flipped the phone in her hand. She was here to help Joe’s reputation, not bare her soul. And yet she said, “My dad played for the American Hockey League and he did okay financially. And yes, he had an agent. One day, the agent is in Mexico with more than two million dollars that my father had earned over his career.” She took a deep breath. “That situation taught me that I want to be a very different kind of agent. Someone who represents her clients on the field or the court, but who can also truly look after them when they need me. I want them to be able to trust me with everything.”
“That’s rough,” said Steve. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“It gave me a unique perspective,” she replied.
“Joe Owens is a lucky guy to have you for an agent. But I gotta ask one last question.” Steve leaned forward. “There’s always a scandal or two lurking. Like you said, famous people get their mistakes examined under a microscope.” He exhaled. “Do you ever get sick of dealing with people like Joe?”
Setting the phone aside, she said, “It’s all part of the job.”
The green light in the corner began to flash. “That’s all the time we have. Before I go, I’d like to thank Petra Sloane for sitting in the Hot Seat. Next up, the morning’s headlines.”
The red light proclaimed they were off the air. Steve leaned across the table and offered his palm to Petra. They shook hands. “Thanks for coming in. Now I wish your client had the courage to take his turn and explain himself.”
“Maybe next time,” she offered.
“Are you saying Joe’s shenanigans will continue?”
Petra hadn’t meant to imply anything, especially not to a media personality like Steve Chan. Her phone vibrated, shimmying across the table. As she glanced at the screen, she couldn’t help but think of the old cliché of being saved by the bell. “That’s my boss,” she said. “I have to take this call.”
“Go ahead,” said Steve, “and thanks again.”
Petra swiped the call open as she exited the studio. “Hey,” she said.
“That’s the sorriest excuse for an interview I’ve ever heard. Why didn’t you defend Joe?” Mike demanded. “Christ, is pointing out that he’s some regular guy the best you can do? Or worse yet, give everyone your sob story.”
“What’s wrong with Joe being a person who makes mistakes?”
“He’s a god, Petra. We need to make sure people see him that way or there will be no contracts for you to negotiate. No revenue for the agency. No money for your paycheck.”
Beyond Mike and his tirade, the radio broadcast played in the background. Petra caught a few words, and then the announcer had her full attention. “In other news, the FBI and other agencies led an early morning raid on a suburban Denver location. The site is rumored to have connections to the new influx of Russian drug trafficking. Now, let’s get a look at that rush hour snarl on the interstate...”
Unbidden, Ian came to mind. In truth, he was always at the edge of her thoughts, his name just a whisper in her breath. Had he been at the raid?
The air was thick with disinfectant and stale coffee. A voice continued to buzz in her ear. It was her boss, still talking. What had he said? Something about making Joe take responsibility was distracting to his career and kept people from idolizing him.
Petra pushed open the door to the studio. She inhaled and held her breath for a count of three, then exhaled slowly. The past disappeared. “I disagree,” she said, finally joining the conversation. “The days of glorifying celebrities have ended.”
“You don’t get it,” said Mike. “It’s the glory that makes them celebrities.”
“You heard the interview. Steve Chan wouldn’t have accepted my saying that Joe is above the rest of us.”
“What I heard was an agent who refused to take control of the interview and get out our message.”
“Next time, convince Joe to go on the show. Let him speak for himself if he’s done nothing wrong.” The sun, a bright white ball, hung in a sky of turquoise blue. Heat shimmered over the expanse of blacktop as she walked across the parking lot. Petra used her remote fob to start her car, a roadster, and unlock the doors.
“And since you mentioned Joe,” Mike said, “several sponsors have expressed reservations about renewing his contract. We can’t handle another scandal. He’s your client. You control him.”
Petra’s phone beeped. She glanced at the screen. “Speak of the devil,” she said. “That’s Joe.”
“Talk to him, Petra. Get him to clean up his act.”
She didn’t bother to point out that Mike couldn’t have it both ways—either Joe was blameless because he was famous, or he had to behave better. “I’ll do what I can.”
“You’ll get the job done,” said Mike, “or find a new one.”
Despite the summer’s heat, Petra went cold. Sure, her boss was taciturn, but Petra was good at what she did. “Are you threatening to fire me?”
“No. It’s a promise.”
Mike’s call ended abruptly and Joe’s immediately came through.
“Petra?” He sounded breathless. “We need to talk.”
Was he going to complain about her performance, too? “Hey, Joe, did you hear the interview?”
“No. What interview?”
“I just spent a few minutes with Steve Chan in the Hot Seat.”
“Oh, that show can get brutal.” He paused a beat. “Listen, something happened. I need you to handle the public relations.”
“That’s what I was doing, Joe. Public relations, as in talking to Steve Chan about you.”
“Well, you might have to visit his show again because this is bigger than big. Lots of heads will roll, you know.”
One of those heads, she assumed, would be hers. Her muscles contracted with tension. She rubbed her shoulder with her free hand. “What happened?” she asked.
“I can’t talk over the phone. You need to come here, to my house.” A beep sounded from Joe’s side of the call. “That’s my driveway intercom. I’ll see you in half an hour.” The line went dead.
With the news of the FBI raid still fresh in her mind, she pulled up her friend Katarina Floros’s social media page. Katarina worked for Ian as a communications specialist, and two weeks ago she’d posted a picture that Petra hadn’t found the courage to “like.”
A couple stood before a lake. The Rocky Mountains served as a backdrop, and the water was so clear there were two sets of mountains and two skies. Without question, it was a photo of a couple as they took their vows. The groom, tall and handsome, was someone Petra knew well—Roman DeMarco, another employee of RMJ. The bride was a woman she’d never seen. Katarina’s husband officiated the service. Ian Wallace, the best man, stood just behind
