All of Me by Tiffany Patterson

Chapter 9

Gabriel

“What do you do when you need to provide someone with inspiration?” I asked Preston a few days after my night out with Lena while we tossed a football back and forth in his office.

He sat with his legs crossed on his desk, and I sat across from him in one of the low-sitting, black leather armchairs.

He stopped, his arm mid-toss. “Which one of our athletes are you trying to inspire?”

“None of ’em,” I admitted.

“Then who do you need to find inspiration for?”

“Answer the question,” I demanded. “What do you do?”

“Shit, man.” He shrugged. “Depends on the situation. Would someone benefit from a good kick in the ass? Or do they need to be buttered up?”

Butter. Definitely butter, I thought to myself.

“I could help more if I knew the details.”

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” I instructed. “What time is this guy supposed to call again?”

“After three.”

We were waiting on a call from the executive of a famous sports supplement company. This was one of the first major deals we were aiming to set up for Eli. We’d just completed his contract negotiations with the National Fighting Association. Eli was an official fighter in the NFA, and we were in talks to set up his first exhibition in New York.

It was up to us to come through on the sponsorships as we’d talked about.

“That’s him,” Preston said when the main phone line rang. Miriam, our office manager, patched the guy through a minute later.

“Andy,” Preston greeted, placing the call on speaker.

“Afternoon, Andy,” I called into the phone.

“Gabriel?”

“It’s me.”

“Good to hear you,” Andy said. “I wondered if you were going to be on this call.”

“I’m here. Hoping you have some good news for us.”

There was a pause at that. Preston and I looked at one another across this desk.

“We don’t like long pauses around here.” Preston’s tone had a bite in it that I knew well.

“I pitched hard for your guy,” Andy informed.

“And?” I asked.

“What’s the story?” Preston added. “You all were up his ass a few weeks ago. Couldn’t wait for him to be signed by the NFA.”

“I still can’t wait to see what he has to offer, but there’s hesitance,” Andy stated.

“From who?” Preston and I asked at the same time.

“What I’m about to tell you, you didn’t hear from me. Got it?”

“Done,” I said. “Spit it out.”

“There’re rumors about your guy.”

“Keep talking,” I encouraged.

“All I’ll say is that you need to speak with him about his fight history and coaching. Listen, I have to go. Let’s give it a few months, and if nothing comes of these rumors, then we’ll revisit the sponsorship deal.”

With that, Andy hung up the phone, leaving Preston and me in silence.

“Where is he?” I asked.

“Should be downstairs, training.”

Before I could even tell him to do so, Preston dialed Miriam to summon Eli Gatlin upstairs. His training could wait while we sorted this mess out.

“He came back clean on the background you did on him, right?” Preston asked.

Once Eli signed the contract with us to represent him, I’d had Micah’s team run a basic background check.

It came back with a few bullshit things like an unpaid parking ticket, and an arrest with charges dropped from a bar fight a few years back, but nothing serious.

“You saw the report,” I reminded Preston.

A second later, Preston’s office phone beeped. He pressed the button on the speaker.

“Sorry, Preston, but Coach Branson says Eli never showed up for training today.”

I blinked and glared at the phone on the desk. “What do you mean he never showed up?” I shook my head, knowing Miriam wouldn’t have the answer. “Call Branson and put him through,” I demanded.

Preston stood from his chair, his face growing in anger. “What the hell is this kid doing?”

Within a minute, Branson was on the line.

“Did he give a reason for not showing up today?” Preston asked.

“Nope. Never even called.”

“Has he ever not shown up for training before?” That question came from me.

“This is the first time he’s been a no-show. He has come in late a few times, though.”

“Let me guess,” Preston said. “No explanation given either.”

“You guessed it. He’s looked tired when he has come in late. Like the guy was up partying all night or something.”

I blew out a breath. “Thanks, Coach.”

We disconnected the call. As Eli’s managers, we didn’t keep on top of his training schedule. That was between him and his new training team. But this was alarming.

“Let me get this straight,” Preston began, pacing back and forth. “This guy is showing up to practice late, now he’s not even showing up, and we have potential sponsors mentioning they’ve heard rumors about him? We’re told to look into his past fights?”

I slid my hands into my pockets and paced as well. “Wolcott.”

“What?”

“Roger Wolcott. He was Eli’s handler in Los Angeles. He trained at Wolcott’s gym.”

“He died a few months ago,” Preston added.

I nodded. “That’s why Eli decided not only to agree to us managing him but also to switch to training with Branson and his team.”

“We need to speak with the kid now.”

I agreed as Preston picked up his office and dialed Eli’s cell.

“Answer your damn phone,” Preston demanded as the phone continued to ring. He put it on speakerphone.

The voicemail came on.

“Give us a callback. ASAP unless you want to end your career,” I demanded before hanging up.

“He’s fucking up. And I don’t like the way Andy talked about those rumors,” Preston said after a moment of silence.

“Me either.” If the rumors were enough to get his company to hold back on the sponsorship, they had to be serious.

“Rumors could only mean one thing.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I looked at my best friend. “We don’t know this has anything to do with betting.”

“Why else would they want to pull out?” he asked. “The kid doesn’t have a record. Not one that would keep him from getting a deal. These rumors aren’t over a fucking parking ticket. We know that for sure.”

“We don’t know anything for sure,” I countered. “All we know is Eli isn’t showing up for practice, and this one sponsor said no. That’s it. We’re not about to jump to conclusions or get our asses clenched over bullshit rumors.”

“Are you sure they’re bullshit?” Preston asked.

“As far we know they are. This may not have anything to do with illegal betting.”

“It better not.” Preston looked me square in the eye. “You know I can’t have that shit anywhere near me. Not after …” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Hey, no one outside of this room knows about your history of throwing fights. This is about Eli, not you.”

“How do we know that the same person who got me into those fights isn’t behind whatever is going on with Eli?”

I sighed. “Eli just got to Texas. Whatever he was involved with happened in LA. We need to check out Roger Wolcott’s history.”

Preston gritted his teeth. “I got out of fighting to walk away from all of that shit.”

“Your history won’t come back to bite us in the ass. I’ll see to it.” I was serious. Preston’s past was that. History. He no longer bet on fights, nor was he a competitor.

“I’m going to make some calls. We need to check out Wolcott and see if shaking that tree gets us any information before we talk to Eli,” I said as I stood to leave Preston’s office.

I had a feeling Eli wouldn’t call us back before the end of the day. A gnawing feeling in my gut told me this was only the beginning of whatever mess the kid had going on.

* * *

Lena

“I knew this wouldn’t work.” I pushed out a breath and tossed the pillow in my lap to the other end of the couch. Again, I found myself surrounded by empty or near empty scraps of paper.

Not one new chorus, line, or title to speak of in the week since I lost to Gabe in that pool game. Since then, my muse had shown up a couple of times throughout the week, taking me to dinner or out for dessert.

I had to admit the company wasn’t too bad and the restaurants were good, too. Yet, nothing happened with my writing.

The need for fresh air took over, and I rose to my feet. I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and sent a text to Jodi before I knew what I was doing. It was the middle of the day, but maybe she had an opening for lunch.

When she responded that she was free, we made a plan to meet in thirty minutes at a place that served Caribbean food.

A half an hour later, I walked into the restaurant and spotted Jodi seated in one of the booths by the window. I pointed out to the hostess that the person I was meeting was already there. I glanced around the dining area, noting the colorful paintings on the wall surrounded by the flags from various Caribbean countries.

Overhead, the one and only Bob Marley’s “One Love” pushed through the speakers.

“Finally. I was about to send out an APB for you,” Jodi said as I took my seat in the booth across from her.

“I’m not even five minutes late,” I said, glancing at the time on my phone with a frown.

“Whatever.” She didn’t even look at me as she peeled open the menu. “Me and this kid are hungry.”

My mouth dropped open, and I stared at her. Her eyes remained glued to the menu. “Did you say what I think you just did?”

Her eyes lifted toward the ceiling as if she replayed her statement over in her head. She grinned when her gaze fell back to me.

“Yeah, sorry to blurt it out like that,” she answered. “This kid has me being more blunt than usual these days.”

“Congratulations,” I squealed. “How far along are you? Was this a honeymoon baby?”

I did the math in my head. Jodi and Micah hadn’t even been back from their honeymoon a month yet. I’d never been pregnant, but I thought it might be a little too early to have found out by now.

Before Jodi answered, our waitress brought over a plate of fried plantains along with glasses of water.

“I ordered these already because I couldn’t wait.”

I laughed, still astounded that Jodi was pregnant.

“Please tell me you’re ready to order. I’m starving,” she said extra-dramatically.

“You order first.” I nodded at her. “I’ll be ready once you’re done.” I quickly scanned the menu and was relieved to see that they served one of my favorites. “I’ll have the escovitch fish, and that’s it,” I said when it was my turn.

“Oh, and could you add an order of fries to that,” Jodi requested. “For the table.”

I lifted an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Once the waitress walked away, I looked at Jodi expectantly. “Spill.”

She shrugged. “Nothing much to tell,” she said as she rubbed her belly almost absentmindedly. She wasn’t yet showing, but I knew that wasn’t necessarily an indicator of how pregnant someone was.

There were too many performers and entertainers I knew who kept their pregnancies a secret for long periods of time out of fear of losing job opportunities. Those women were able to find ways to keep their bellies from showing.

“I’m about eleven weeks now. Almost completely through the first trimester,” Jodi said before taking her second bite of plantain.

I ate as she talked about finding out and wanting to wait until after the wedding to tell everyone.

“I had Micah substitute sparkling cider for champagne during the wedding toast so that no one would suspect.”

“Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

A wistful smile touched her lips, and she stared off. “I know I should say I just want a healthy baby, no matter what. And I do. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to imagining a little mini me walking around here.”

We laughed and talked some more about the baby. Then the inevitable question came. The one I couldn’t seem to escape no matter who I spoke to.

“How’s the writing going?”

My shoulders immediately deflated.

Our waitress chose that moment to bring out our food. While the fried fish covered with sliced onion and red and orange bell pepper looked delicious, Jodi’s question had taken some steam out of my hunger.

“That good, huh?” she asked before taking a bite of her jerk chicken.

“I haven’t written a damn thing in months,” I admitted while moving the food around my plate.

“I figured.”

“How’d you know?”

She gave me a deadpan expression. “I worked with you celebs for over a decade, remember? My bullshit meter is top tier.” She smiled. “It’ll make me one hell of a PI, too.”

“You’re really pursuing that? Even with a baby coming?” The night we all went out, Jodi mentioned that she was in the process of getting her PI license. Micah hadn’t looked too happy about it, though.

Finding out Jodi was pregnant answered why he’d looked hesitant.

“Micah insists I wait until after the baby is born.” She leaned into the table. “I bet he believes that once the baby’s here, I’ll give up the idea and either remain as the office manager of that place or become a stay-at-home mom. He has another thing coming.”

Truthfully, I doubted that Micah didn’t know his wife well enough to think she’d give up a career entirely. But given his protectiveness, I understood his rationale.

“Anyway,” Jodi said, “what’s going on with you and writing? I thought you came here to write your next album.”

I took a bite of my lunch, mainly to delay in having to answer Jodi.

“I did,” I finally said. “That’s the entire reason for my being down here. Yet, nothing is flowing. I thought leaving LA would do the trick.”

I hated the look of pity that crossed Jodi’s face. I swiped a french fry from the metal cup in the center of the table.

“These are good.”

Jodi nodded. “Garlic parmesan fries. So, what are you going to do about writing?”

I swiped another fry and dipped it in the ketchup saucer next to the basket. “I kind of did something.”

“What?”

“It’s for inspirational purposes only.”

“You bought a new instrument?”

“No,” I said.

Jodi cocked her head sideways before shaking it. “Okay, so what’d you do?”

Clearing my throat, I sat up straight in my seat. “I allowed Gabe to become my muse.”

“What?” Jodi’s eyes were wide as saucers, and the fry that she’d stared at so lovingly paused halfway to her mouth. “What does that even mean?”

With a shrug, I admitted, “I’m not sure exactly.”

“So … what? You like, sleep with him and get inspiration from his dick or something?”

I gasped so loud a patron two tables over turned to stare in our direction.

“Nothing like that,” I whispered. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

Jodi gave me a look. “Hm. I didn’t even mention the word relationship. That’s interesting.”

“You insinuated it,” I insisted.

“Did I?”

I waved my fork in the air and shook my head. “None of this is the point. I didn’t even suggest it. He showed up on my doorstep and was all, let me be your muse. Then we had fried ice cream.” Pausing, I thought about it for a beat. “I bet the ice cream ploy was to soften me up.”

“He took you to The Rustic, huh?” Jodi asked, donning a smirk.

“I guess you're familiar.”

She laughed. “Yeah, Micah first took me there after he proposed. I almost kicked him when I tasted that fried ice cream.”

“Why’d you want to kick him?”

“Because he didn’t take me there sooner. Anyway, you say this is not the start of a relationship with Gabe, but I’d be careful if I were you.”

“It’s not like that,” I continued. “Really. I just got out of a long-term relationship. The last thing I need is to hop into another one. I’m done with relationships.”

Jodi snorted.

“Seriously. That’s it for me. I’m no good at them. The love thing doesn’t work for me.” Between my own failed relationships and the pitiful example I saw from my parents growing up, it was evident that relationships were something I wasn’t supposed to have anything to do with.

“I think you’re fooling yourself, Lena. The same man who declared you were his future wife in front of a room full of his relatives is now your muse for this album. Yet, this isn’t the start of a relationship?” She rolled her eyes before digging her fork into her rice again. “Yeah, okay.”

“I’m for real,” I insisted. “Gabriel Townsend is not getting into my drawers.”

Jodi burst out laughing again, causing a couple of patrons to glance our way. I dipped my head, hoping to avoid being noticed by anyone.

Before she was able to recover from her laughing fit, my phone buzzed. It was a text message from Gabe. Who’d taken it upon himself to plug his number into my phone.

Wolf: Do you prefer Chinese or Thai food?

I started to reply but then stopped, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. Biting the inside of my lip, I stared at the message.

“That’s him right now, isn’t it?”

Jodi’s question had me peering up at her. Seeing the shimmer in her eyes from her laughter, I made a decision.

“No,” I said and closed out of my message app. I tossed my phone into my bag and continued to eat the rest of my meal.

Sometime later, Jodi and I finished lunch, and she headed back to the office. As I watched her leave, I couldn’t help but recall her insistence that there was a budding relationship between Gabe and me.

I couldn’t let that happen. For my sake and his.