The All-Nighter

Before the call I was on had even ended, I was already moving quickly toward Bob's corner office. I'd just received the news we'd been waiting for all week. Bob was going to want to hear this.

"Is he available?" I asked Bob's secretary of twenty years, Dana, whose desk was just outside the double doors to his office.

"He is, Mr. Maxwell," Dana replied with a friendly smile. "He's expecting you, so go on in."

"Thanks, Dana."

"Good news?"

"You know it," I answered, flashing her a smile.

I opened the double doors and walked into the office of Robert "Bob" Fitzgerald, the President and largest shareholder of the sports talent agency I worked for. Behind the large, stained wood desk on one side of the office, sat the gray-haired legend himself.

Everything about Bob exuded success. Despite having just turned seventy, he was still fit and handsome, his silver hair perfectly combed, and his steel gray eyes capturing every detail. As usual, he was dressed impeccably in a bespoke charcoal gray suit, white dress shirt, red tie, and black Italian loafers. Even his office, with its sixtieth story view of the Hollywood hills and filled with expensive custom furniture, screamed power.

With nearly forty years in the business of representing professional athletes, Bob had built our agency into one of the best in the world. His reputation among his clients, team owners, and even his competitors, was second to none. And I was his protégé.

"Jake, tell me you're bringing me good news," he said as I walked in, waving his hand to the seat in front of me.

My hands held out and a smirk on my face, I replied, "we got him. He didn't like Schultz. He's coming tomorrow to see what we can do for him."

"Great work, Jake," he said with a wily grin I'd grown used to seeing. "We get this kid and it's a game-changer for this agency. And for you."

The "kid" we were talking about was Connor Adams, the two-time Heisman trophy winning quarterback from USC, who was not only a stone-cold lock to go first overall in the NFL draft, but widely considered the best prospect since Andrew Luck. He was a generational talent. Exceptional decision-making, a live arm, and he could run like a tailback. On top of that, the kid was charismatic, with over two million followers on Instagram--more than most pros. He was an agent's wet dream.

Throughout college, Connor had a family friend as his agent. However, after his junior year, Connor discovered that the family friend had been skimming off the top. Now he was in the market for new representation. Most expected him to go with Aaron Schultz, who was one of the top agents in the country, especially for football players. As I'd just learned from a member of Connor's entourage on the call I'd received before I came to Bob's office, Connor didn't like Schultz and was therefore still in the market for an agent.

"You land Connor, Jake, and you'll be set for life here," Bob said.

"Then I better go finalize my presentation deck for tomorrow," I replied.

"About that," Bob began, his tone concerning me. "I want you to work with Layna on this one. Bring her in for the branding component."

'Oh, no fucking way!' I thought.

"Bob, I've got this. I got us the appointment. Please trust me to close this one."

"I know that Connor's coming tomorrow because of you, son... "

'Uh uh.' Bob only called me "son" when he was about to put me in check.

"... But, you and I both know that Connor and his team are going to put a lot of importance on how we plan to grow his brand. And Layna is the best when it comes to branding and image."

"Yes, sir," I answered, the wind out of my sails. "I'll call her... "

"Oh, I've already let her know. I knew you'd come through. She's set up the large conference room for you two to finalize the presentation tonight. Looks like the two of you are in for an all-nighter," he said with a smirk. "Think you can handle it?"

"Yes, sir," I replied, attempting to force a smile while gritting my teeth.

...

I fumed as I made the long walk toward the conference room. Layna fucking Donovan. Of all the people I had to work with on the biggest deal of my career, it had to be Layna fucking Donovan.

Bob was right about one thing: Layna was a rockstar when it came to branding and image. She was brilliant and our clients loved her. Every client who worked with Layna saw the value of his or her endorsement deals go up at least three-fold. She knew how to create a customized brand for each client that played up his or her strengths. And she had connections all over the corporate world, along with a sixth sense for pairing clients with the right companies.

It didn't hurt that she was beautiful. Like movie star beautiful. And funny. And charismatic.

Everyone loved Layna. Except me. I fucking hated her, and I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Though, at least I had a reason to hate her. I don't know what her problem was with me.

When Layna joined the agency a year ago, the gossip mill started whispering about her and me as a possible couple. I hadn't even seen the woman yet, but people were talking about us. I was the handsome, successful guy in the office with a reputation for dipping his wick in the company ink. Layna was the hot new girl and, therefore, most definitely my type. At least, that's what many of my co-workers assumed and, naturally, went with that story before Layna and I met.

My reputation as the office playboy was a bit unfair. I only dated three co-workers over five years, and only after Human Resources was made aware of the romantic interest and waivers were signed. As much time as I spent working, the office was one of the only places I met women. And we hired some smoking hot women. However, I did it right. I had worked my ass off to become the agency's rising star. I was wise enough to not jeopardize my career for some pussy.

I met Layna for the first time about a week after she started working at the company. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't instantly attracted to her. Long, golden blonde hair that looked like it was woven from sunbeams. Turquoise eyes the color of a tropical ocean. A brilliant, white smile that was made for toothpaste commercials. Lovely, sun-kissed skin. A flawless face with a chiseled nose. And, at 5' 7" she had long, sexy legs that would make a women's tennis player jealous. I once ran into Tom Brady and Giselle at a charity event; Layna would have made Giselle look plain.

Despite my undeniable attraction, my first interaction with her was entirely professional. In the short time she'd been there, I'd heard great things about her work. So, I introduced myself, mentioned I'd heard rave reviews about her work, and brought up the idea of us working together for some clients of mine.

I may have been a little flirtatious. But I swear she was receptive to my overtures. It wasn't my first rodeo; I knew how to read signs. I can tell when a girl is or isn't interested. Layna seemed interested. She was friendly, animated, smiled, laughed, and made eye contact. As a result, I asked her if she might like to get coffee sometime to discuss working together. It was purely professional. No innuendo. Nothing sexual.

The very next day, I got called into Human Resources because a complaint was made about me making an unwelcome sexual advance. Over an invite to get coffee? Are you fucking kidding me?! To this day, it's the one blemish on my otherwise stellar career. Had I not been a rockstar in my own right, and Bob's protégé, that complaint might have sealed my fate.

Since then, I've steered clear of Layna. There are times when I need her to help one of my clients. I would never let my personal hatred of her get in the way of doing what's best for my clients. But, when that happens, I send my assistant or a junior associate to parlay with her. I want nothing to do with her.

For some reason, she apparently feels the same way toward me. The friendly girl I initially met I haven't seen since. That girl was replaced by a first-rate, world-class bitch. She won't look at me. She won't talk to me. And she leaves the room when I come in.

As I walked into the conference room, Layna was seated at the head of the conference table in front of a laptop, her back to me. She didn't turn around when I entered and didn't say a word. I shook my head, closed the door behind me, and walked to the other end of the conference table.

"Layna," I said flatly as I walked past her.

"Jake," she replied, with equal enthusiasm.

I set down my laptop, removed my coat and tie, and got to work.

I noticed Layna was wearing an outfit I'd seen on her once before. An outfit that made me uncomfortable because of how fucking hot she looked in it. A sleeveless, white satin blouse that showed a hint of cleavage and her tanned arms, a black pencil skirt that hugged her ass and thighs, and black stiletto heels. With her hair up in a messy bun, Layna looked professional and sexy.

We each knew what we had to do to get ready for tomorrow's pitch. Layna would be preparing the portion of the presentation dealing with brand development, image, and licensing. I would be handling negotiations with the teams looking to draft him, setting up his team of financial advisors, and handling many of his legal needs.

Unfortunately, NFL rookie contracts are strictly controlled by the league's collective bargaining agreement. Connor's salary and length of contract would be fixed. That meant my role was diminished, and the success or failure of this pitch would depend largely on Layna.

We worked in silence into the evening. The office was empty. The cleaning crew had come and gone. It was just us and a big empty office. The good old all-nighter.

"I'm just about done with the first draft of my part," Layna announced. "But I think we need to run some of this by legal before we present it."

"We don't need to run it by legal. Just send it to me."

"Why? Are you an attorney?" she asked, mockingly.

"Yes," I answered.

"Really?" she asked, surprised.

"Yep."

"That would have been nice to know earlier," she mumbled, but loud enough to ensure I heard her. "So, can you negotiate licensing and endorsement agreements?"

"Yes, I do for all my clients."

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?" she asked, irritated.

"Layna, everyone who works here knows I'm a licensed attorney and negotiate my clients' contracts. I even have a big diploma on the wall in my office, which you might have seen if you'd ever been there." I fired back, feeling good to get a dig in at her.

"This may surprise you, pretty boy, but not everyone's life around here revolves around you such that they know every detail of your life," she retorted, a sneer on her face. "And maybe if you weren't such an arrogant asshole, I might have stopped by your office."

"Pretty boy?" I laughed, tossing my hands up. "What the fuck is your problem with me, princess?"

"I sent you the file," she replied coolly, avoiding answering my question. "I need to get some water and stretch my legs."

I saw that she had emailed me the file. I opened it to review her portion of the presentation. But not before I glanced up to catch a glimpse of Layna's tight ass and shapely calves walking out of the conference room. I fucking hated that she was so hot. And myself for finding her attractive.

Reading through Layna's portion of the presentation, I was impressed by the quality of her work. She'd clearly done a lot of research on Connor in preparing a brand and image strategy. It was well thought out. It pained me to say it, but if Connor hired us, Layna could well be the reason for that.

"I ordered Door Dash," Layna said as she walked back into the conference room. "I hope you like sushi."

"I love sushi," I muttered, focused on her presentation. "This is really good, Layna. I think there are a few changes we can make and then merge our work together."

"Do you want to make the changes and send them back to me, or would it be easier to sit next to each other and work off a single screen?"

The answer was obvious. It would go faster if we sat next to each other and worked together. But the idea of sitting next to Layna for the next few hours was as appealing as having my balls cut off with a rusty pair of scissors. However, I didn't want to be here until sunrise.

"I'll move my laptop next to you," I offered.

We had only been working for fifteen minutes before the next flare up. I was pointing out changes and Layna was making them on her laptop. I got a text from a girl I'd been seeing, wanting to know if we could get together tonight. I told her, no. She wouldn't take no for an answer and kept texting me. I kept responding, which meant I wasn't working with Layna.

"Are you done sexting with your bimbo?" she asked, eyebrows raised. "Can we get back to work now?"

"I'm not sexting," I replied, as my phone dinged again.

"Oh, for God's sake, give me your phone," she demanded.

"I'm not giving you my phone," I growled.

"I'm not keeping it. Look, let's just put it at the other end of the table so it's not a distraction. If it makes you feel better, I'll put mine there, too. You do want to get this presentation done, right?"

"Fine," I capitulated.

We were saved by the arrival of the food Layna ordered. It was good sushi, which she'd ordered from a place I was unfamiliar with. She said it was her go-to sushi restaurant when she needed delivery. As I ate, I realized we'd both gotten hangry. Once we got some food in our system, our moods and the conversation improved. We found common ground when it came to our mutual love of sushi. We'd been to many of the same restaurants and had similar experiences.

After eating a very late dinner, we got back to work and hammered out the final details. Just after midnight, we finished the presentation.

"I think it's really good, Jake." Layna commented. "If Connor doesn't sign with us, it won't be because we didn't present him with an incredible strategy."

"I agree," I said earnestly. "You really went above and beyond. I think this may be the most creative work I've seen from you yet."

"Thank you," she replied, with an actual, human, non-condescending smile. My heart skipped a beat. I'd forgotten what a wonderful smile Layna had. Probably because it was the first one directed at me in a year. And now that she wasn't scowling at me or ignoring me, I got lost in her turquoise eyes. They were striking.

"We should celebrate," I added, a little less inclined to get away from Layna now that she wasn't being a total bitch. "Bob has some nice wines in his office. I know where they are."

"We can't take his wine."

"Sure we can. He's a scotch drinker. Trust me, I've taken some before after hours. He won't notice or care."

We snuck into Bob's office where I quickly located a bottle of Dominus I'd seen earlier. I'd had it before. It was killer juice.

"What about a corkscrew?" Layna asked.

"I have one in my office, along with some glasses. Come on."

We had just walked into my office when the power went out. I turned and looked in horror as the door to my office shut and locked.

"What just happened?" Layna asked fearfully.

"It's the automated security system, I think," I answered.

"The what?"

"Automated security system. Three years ago, Bob was concerned about a shooter coming into the office since we work with celebrity athletes. He had a security system installed that, when triggered, locks down the suite. It automatically closes and locks every door in the office. We're stuck in here until the system is deactivated."

"Why did it activate?" she asked, the panic rising in her voice.

"I don't know," I admitted, trying to keep my rising anxiety level out of my voice. "Maybe it was triggered by the loss of power."

"Okay, so we just need to call someone to get the power turned back on," she said, trying to reassure herself. "Can you make the call?"

I reached into my pocket for my phone and it wasn't there. Because it was sitting on the conference table. Next to Layna's phone.

"Fuck, I don't have my phone," I said. "We left them on the conference table."

"Don't you have a landline?" she asked, annoyed.

"Yes, but the landlines here in the office require power," I said, picking up the phone from the cradle and showing her there was no dial tone.

"So, we need to wait for someone to realize the power's out," she commented, more to herself than me. "That shouldn't take long."

I didn't want to correct Layna and cause her to panic, but I didn't think anyone would figure it out anytime soon. It was after midnight. The building was empty. We could be stuck in here for a while.

Fortunately, I had a pair of lavender-scented candles and a lighter in my office. The candles were a gift from one of my female clients. Layna let out a sigh of relief as the flames flickered to life, lifting us out of the darkness.

We needed something to pass the time before things turned ugly between us again. I inserted the corkscrew into the bottle of wine and started twisting.

"What are you doing?" Layna asked.

"Opening the wine."

"How can you want a drink right now?"

"We came in here to have a drink in the first place. And we need something to pass the time while we wait."

Layna looked at me skeptically, then shrugged her shoulders. I handed her a glass of wine, clinked mine to hers before she could refuse, then said, "here's to hoping things go well with Connor."

"And to getting out of here soon," she added.

I took a gulp of the wine. Hardly the move of a wine enthusiast, but I thought I was going to need something to get me through the rest of this night. Layna took a small sip at first. Her eyes widened, a slight smile formed on the corner of her lips, and she took a second, bigger sip.

"It's good, right?" I asked.

"Yes, it's amazing."

We drank in silence. After we'd drained our first glass, I poured each of us another. Then another. We were halfway through our third glass when Layna finally spoke.

"Is your bimbo going to be offended that you didn't text her back? I'd hate to think I got in the way of you and the love of your life."

'Here we go,' I thought.

"No, she won't be offended. And she's not the love of my life. But thanks for caring, princess."

"I notice you didn't deny she's a bimbo," she observed. "Let me guess, aspiring actress? No, yoga instructor? Oh wait, stripper?"

I didn't respond. Layna saw something because her face lit up like a firework show.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed, laughing heartily now. "I'm right, aren't I? Which one is it? My money is on stripper."

"Jillian is a pilates instructor... who wants to be an actress."

Layna howled. Even I chuckled. It was a little funny. But seeing her doubled over laughing at her own joke was funnier. However, she kept laughing long after the joke stopped being funny. That pissed me off.

"Screw you, princess," I fired at her. "Let's talk about who you're dating? I know you're not married because I can't imagine anyone wanting to be married to Elsa the fucking ice princess."

"Fuck you, playboy," she shot back. "Just because you'll stick your dick in anything that moves doesn't give you the right to judge my love life."

"You don't even have a love life, do you?" I asked.

"So what? I'm focused on my career."

It wasn't the answer I was expecting. I would have expected Layna to have a line of suitors a mile long. However, I wasn't going to let this gift go.

"That explains so much," I offered. "No wonder you're such a bitch. It's because you're not getting laid."

Her jaw dropped. I'd struck a bullseye.

"Go fuck yourself, Jake. I can get laid whenever I want. I just have standards."

"Right, keep telling yourself that, princess. So go get laid then. Maybe then you'd be a little less uptight and not report someone to HR who was just being nice to you."