a few years ago for the sole purpose of being a players’ advocate,” he says.

  “They did and I was. My goal was to let the team owners know what players wanted, what was fair practice, and how to entice players to be part of a league trying to grow its fan base and appeal in the sport’s market.”

  “And how did you feel about the role?” He angles his head to the side and waits for an answer.

  “I loved it. I was making the league a better place for the athletes.”

  “What did that entail?”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, did you go to events or functions, or were you strictly a board meeting attendee?”

  “More board meeting than not. I had my regular work at KSM and luckily that allows me the flexibility to work from any hotel room. If they needed me to be at meetings in Chicago for a week, I could go. I’m lucky that in most instances, I can meet my clients’ needs with a simple phone call.”

  “And that wasn’t too much for you?”

  “No. Actually, it was a nice break from my day-to-day,” I say, thinking of the satisfaction I got from knowing I was making the league and its parameters—contractual and otherwise—better for the players.

  Cannon runs a finger over his chin as he stares at me, as if his thoughts were elsewhere momentarily. “So, what if I told you that I wanted you to do the same for the MLS but with a stronger focus on winning over players.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning still sitting in various meetings to tell us where we fall short, but also being an advocate for us.
Educating and enticing players as to why they should play here for us instead of venturing overseas to play.”

  I nod slowly, mulling over his words. “I thought you originally said you were looking for an MLS ambassador to create a buzz in the hopes of widening the fan base and soccer’s stature in American culture. Expanding the fan base beyond high school and college level to become a lucrative career option.”

  “You would be an ambassador of sorts. Titles don’t change what the job is.”

  “Wouldn’t you be better off having someone who can stand in front of a crowd and create a draw? If that’s what you’re looking for, I can’t provide that.”

  “I know how to do my job, Lennox. But thank you. I appreciate the advice.” He chuckles and gives a shake of his head. “I already have an ambassador like that. He’ll be announced to the public in the coming days.”

  “Okay, so this is like a one-two punch? He’s working the public side of it and I’m working behind the scenes? Are there any more positions like this?”

  “I love a woman who likes details,” he says with a smile.

  I let the comment go, uncertain if it’s a dig or not.

  “But yes, you’re correct. He’s the public persona while you’re the cog behind him trying to make sure everything looks appealing so that the incredible MLS he’s speaking about becomes a reality.”

  “So what? I need to show up to events to schmooze and convince investors that we’re making the league stronger, work behind the scenes . . . what else are my duties?”

  “Nothing more than make the players happy and want to play here.”

  I tap my pen against my pad as I try to look at what the cons in taking this job could be other than strapping my time . . . and even that isn’t a bad thing.

  “Happiness is a fickle thing to measure,” I say.

  “I have no doubt you can achieve it.” His smile lights up his eyes.

  “Okay. Say I agree, what commitment are you looking for from me since I do have my own clients to take care of?”

  “Three months. That’s the term of the deal. Of course, you’re free to represent your KSM clients during the time. We have no problem with that. But three months and then you’re free and clear from us.”