Curveball (10 page)

Rrrrrring.

The stupid desk phone wouldn’t stop ringing. It always seemed to know when she was
busy.

“Cat, can you get that already!”

She turned around to Cat’s desk but her chair was empty. She vaguely remembered her
saying something about timing the speeds of some pitching prospect’s changeup. It
was just like Cat to be off playing games when she was needed.

Paige glared at the chirping phone. Her nails were already ruined. Pushing one phone
button wasn’t going to make it much worse. “Joe O’Donnell’s office.”

“Ms. Aiken?”

“Yes.” She attempted to wipe her finger with a tissue.

“This is Camilla, the lobby receptionist. You have a visitor here, a uh, Mr. Hayward.”

Paige’s heart jumped in her throat.

“Ms. Aiken?”

“Yeah, I’m here.”

“Should I send him to your office?”

“No. No, I’ll come out there. Don’t let him come back here.”

She threw down the receiver and hurried out the office and down the hallway. Blackball
schmackball, she wanted to tell this creep off.

There he was. His blond head popped out over the leather wing chair. She hesitated
for only a second before charging the waiting area.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up here, buddy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on your peroxided ass.”

“The cops?” He stood up and flashed a smile. “Is this because I didn’t bring flowers?
It looks like you have enough.”

The lobby was littered with scarlet poinsettia plants popping out of red foil pots.

She crossed her arms. “I went to your so-called office today.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, a coworker and I were meeting with a client all day. I was out of
the office.”

She scoffed. “Yes, I met some of your staff. Tell me, did this particular coworker
have six legs or eight?” Paige didn’t give him a chance to respond. She gestured dramatically
around the room with open hands. “See this place? Desks and chairs for the staff.
Magazines and plasma televisions in the waiting room. This is an office.”

He surveyed the waiting room. “It is very nice, but truthfully, not for me. I like
to keep my décor modest. Most of my players come from very humble homes. The last
thing they want to see is some ostentatious agency.”

She shook her head. “You’ve got some nerve to call that dump an agency.”

“Dump? I never said it was Trump Tower but dump is a little harsh.”

“No, but folding chairs and a card table isn’t exactly on a par with ordering a nineteen
seventy-two Dom last night. How long did you think you could fool me?” She tossed
her hair behind her. “Just because I’m gorgeous does not mean I’m a damn fool.”

She wished more than anything people could understand that. She often wondered if
ugly people really were smarter than the rest of them. Paige didn’t think so; if they
were such geniuses then they’d know how to make themselves look better. If anything,
she felt her looks should provide further proof of her superior intellect.

The smile faded from Chance’s face as his mouth dropped open. “I’d never—wait a minute,
a folding table?”

“I guess I’m lucky it wasn’t an upside-down cardboard box with an open sign stapled
to the front.”

He squinted at her. “I don’t have a folding table in my office.”

Paige couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You cannot seriously be trying to lie
to me now. I took a taxi to your damn office.” She lifted up her heel and showed him
the beige soles with the Fendi logo. “I’ve even got the sticky shoes to prove it.
I guess I could’ve brought you a pack of Marlboros or a forty from your next door
neighbors.”

His face relaxed into a smile. “No you couldn’t have.” He chuckled. “I think we have
a misunderstanding here.”

“No I understand perfectly. You exploit kids’ dreams in order to turn a profit. You’re
gross, your office is grosser and you need to leave.”

“You went to the wrong office.”

Paige recoiled. “I went to the wrong ... Wait. What?”

“Was this place farther inland, iffy neighborhood?”

She nodded. “
Iffy
is being kind. I think I hit it on the head with
gross
.”

“Well my office is located in a building on
Calle El Conde
. It’s right downtown and not too far from here.” He reached into his jacket and pulled
out a business card. “The agency I work for is Worldwide Baseball Talent Management.”
He handed her the card, tapping the company logo as he did so.

“Yeah, I already know that. The cab driver took us there.”

“No, you were at a front called International Béisbol Talent Management. It’s a known
scam agency run by a local dirt bag. I’m guessing the cab driver mixed them up because
of your language barrier.”

She squinted at the slogan on his business card and read it aloud. “Chance Hayward.
As in …
Hey
would you give this guy a
chance
?” She rolled her eyes. “This is for real?”

He snatched it back. “I thought it was funny.”

She tilted her head to one side. “You really aren’t affiliated with that place? Because
you should know that I’m going to have them blackballed with our league.” She watched
his reaction carefully.

“I’m really not.” A sweet smile tugged at the comers of his lips. His expression softened.
“Part of me is offended you could even think that, but then the other part thinks
it’s sweet of you to care.”

“Care schmare.” She chewed her lip playfully. “I just don’t want to date a guy who
can’t even afford a decent office.”

His coy smile was replaced with an all-out grin. “Well then let me take you out for
a happy hour drink and thank you for getting rid of some of the competition.”

“That dump was competition?”

“One less name in the Yellow Pages.” He craned his neck, trying to look into the hallway.
“Why don’t you bring your friend too? I feel like I owe you both an apology for this
whole misunderstanding.”

“I’m so glad we cleared that up.”

For the umpteenth time since arriving at
La Tambora
, Paige thrust out her chest and looked at Chance from under her long, dark eyelashes.
“Me, too.”

Cat took a sip of wine and returned his fake smile with one that was equally saccharine.
Maybe he wasn’t working out of a crack house, but she still had a reason to worry.
She caught Paige’s love-struck expression—the parted lips, the shining eyes.

Okay, make that two reasons.

“I wanted to talk to you about Cristian Encarnación,” she said. “We never got a chance
to the other night.”

“Because of the dead guy.”

Cat shot Paige a dirty look. “Yes, because of that.”

Chance tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Cristian, the busboy?”

“He’s your client, right?” Cat strained to keep the annoyance out of her voice. They’d
gone over this just last night and although it’d been a hectic twenty-four hours,
she didn’t believe he could just forget her interest in his player.

Chance picked up his wine glass and examined it as if looking for a hairline crack.
“Cristian is represented by Worldwide, correct.” He turned to Paige and added, “
Not
International.”

Paige giggled.

Was Chance avoiding her eyes? Cat bobbed her head, attempting to intercept his gaze.
“I talked to him last night during dinner.”

“He’s a nice kid.” Chance nodded at the server across the room and snapped his fingers.
The waiter came bustling over.

“Well then, since you’re his agent I’d like to set up a meeting for him with our Soldiers’
scouts.”

Chance shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

The out-of-breath waiter sidled up to the table. “Yes, Mr. Hayward?”

“My wine glass is spotty.”

The waiter didn’t miss a beat, showing no surprise as he lifted the glass up off the
table. He was either a seasoned professional or familiar with Chance’s quirks. “I
apologize, sir. Let me get you a new glass.”

Chance raised an eyebrow and tossed his chin in the air. “And a complimentary bottle
of
Vega Sicilia
.”

“Of course, sir.”

The waiter hustled away and Chance winked at Paige. Her hands were pressed together
on her lap as she stared up at him, all but swooning.

Cat gave Chance a measured glance. “You better hope that bottle comes to the table
unopened because I wouldn’t want to drink anything from someone I just spoke to like
that.”

“Nah.” Chance swept a nonchalant hand through the air. “That’s how this is done.”

“How what’s done, acting like a pretentious ass?”

“Cat!” Paige was aghast.

Cat spun her head over to Paige. “What? I would think you’d be upset about the copyright
infringement.”

Paige scrunched up her face but didn’t say a word in reply.

Chance’s face twitched as if Cat had backhanded him across the cheek. “I’m sorry if
I offended you. When I dine at nice restaurants, I expect them to uphold a certain
level of service.”

Paige finally unpursed her lips to speak. “It’s true, McDee. Kinda like how if they
don’t ask you to supersize at one of your restaurants, your value meal is free?”

Cat glared at the smug Paige and cleared her throat. “Forget it. Let’s get back to
Cristian, I’d like—”

“Cat, let me stop you there.” Chance threw up his palm. “I appreciate what you’re
trying to do but I’m afraid the answer is still no.”

Cat decided to speak slower so he could understand exactly what she was offering.
“You’re his agent. I’m talking about a pitching session with a big-time scout. Why
wouldn’t you—”

The waiter came back with a sparkling clean glass and an uncorked bottle of wine.
Cat closed her mouth and gave him a sympathetic smile as he presented the label to
Chance. Chance held out his glass, and the waiter poured in a dollop. Examining the
liquid with a practiced eye, he took a sip and swished it around in his mouth for
several seconds before giving the waiter a curt nod. Appeased, the waiter smiled and
left.

Cat was waiting for his response regarding Cristian. He was still basking in Paige’s
appreciation of his little performance. She cleared her throat.

He set the glass down and clasped his hands on the white tablecloth. “Look, I didn’t
want to get into all of this but if you insist on talking business I have to warn
you, the kid isn’t that good. His curveball’s dropping and he’s losing speed off his
fastball.”

“So? The minors are full of guys like that.” Her voice was growing strident. Noting
that she was attracting attention from neighboring tables, she took a deep breath
and tried again. “What do you care anyway? Your job is to get him the best contract
you can. Leave the scouting to the Soldiers.”

Like an umpire letting a player vent after a called strike out, Chance kept his expression
neutral. “With the kind of player he is, I believe that he’ll flounder on a stage
that big. I know Cristian. It’s in his best interest to go somewhere with less competition.
Maybe after a few years of that he’ll be ready for more.”

“Bull. Even if he never makes it above Single-A, it still beats bussing tables for
snotty locals and clueless tourists.”

Paige reached across the table and stroked Chance’s hand with her fingers. “It’s true.
I’d rather be a clumsy alternate for the Buffalo Jills than spooning out that gross
yellow cheese on the nachos for all the fatties in the stands.”

Cat grimaced. “Thank you, Paige. Always helpful.”

“Anytime, McDee. I’m here to make your life easier.”

Cat ignored her goading. “Come on, Chance. Work with me here. This kid deserves the
best chance he can get.”

He shook his head. “It’s a nice offer, really, but I’m actually contracted with this
team in the Netherlands.”

“Contracted?” Cat paused. She wasn’t an expert on sports management but that didn’t
sound right. “I thought you were contracted with the players? Isn’t that how the player/agent
dynamic works?”

“It’s complicated.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to work out a few kinks.
“Look, I’ve had a crazy day to follow up a crazy night in an already crazy week. No
more shop talk.”

“But—”

Cat’s reply was interrupted by Paige. “I agree. It’s time for fun.” She shot a Cat
a pointed glare.

Cat sat back in her chair and crossed her arms. Why was this guy resisting the chance
of a lifetime?

“Why don’t you two tell me more about yourselves?” Chance was clearly speaking mostly
to Paige.

Paige tousled her hair before flipping it off her shoulder. “What do you want to know?”

“Well, how’d you end up here?”

Paige coyly lowered her lashes, pretending to consider the question. “Oh, I don’t
know. Right place, right time, I guess.”

Cat’s laugh was just loud enough to be obnoxious.

Paige whipped her head over, her dark hair tumbling back over her bare shoulder. “What?”

“More like right dad, right nepotism.”

While Paige pouted, Chance turned to her. “And you?”

“Well—”

“Right ass. Right kiss.” Paige wrinkled her nose at Cat. “McDee’s here as my probation
officer, hence the closet of polyester. If I don’t burn the city down, then she gets
a real job with the Soldiers.”

Chance appeared to be waiting for Cat to argue. Instead, she shrugged. “That’s the
gist of it.”

His face gave way to a grin and he raised his glass in the air as a mock toast. “Fair
enough. Here’s to Cat, Paige and Chance encounters.”

Paige giggled again and Cat’s jaw tightened. Between the nonstop teehee-ing and Paige’s
fondness for red, she was beginning to feel like she was babysitting Elmo.

“What about you?” Cat asked. “You could just as easily be an agent in the States.
Why Santo Domingo?”

“Why not? A lot of talent here.”

Those were the only words Chance had uttered all night that she knew to be true. Since
Ozzie Virgil, Sr., had joined the Detroit Tigers in nineteen fifty-eight, more and
more talent flowed from the Caribbean island nation each year. The Dominican Republic
claimed the second-most nationality of professional baseball players, after the U.S.
born players.