This building is fancy as shit.

I suddenly feel severely under-dressed in my cute but sensible spring outfit. May is coming to an end and Summer is right around the corner which means it's getting hotter and hotter everyday. I thought my blush pink dress—with big black polka dots, sweetheart neckline, short puff sleeves, and the hem brushing a couple of inches above my knees—was a cute outfit choice until I walked in here. Everyone is walking around in suits and pencil skirts and I get curious looks as I make my way to the front desk. This isn't awkward at all. Nope, nope.

"Hi," I greet the woman manning the front desk and she whips up a finger before I can get another word. Damn. Okay. It's an oddly threatening finger. I mean, she's legit wielding it like it's a sword. I lean back a little.

I look around as I wait. The main floor is huge, with freaking black marbled tiles shiny enough to show me my own reflection. The ceiling is high-rise and dome-shaped and is several feet above our heads. Black pillars adorn each end of the four walls for decoration and it makes this place look more like a museum than a sports agency building. But the big giveaway is the decor. Images of famous sports players in their prime are framed and hung up. The choice of interior colour just screams testosterone, all black with the occasional accents of grey. It even smells like expensive cologne in here and my nose crinkles against the strong scent.

"How can I help you?" The woman's jadedly asked question grabs my attention again. Her face is an open book as her eyes roam me. I can tell she thinks I'm a total ditz, all dressed up in pink and carrying a box of cinnamon rolls. My high ponytail is starting to feel childish too and it doesn't help at all that I'm a blonde. Still, I roll with it because it doesn't hurt to indulge in some fun.

"Hi," I make my voice super obnoxious. "I'm, like, looking for Holden Rey? He didn't call yesterday like he promised so he probably just forgot. We did have an amazing night, after all."

The woman nods sympathetically, lips pinched tight. "Sure. Yeah. You got an appointment?"

"Totally! Sierra Lancaster, at your service." I do a mock-salute.

The woman scrubs a hand over her face tiredly as she clicks away at her screen. "That's you. Head on up to the fifth floor and his PA will take it from there. Do you...need help getting there?"

Wow. I must be doing a killer job. I hold back a snort and shake my head solemnly. "I can manage. I think. I once got lost in a grocery aisle because I thought condiments were where the condoms are. Like, why would you give two different things the same name? Isn't that just the worst?"

"Uh-huh." Her smile thins even more so and her eyes are practically begging for help. My lungs burn with the effort not to laugh. "Here's your visitor's pass. Elevators are on your right."

I take the card from her and wave it in the air. "I'm official! How exciting!"

That gets me another terse nod and wave. I decide to take her out of her misery and skip over to the elevators, knowing she's still watching. Man, I'm good. I should consider acting if the bakery doesn't pan out.

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.

"That's not an excuse," He barks into the phone. "I don't care how drunk you get. There's no coming back from swimming nude in a public fountain. You fucked up and I'm tired of saving your ass."

Yikes. That doesn't sound good. I feel like I'm intruding and shuffle in my seat. Why didn't he just wait until I was done to call me in?

"You want to go there? The point of having an agent is to have someone on your ass when you're out of line. Get pissy with me all you want and see if I give a fuck. You want to find someone else to represent you? By all means. But I take care of my clients so don't tell me how to do my job when I'm fighting tooth and nail to save yours."

Holy crap on a cracker. Holden has always been an arrogant and confident guy but it looks like he channeled that tenfold into his career. It makes sense now why he's such a hot shot. He gets shit done. I hate that I'm kind of impressed.

He straightens his tie, the one that's crisp and not even a whisper out of place. "I don't care if you think you're sorry, Gordon. I want to see it. I want you to start taking your career seriously or it'll be over before it starts. Throwing away your life over booze and girls is not fucking worth it. Get your shit together, you hear me? And don't even think about calling me a second before that."

He hangs up abruptly and lets his phone clatter on his desk. Then he pulls in a deep breath and faces me, crossing his arms.

"Hello," I say tensely. I don't mean to be. It's just seeing Holden all macho and authoritative was kind of intimidating and I suddenly regret being here.

One of his brows go up. "You said you needed to talk."

"I did, didn't I?" I laugh nervously. This is the part I was not looking forward to. At all. I'd rather go through an exorcism. But I force the words out for the sake of my bakery—my pride and joy. "I wanted to...apologize."

Holden's face doesn't budge an inch but for a moment it looks like one corner of his mouth almost kicks up. "Did you?"

"Yes," I force out through gritted teeth. I knew the asshole would make this harder than it needs to be. "It seems I may have...overreacted when you offered we work together."

That's definitely amusement in his eyes but he's quick to get rid of it, nodding. "Go on then."

Fucking Satan. I blow out a breath between pursed lips and muster up a face smile. "Holden, you absolute pain in my ass?"

"Yes?" I got to give it to him for not faltering.

"I'm...sorry." I suppress a shudder.

"Wow. You managed to say that without throwing up. Congratulations."

"Thanks, but I'm not sure I can hold out much longer. I hope that suit isn't expensive."

He ignores that, opening up his laptop. "I assume you want to move to forward with our deal?"

"If it's still an option, yes."

"It is but you have to be serious, Sierra." The tone he uses on me is the same tone he was just using on his client. It's demanding and serious. "I'm not going to run after you a second time. I need to know I can count on you to follow through and not leave me hanging or make me look bad in front of my clients. I don't hire people who aren't reliable."

This is the most adult conversation we've ever had. Even I know there isn't room for our usual bickering with this one. I nod solemnly. "Yeah, I know. I'll be professional about it."

"Good, because this is a professional proposition. I may have approached you and painted this as a favour but it's business. I meant what I said—this isn't me being a friend or asking that we make nice. I'm only saying this because I don't bullshit. This is business only."

Now that sounds more like the Holden everyone that works for him knows. I feel my mouth pull downwards. "I get it."

"If you need to reach me, schedule an appointment or call. If you find that I'm busy, shoot me or my assistant an email. Don't cross the hall and come knocking on my door or get comfortable. I take my career seriously and I'm strict about the way I run it."

"Clearly," I mutter. I don't know why I'm offended that he's treating me like any other client. Just because we have a past doesn't mean I should get special treatment or anything. So I lean back in my chair and salute. "Sir, yes sir."

He cuts me a bland look before continuing. "The event coordinators will reach out to you sometime next week. They're the ones planning the gala so they come up with the theme of the party and guest list and anything else you'll need to know. You go to them if you have any questions. The only time you come to me is if you have issues with your payment because that's what I'm responsible for."

Right. Payment. So I guess I'm officially working for Satan. Pigs aren't exactly flying yet but they're sure doing a little twerk.

"That being said," He pulls out a checkbook and scribbles something on it before sliding it over to me. "The first half of your pay. You get the second cheque the night of the gala when it's over."

I bring the cheque closer to my face and promptly swallow my own tongue. A not-so-attractive noise gurgles out of me and then I'm choking on my own spit, thumping my fist into my chest and trying to get my cough under control. I think I hear Holden sigh before he presses a button on his landline, asking someone to bring in water. I'm genuinely still choking by the time some dude rushes in to hand me a glass. I thank him with a wheeze and guzzle it down in one huge gulp.

"Are you okay?" Though the question is that of concern, Holden is anything but.

"What is this?" I squawk, waving the cheque in the air. "Bakers do not make this kind of money!"

"They do if they're working for me."

"I thought you said you don't bullshit."

"I don't. You get paid in accordance to what kind of event you're catering for. I told you—this gala is a big deal. Just because athletes sign on with us doesn't mean it's forever. We have to remind them they have a good thing going with us so they don't switch agents or agencies and continue bringing in the big bucks. As hard as I am on my clients, part of my job is to remind them they're better off sticking with me than not. So yeah, you're catering for a big deal and the money reflects that. That's why I'm stressing how serious you need to be."

"Okay, okay." I wave him off. "When the hell did you start shoving sticks up your ass for fun? You were always uptight but never this."

"You don't know me, Sierra." He throws back evenly and looks at his laptop again.

I scoff, looking at the cheque again like the numbers might change. But, no. They stay the same and it's a lot. Especially compared to how much I've made from my bakery this month. And this is only half the payment so when I double the amount in my head, all I can think is I can run the bakery comfortably for months on that money alone. It's...so relieving. Enough that I don't care that Holden is pissy all over again. I really don't.

I clear my throat, sitting straight. "Is that all?"

He nods without taking his eyes off the screen. "My team will reach out to you soon so stay on top of that. If there's any confusion on your part, you know where to reach me."

"In hell, you devil," I mumble under my breath. But I'm pretty sure Holden caught it because he bites the inside of his cheek. I don't know what he has against smiling but it's not my business. He can continue being a prickly bastard for all I care.

The door to Holden's office opens behind me and he looks up, annoyed, but then it shifts into something else entirely. A soft or caring look I've never seen on him before. It's kind of terrifying because Satan and emotions don't mix.

"Hey, bro," He greets. "Need something?"

I turn in my seat, surprised, and am floored at the sight of Holden's little brother who's not so little anymore. The last time I saw him he was, what, a preteen?

"Mason?" I blink.

Mason looks up from his phone but his expression doesn't shift. If I thought Holden was a stoic guy, it's nothing compared to Mason. He's so...brooding. Intense. Looks just like Holden too, with the same dark hair and eyes and lean but muscled build. He can't be older than his early twenties but he gives off commanding vibes that are just as strong as Holden's. Clearly the testosterone in the Rey lineage is superhero strong. I wouldn't be surprised if their sperm glows or some shit.

"You look familiar," Mason deadpans and then takes a seat on one of the lone chairs off to the side.

I'm admittedly kind of offended. "You don't remember me?"

"I don't recognize you, do I?" Mason questions. He has a way of not making it sound mean, though. It's just...factual. To the point. He's a pretty cold dude for a baby adult.

"Sierra," I introduce myself. Or re-introduce myself. "I used to be your neighbour back in Minnesota."

This time there's a flicker of recognition. "You're different. Lost weight."

I blink again. Whatever he says is a statement, like he knows everything. I look at Holden who simply shrugs. Who would have thought there was someone out there that actually makes the devil look decent? Mason Rey is...well, a force to be reckoned with despite being so young. I don't even want to know what he's going to be like at Holden's age.

"Right." I clear my throat and then hold out the bakery box. "Want a cinnamon roll?"

He glances at it briefly. "I don't have a sweet tooth."

Damn, this kid is icy. I could swear the temperature in the room dropped a bit since he walked in.

"Mason isn't a people person," Holden explains. "Don't take any offence. He could make a twig feel bad about itself."

"Fuck off," Mason mutters but there's a ghost of a smile dancing on his mouth. He continues typing on his phone.

"Well, do you want one?" I ask Holden, not really expecting a yes considering what happened last time. That's why there's no hiding my shock when he actually grabs a tissue and takes one cinnamon roll out of the box.

"Should I put it back?" He raises a brow at my expression. Behind me, Mason snorts.

"You both are assholes," I chirp with fake sweetness and slam the box shut.

"We know," They say in unison.

I huff and get to my feet, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "You can give out the rest to your employees for a change of pace. They look like they're tired of eating your shit all the time."

Another snort from Mason. Holden merely lifts one shoulder in dismissal. I lift my hand in a wave that's really just an excuse to give him the finger and then I leave his office without a backward glance. There. That wasn't so hard, right? Sure, we exchanged the occasional insult but we managed to solidify our deal and now we're going to be civilized. I can do that. Totally.

"How'd it go?" Harper asks, peeking around me as I shut the door. "Both the Rey brothers in one room, huh? That's not usually a fun time."

"So you noticed it too? How they tag-team their asshole-ry?"

Harper coughs into her fist. "I would never say that about my boss or his baby brother but...well, yeah. They're great at heart, though."

"Could have fooled me." I notice her open lunchbox in front of her and eye it like it might come alive at any moment. "What is that?"

She winces. "It's supposed to be a chicken salad but I did something to it. I don't know. I'm a horrible cook. It tastes like feet."

I cover my mouth to suppress a laugh. The poor thing. "You got time? I'm a baker but I can cook some pretty great meals. My bakery isn't too far from here."

"Really?" She asks in surprise but she's already standing up and gathering her things.

I nod and lead her away. The truth is I don't feel like going back to an empty bakery when I've had such a great day, and it's been a long time since I was in good company. It's not like we're friends but it's a pretty good start. Slowly but surely, I'm going to get to where I'm supposed to me. I clutch the cheque tighter in reminder.

__________________________

A/N

Loving this! We stan enemies that are forced to work together and get along.

Also, the Rey brothers are fine. Those who read my FD series, did you squeal a little at the mention of Mason? When worlds collide!

Please VOTE, comment and share if you liked this chapter!

Happy Reading :)