Book III of UNC Series
While it's known that there are five stages of grief, did you know that there are also five stages of love?
Bailey Nicholson dreamed of finishing her Master's degree and settling in Boston while working alongside her boyfriend...
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Despite the smoothness of my Jordan's soles, my shoes tap against the white tiled floor. I wince as my footsteps echo across the narrow hallway lined with framed photos and awards. Just as the sound of my steps softens against the change in flooring to carpet, the hallway yawns open to reveal a spacious workspace filled with desks and low-rise cubicles. The outer perimeter is lined with offices, glass walls and serrated metal doors.
The space is filled with chat, laughter, phones ringing and the ruffling of papers despite the holiday weekend. Ignoring a few lingering and awed stares, I follow the instructions I received and head straight down the row to the corner office.
Knocking, I wait for the soft 'come in' before I swing the door open, revealing an expansive office with substantial window panels covering two walls. A glass wall opens the office to the floor cubicles, while the last wall is lined with trophies, framed photos and a low bookshelf with binders and folders. A dark slate-coloured carpeted floor covers the space between where I'm standing with the door open and where the large black marble base with black oak veneer desktop finish desk is situated.
Ethan Collins sits with his back to the window overlooking the skyline of Downtown Cardill. Skyscrapers fill the background, the sky is a picturesque blue with soft clouds milling about, and I can hear the honking of cars that's very faint over the chatter filtering in from the bullpen.
Muting the noise slipping in, I softly close the door behind me, stepping into his office as Collins glances up from his laptop. His suit jacket hangs over the back of his chair, a single AirPod in one ear, his tie slightly loosened around his neck with a crisp white dress shirt fitting over his shoulders and chest.
I'm surprised that in the three years since he got the job at Athletic Talents—the sports agency he once interned at, which made him change career paths completely—he's already managed to secure himself a corner office. I don't know much about his work, considering I don't have an agent myself, but he must be doing well.
A smile curls at his lips, his jawline covered with coarse dark hair, and his blue eyes—similar to Ryan's—greet me. I note the silver band on his ring finger, his wedding a blur in the back of my mind as my only focus that day had been on Blondie and the soft frown that consistently tugged at her lips.
"Well, look what the cat dragged in," Collins stands, straightening his light grey dress pants before holding out his arm, "Does this mean you're finally taking up my offer to be your agent?"
I slap his hand, dabbing him as I snicker under my breath, "Fuck no. I can't afford your fees."
He chuckles, sitting as I take a seat opposite him, "Fuck, I need to rethink my percentage if the millionaire is questioning it."
"Fuck off. I'm not a millionaire." I silently add 'yet' as l sprawl my legs out, stretching back.
Though I did sign my contract, I'm getting my payments as prorated bonuses which means the millions they signed me for are actually spread out over my first year with the team. Still, a significant amount of money is being deposited into my account, but not close to a million yet.
