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exactly the reason I felt comfortable enough to make him wait in there right now. Not that I had anywhere else to be at the moment.
    Leaning back against Ben’s desk, I checked my watch—shit, I didn’t have much time—and then crossed my legs at the ankles and my arms over my chest. I was already fifteen minutes late for this meeting. Another five should just about do it.
    My assistant perked up, his brows asking the question his mouth didn’t need to, but that didn’t stop him from getting verbal with it anyway. “You’re making him wait?”
    I shushed him, not wanting Marcel to overhear our conversation. “Have you learned nothing from me over the last five years that I’ve graciously kept you in my employment?”
    Graciously
wasn’t exactly accurate. Ben had more than earned his position, though just as I couldn’t let Marcel get a big head, I couldn’t let Ben do the same. Without a doubt, he knew how invaluable he was to me, but that didn’t mean I had to clue him in to the fact. He’d likely demand an even bigger pay raise than he’d gotten once I’d taken the partnership role, and it had been a pretty hefty one.
    Taking care to lower his voice to match my volume, he said, “You want to represent him, and he obviously wants you to do the representing. So what’s the point of playing head games?”
    “Three percent. That’s the point,” I told him.
    Marcel could choose any agent he wanted, and in return, any of those agents would use a sizable cut in their commission as a negotiation tactic. In the past, I would’ve done the same, might have even come out of my pocket for a full-service training center before the Combine. Simply put, the Combine was like a job interview, except an interview with the professional football league involved athletes showing off their physical and mental capabilities. No matter how good an athlete, he still needed to prepare. And despite the predictions that Marcel Ingram would be the first draft pick, if he looked like shit at the Combine, he’d be lucky to go in the first round at all.
    Another check of my watch found that all systems were a go, so I gave Ben a wink, straightened my tie, and got my strut on toward my office.
    When I cracked the door open, I found Marcel sitting in one of the chairs in front of my desk, hunched over with his elbows on his knees. He turned at the sound and straightened immediately when he saw me.
    “Marcel! I apologize, but I had an urgent matter to attend,” I lied, still going with my plan of not letting him know just how important this deal was to me.
    And then I pulled up short, my confident swagger missing a beat when the door opened fully and I saw we had company. Sitting on my sofa was a woman with long, dark hair and Latin features. Jumping up and down with a giggle on the same sofa beside her was a little girl with similar features. Only her hair was curly.
    “Vale, stop,” the woman said with a tone of chastisement. The little girl did as she was told, quickly plopping down onto her bottom and ducking her head, suddenly becoming shy.
    “Well, hello there, angel,” I said, hoping to put her at ease. “That’s not the first time that couch has been jumped on, you know, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
    Closing the door behind me, I crossed the floor to greet the man who was about to make the Shaw Matthews brand even bigger. “How you doing, man?” I asked, shaking his hand.
    “Good, good,” he answered. “This is my wife, Camille, and our daughter, Vale.” He smiled as he looked at them, a real sense of pride lighting up his features.
    “Beautiful family you got there, Marcel. How’d you get that lucky?”
    “I ask myself the same question every day. Still don’t know the answer.” He laughed. “Are you a family man, Mr. Matthews?”
    “Please, just Shaw,” I told him, waving off the formality. “And yes, I have a son of my own. Abe. He’s three.” Then I turned to Vale. “And how old are you,