Illegal Contact (The Barons 1)

“Uh, I have to call a cab to go back and forth. But yeah.”

“Gotcha. We close at eight.”

“Okay, but I leave work at five.”

At that, the guy finally made eye contact with me. He did a double take, gaze flicking over me once, then again, before settling on my face.

“You a PA?”

I nodded.

“Never met a PA who did a nine-to-five.”

“What do they usually do around here?”

“A whenever-and-wherever.”

I started to laugh, but his expression didn’t so much as shift. He was dead-ass serious, which meant that my value was already pretty much nonexistent since I wasn’t giving up my entire life for Gavin. Not that I had much of a life.

“I’m not too good at the PA thing, it turns out. This is my fifth day on the job. I have zero clue as to what I’m doing.”

“Which guy?”

“Ga—an athlete.”

“Gotcha.” The mechanic glanced at his screen again. “You know I’ll see his name when I do the inspections, right? No getting around it.”

“Oh. Duh.” I shook my head. “Sorry, I’m still paranoid about the confidentiality stuff.”

“I get it. But I dunno how PAs do it. It’s bad enough I have to work on their cars while hearing a thousand nit-picky requests and complaints. Being their all-day bitch isn’t for me.”

I cringed. “That’s not exactly the way I’d like to describe it, but yeah. This guy hasn’t taken care of his house in ages, and now I have to come in and find service people to take care of the land since he apparently had issues with the people who were working on the property for the past year. I’ve never lived in anything beyond a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment, so knowing which landscaper or pool person or whatever to hire is . . .”

“You got no clue what you’re even looking for. Right. I feel for you.” The mechanic stood. “I’ll give you a tip—call his manager and ask if they have a list of people approved with their agency. They probably do their own background checks and shit. I know this shop is on a few lists like that.”

“Wow, thanks. That literally did not even occur to me.” It meant talking to Joe, but at this point I was desperate to do something well.

He flashed a smile. “No problem. Leave me the keys to the car, and I’ll have my little brother drive you back for the next vehicle.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. He’s not doing anything, anyways.”

“That would be really fucking helpful, man. Thank you so much,” I babbled. “And if there’s any extra fee to tag on for that, just do it. I know my boss will be fine with it.”

“Nah. No fee. Except one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Get a drink with me some time.”

My jaw dropped, but I managed to peel it off the floor. “Uh, sure. Yeah. Definitely.”

“Great.” The hot mechanic reached out to shake my hand. “I’m Case, by the way.”

“Noah.”

“Glad to meet you, Noah. I’ll get my brother over here, and we’ll get you sorted out as soon as possible.”

***

Gavin

I’d received six phone calls in the past two hours, and I’d refused to answer any of them. Four were from Joe, so my desire to do so had shrunk even further. He was likely just checking up on the situation with Noah. Or asking what I was doing with all of my newfound time.

Considering I’d spent the day working out way too much, and then picking through a couple of fan letters, I couldn’t explain what I’d done for hours. Although, it had been the mail that put me into a total funk. One incorrectly spelled letter from a preteen living in a shitty foster home in Newark had brought back so much of my past that I’d shut down, refused to read any more, and had gone back to the gym.

I didn’t know what it was about me, but I always got letters like that from kids. And it crushed me every time. They said I was an inspiration, but I knew I’d gotten fucking lucky and they probably would never get the same break. They’d end up with the future I probably deserved.

God, what a morbid train of thought. And it’d plagued me for half the day, which is why I’d started ignoring my phone.

The other two calls were from Mel, my agent, but at least she had the decency to leave a voice mail. Shit about my lack of social media accounts and the fact that I still hadn’t picked a charity to support. She wasn’t my least favorite person, but the topic of improving my image and reputation didn’t really get my juices going either. Why couldn’t people let me play ball and leave me alone?

When Noah came rushing into the living room in the late afternoon, I was slumped on the sofa and watching Simeon’s training-camp story on Snapchat. He was being his typical hilarious self, teasing the new guys who were doing their best to not get cut, and I missed it all so sharply that I felt sick. Even if eighty percent of the guys in the locker room were irritating d-bags in one way or another, they were still like family to me. And I’d never had a family before.