Sweet Spot

Chapter 8 | SF Player Management

But I need the bakery to pan out (pun intended) and that's exactly why I'm here. That day after Holden chased me down, or should I say freaking tackled me, I went to my bakery where I only had two customers come in the whole day. It didn't help that the following day I got a notice from the bank stating I was behind on payments so I had to clear out everything in my bank account. Whatever I have left has to go towards ingredients so I've been living on instant noodles and depression for self-sustenance. I'm in desperate need of a miracle and this deal with Holden is exactly that. I still have pride so I managed to hold back a week before giving in and calling him. He scheduled an appointment the next day, no questions asked or taunting like I expected. I just hope he'll keep that up when I see him.

I step out of the elevator once it opens up to the fifth floor. There's an immediate pathway from the elevator to a door on the other end of the room. There's a few desks and people working away at them, taking calls and printing things and carrying piles of paper in hands. Nobody notices me as I gingerly walk across the tiled floor and glance at the name plaques in hopes of finding someone to help. The desk right beside the only door on this floor has a petite brunette clacking away on her keyboard. It reads Harper Davis, Personal Assistant. Bingo.

"Hey," I greet warily, wondering if I'm going to get the same judgement as I did from the woman downstairs.

Harper stops typing and looks up with a grin. "Welcome to San Francisco's Player Management. Can I help you?"

Okay, much nicer than the other woman. She looks about my age too, give or take, and I instantly feel at ease. "I'm here to see Holden."

She startles a little and I'm not sure why. She must see the question on my face because she waves a hand. "Sorry. I'm just used to hearing him addressed as 'Mr. Rey' or 'Sir.' You caught me by surprise."

Huh. The more I hear about Holden as a boss the more I realize what a big deal he is in this industry. He clearly established how far up the scale he is if people literally fear him. I'm not sure what to say to that, not wanting to cross boundaries by offering up private information about our past so I settle on a shrug.

"Can I go in?" I point to the door I'm assuming is his.

"His meeting is running a little longer than anticipated but I've notified him that you're here. You can take a seat on one of the chairs. He doesn't like being interrupted."

Wow. A big, big deal. I nod in agreement.

No sooner than I take one step, the door swings open. Holden is suddenly there, tall and broad and filling up the doorway with an aura that commands authority. Literally everyone in the room stops what they're doing and straightens up to look at him. He didn't even ask for their attention but everyone is pissing their pants in their haste to give it. He doesn't so much as spare them a glance, face stony and serious as his eyes zero in on me. He's holding a phone to his ear but lifts one hand to beckon me inside his office. O-kay.

I look at Harper warily when Holden heads back inside his office and whisper under my breath, "I thought you said he doesn't like being interrupted?"

Harper is legit gaping, blinking at the spot where Holden was standing before dragging her gaze back to me with obvious effort. "I...I don't know. He's never done that before."

As if that helps me! "So...do I go?"

"I think so?"

"Sierra." Holden's commanding tone makes the both of us jump. From the ajar door I can see him leaning back in his chair behind his desk. He's still on the phone and frowning hard, mouthing, "come here."

"Go," Harper mumbles. She sounds like she's in awe. "Definitely go."

I haul ass. Scampering inside, I close the door behind me when he gestures for me to do so. I hold the box of cinnamon rolls against me like a shield as I make my way to him. His eyes track me the whole time, lingering on my bare legs, before he glances away again, scowl intensifying. I guess he doesn't approve of my unprofessional attire either. I feel self-conscious as hell when I take the seat across from him, chastising myself for not wearing something more formal.