Match Me If You Can (Chicago Stars #6)(10)

He should have kept his mouth shut about his wife hunt around Kevin, but how could he have known his star client’s wife, Molly, would have a friend in the matchmaking business? As soon as Heath sat through the introduction he’d promised, Annabelle Granger and her screwball operation were history.



A little after one in the morning, Dean Robillard finally made his way to Heath’s side. Despite the club’s dim lighting, the boy still wore his Oakleys, but he’d ditched his sports coat, and his sleeveless white silk T-shirt showed off the Holy Grail of football shoulders—big, strong, and unmarred by arthroscopic surgery. Dean propped one hip on the empty bar stool that opened up next to Heath. As he extended his leg for balance, he revealed a tan leather cap-toe boot Heath had heard one of the women say was from Dolce & Gabbana.

“Okay, Champion, your turn to suck up.”

Heath set his elbow on the bar. “My condolences on your loss. McGruder was a good agent.”

“He hated your guts.”

“I hated his, too, but he was still a good agent, and there aren’t a whole lot of us left.” He studied the quarterback more closely. “Shit, Robillard, you been bleaching your hair?”

“Highlights. You like ’em?”

“If you were any prettier, I’d want to date you.”

Robillard grinned. “You’d have to stand in line.”

Both of them knew they weren’t talking about dating.

“I like you, Champion,” Robillard said, “so I’m going to tell you up front. You’re out of the running. I’d be stupid to sign with the agent who’s at the top of Phoebe Calebow’s shit list.”

“The only reason I’m on that list is because Phoebe’s cheap.” Not entirely true, but this wasn’t the time to go into the complexities of his relationship with the owner of the Chicago Stars. “Phoebe doesn’t like the fact that I won’t roll over and play dead for her like everybody else. Why don’t you ask Kevin if he has any complaints?”

“Yeah, well, Kevin happens to be married to Phoebe’s sister and I don’t, so the situation isn’t exactly the same. The truth is, I already piss Mrs. Calebow off without even trying, and I’m not going to make it worse by hiring you.”

Once again, Heath’s dysfunctional relationship with Phoebe Calebow was getting in the way of what he wanted. No matter how hard he tried to fix things with her, his early mistakes kept coming back to bite him in the ass. He never let the pressure show and only shrugged. “You gotta do what you gotta do.”

“You guys are all bloodsuckers,” Dean said bitterly. “You take two, three percent off the top, and for doing what? For pushing a few papers around. Big f*cking deal. How many two-a-days have you sweated through?”

“Not as many as you, that’s for damn sure. I was too busy getting As in my classes on contract law.”

Robillard smiled.

Heath smiled back. “And just so we’re straight…When it comes to those big endorsements I’ve been landing for my clients, I take a hell of a lot more than three percent off the top.”

Robillard didn’t blink. “The Zagorskis are guaranteeing me Nike. Can you do that?”

“I never guarantee what I don’t have in my pocket.” He took a sip of beer. “I don’t bullshit my clients, at least about anything important. I also don’t steal from them, lie to them, or disrespect them behind their backs. There’s no agent in the business who works harder than I do. Not a one. And that’s all I’ve got to offer.” He rose, pulled out his money clip, and slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. “If you want to talk about it, you know where to find me.”



When Heath got home that night, he pulled the smudged invitation from his dresser drawer. He kept it lying around as a reminder of the gut-wrenching pain he’d felt when he’d first opened it. He’d been twenty-three.

You are cordially invited to attend the marriage of

JULIE AMESSHELTON

and

HEATH D. CAMPIONE

The Silver Anniversary Celebration of

VICTORIA AND DOUGLAS PIERCE SHELTON III

and

The Golden Anniversary Celebration of

MILDRED AND DOUGLAS PIERCE SHELTON II

Valentine’s Day

6:00 P.M.

The Manor

East Hampton, New York



The wedding planner had sent him the invitation by mistake, not realizing he was the groom, which spoke volumes all by itself. For the first time he’d discovered his marriage to Julie was just one cog of a well-oiled family production. All his securities came crashing in. He’d known it was too good to be true, Julie Shelton falling in love with a guy who was grubbing his way through law school by cleaning out septic tanks.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset about this,” Julie had said when he’d confronted her. “The dates just worked out that way. You should be happy we’re keeping up the tradition. Getting married on Valentine’s Day is good luck in my family.”

“This isn’t just any Valentine’s Day,” he retorted. “Golden anniversary, silver anniversary…What would you have done for a husband if I hadn’t come along on schedule?”

“But you did, so I don’t see the problem.”