The Square Up (F*** On The Court)

Chapter One

Kade

“Barracuda” flashes across the screen of my cell phone in bold green letters as I stand with my keys in hand outside the door to my penthouse. I think about what’s on the other side, waiting for me...a brand-new luxury shower with six pulsing jets.

I let the call go to voice mail. Whatever my agent, Abigail Roberts, has to talk to me about can wait until tomorrow.

I kick off my Ferragamos, drop the keys to my Lamborghini in the handcrafted leather bowl on the foyer table, and unbutton my silk shirt as I make my way down the hall. I sigh as the scent of fresh lemon wax mingled with a hint of lavender tickles my nose. Paying for a top-notch cleaning service is money well spent.

Just as I hit the marble floor in the bathroom, my pocket starts vibrating. Barracuda again?

“I hope you know it’s eleven thirty at night,” I snip as I set the phone down on the vanity. I put the call on speaker and strip off the rest of my clothes.

“I know what time it is,” Abigail barks. “You were supposed to stop by the office this morning and sign your endorsement contracts. They have to be in by midnight tonight.”

Fuck.

“I forgot.” I turn on the water. “I got sidetracked and forgot all about it. I’ll come by your office first thing tomorrow morning.”

“You forgot,” she sneers. “You’re always forgetting. What was it this time? A blonde named Sugarpie with triple D’s?”

“No,” I chuckle. “A redhead named Cherry with legs for days.”

“You need to clean up your image, you know. God, men suck,” she groans. “Maybe it’s time you get yourself a new agent, Kade. My time is just as valuable as yours, you know. Maybe even more so.”

She’s not wrong; I have a playboy reputation that could use some spiffing up.

But I don’t want a new agent.

I want my Barracuda.

I want Abigail Roberts.

She’s the best in the professional basketball business. The woman is unflappable, a tenacious Pitbull. She’s a female predator in a man’s world, which is why we all refer to her as the Barracuda. When she wants something, she goes after it. Even if she has to take someone out at the throat to get the deal done, I can’t afford to lose her.

“I’m really sorry…”

“Save it. I’m not interested in your feeble apologies, Kade. Just answer your damn door. I’ll be there in five.”

The call ends, and sweat trickles down my back. She’s never talked to me like this before. My contract with the Portland Skyhawks is up for renewal next month, and I have to fix things with her.

I turn off the shower, duck into the walk-in closet, slip on a pair of sweatpants, and then quickly rinse with mouthwash in case I have booze breath. I splash water on my face and pick up my razor to remove the bristly stubble decorating my jaw. But before I can hit the power switch, the doorbell rings.

“Coming!” I call out.

I swing open the door and have to do a double-take. Abigail’s cheeks are flushed. Her long black hair is disheveled. Her purple button-down shirt is a wrinkled mess and is buttoned all wrong. On her feet, she’s wearing one black shoe and one blue shoe.

“Are you all right?” I inch closer to see if I can smell any alcohol on her breath. Her eyes are bloodshot and red. But I don’t think it’s from drinking or doing drugs. I think the barracuda’s been crying.

She slaps a manilla folder in my chest and stomps right past me. “I’m fine. Sign the damn papers.”

I put down the folder to search for a pen. “Did you drive or take an Uber?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Like hell, it’s not my business,” I fold my arms across my chest. You’re in my house now—my house, my rules. And you aren’t right, Abigail. I don’t know what’s wrong, but you are not driving out of here in your condition.”

“My condition?” Her face turns beet red. “You have got to be kidding me.” Abigail backs up into a black leather couch and slaps her hands over her face. “I hate this day!” She shrieks.

I cringe at the banshee wail. “What’s going on with you? Have you been drinking?”

“Drinking?” she screeches. “No, I haven’t been drinking! For your information, my so-called boyfriend dumped me about an hour ago! By text!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Whatever,” she mumbles. “Once again, I’ll be the laughing stock of the annual Roberts family reunion.” She sniffles. “I thought this year was going to be different…I really did.”

“Laughing stock? Since when would anyone dare laugh at you? You’re the barracuda, for crying out loud.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth…as soon as her glacial gaze scrapes across my face…as soon as her unspoken wrath slices through me like a blade of molten steel…I realize I’m in trouble.

“Barracuda?” She clenches her fists and takes a step towards me.

“Wait…” I throw my hand in the air.

“You call me Barracuda?” Heat blasts from her eyes.

“Only because you’re the best agent there is,” I squeak.

“A barracuda is ugly with a big, huge jaw and razor-sharp teeth,” she spits out. “Oh. My. God. You think I’m a hideous man-eating fish, don’t you?” She gasps.

“No.” I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”

“You do,” she sits down on the sofa, clutching a hand over her mouth.

Then the worst possible thing in the world happens…

Abigail Robinson bursts into tears. Soul-scorching, sad, horrible tears. It’s awful.

And it’s all my fault.

“Hey,” I crouch down in front of her, “I’m a six-foot-seven, two-hundred-thirty-five-pound moron.”

More sobs pour out of her.

I jump up, run into the kitchen, and grab a handful of napkins. “Don’t cry,” I dab at her face. “You are not ugly, Abigail. Not by a longshot.”

“You’re just saying that 'cause I’m crying,” she hiccups.

“No. I’m saying it because it’s true. All the guys think you’re a knockout.”

“They do?” She takes a napkin from my hand to wipe her swollen nose.

“They do.”

“Then why can’t I keep a boyfriend?”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right one.”

“Whatever,” she sighs. “Maybe I’ll get a T-shirt with Barracuda written across the front to wear to the Robinson Family Reunion. Instead of everybody laughing at me because I’m a spinster, maybe they’ll get a good chuckle out of my nickname.” She swipes at her eyes. “Does everyone in the league call me Barracuda?”

I can’t lie to her. Not when she’s having a breakdown. “Yes.”

“Great,” she throws her head back and takes a deep breath. “I’m just a big joke to everyone, aren’t I?”

“Absolutely not.” I get up and sit on the edge of the coffee table.

Abigail sits up, trying to fix her hair. “Listen, would you just sign the papers so I can go home and finish my mental collapse in private, please?”

While I sign the papers, I keep an eye on Abigail. There’s a sadness on her face that has me gutted. I don’t like it.

“Tell you what,” I hand the folder to her. “Let me be your date for your family reunion.”

“What?” she blinks.

“In fact, let’s kick it up a notch, shall we? Let’s go to your family reunion as an engaged couple. I won’t let anyone laugh at you.”

“You can’t do that…” she shakes her head. You don’t know my family. For crying out loud, they’ll take pictures of us and sell them to the media.”

“Let ‘em,” I sit across from her. “Didn’t you say I need to start working on cleaning up my image?”

“Yes, but…”

“No, buts. As long as you’ll have me, Abigail Roberts, I would like to be your fiancé. What d’ya say? Do you think you can take being associated with the likes of me?”

“Yes, but…I can’t let you do this, Kade. This is crazy. Even for you.”

“Please, I want to do this. No one should ever laugh at you, Abby, or make you cry.” I wipe away a stray tear. “You’ve done a lot for me. Let me do this for you.”

She holds her head up high. “All right,” she whispers. “Let’s do it.”

“Good,” I grin. “You won’t regret it.”

The only question is, will I?