Escorting the Player (The Escort Collection 3)

CHASE

I drove to our first scheduled workout of the season, a dull headache throbbing as I navigated the highway. Eric, my best friend and agent, called me on the way in.

"How's my favorite client?" He sounded like he always did—as if he was cruising around Los Angeles, the sunroof to his SUV wide open, living the good life of a top talent agent.

"I've been better," I admitted. "I'm pretty sure Jessica's moving out today."

"Shut the fuck up," Eric said. "For real this time?"

I took the turn that would lead me to the enormous stadium. "Seems like it. She was packing when I left."

Eric let out a low whistle. "I don't know whether to say sorry or…yay."

"Ha ha." My headache got incrementally worse. "I don't know, either."

"Did you call Mickey yet?" Mickey was my attorney. The one who'd begged me two years ago to do a pre-nuptial agreement, an idea that Jessica had completely shot down with the aid of crocodile tears.

I laughed. "Not yet. He's gonna have a field day with this."

"He told you so," Eric said.

"You all did," I admitted.

"Even your Mom, dude. You should always listen to Martha."

I groaned. Of all the phone calls I was dreading, the one to my Mom was at the top of the list.

"She warned you."

My headache moved to between my eyes. "I know—okay? You don't need to be so sanctimonious. Last time I checked, you weren't exactly a relationship guru. It's not like your wife's perfect—oh wait, that's right, you don't have a wife."

"Neither do you, apparently." He started to laugh and I couldn't help it, I did, too. Then I thought about all the money Jess was going to be looking for and all of the shit she was probably going to start, and the laughter died on my lips.

"Talk to Mickey and call your Mom—not necessarily in that order," Eric ordered. "And buddy, I wouldn't tell anybody else about this if I were you. Let's see if Jess is there when you get back. If not, maybe we should think about getting out in front of this."

"Huh?" Eric was a schemer. He was usually two steps ahead of me in that department, which was why he'd made partner at a top talent agency at thirty years old.

"We should maybe leak something to the press," Eric explained matter-of-factly. "Let the story out a little bit at a time so we can control the message and the tone."

My gut twisted. This was not the sort of press I'd been hoping for this year. "Huh."

"Call Martha," Eric instructed again before hanging up.

I pulled into the parking lot at the stadium and took an Advil. It was still morning, but the day had completely gone to shit.

And it was about to get worse. I hit my mother's number. "Hey, Ma."

She clucked her tongue as soon as she answered. "Well, the world-famous quarterback remembers to call his mother for once. How's my favorite son?"

"I'm your only son," I groaned.

"Aw, honey, you're still my favorite boy. Just like your sister's still my favorite girl."

I steeled myself. "Well, your favorite son has some news."

"What's the matter?" She was quiet for a second, her mom-radar probably going into overdrive. "Is Jessica trying to get you to go to Boca Raton for the holidays again? I swear to God, Chase, if she pulls that this year—"

"She's leaving me," I interrupted.