Can't Let Go. Gena Showalter
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behind the desk, “If I get any calls, you can tell them that I’m at dinner and to please try again in a couple of hours.”
Flashing Shae a dazzling smile, J.D. cupped her elbow in his warm palm and they strolled out of the Marriott into the sixty-degree weather. Cars, SUVs and busses zoomed by as they made their way along Michigan Avenue.
He stopped in front of a mud-colored brick building sporting a cloth red-and-white striped awning; small, white tables with umbrellas lined the front of the building. J.D. opened the door and guided Shae inside. The mouthwatering aromas of oregano, tomatoes and garlic instantly greeted them.
A chubby man with midnight-black hair slowly waddled from behind a counter. The waiter shifted his large bulk between the tightly packed rows of tables, making his way to the door. “Table for two?”
J.D. nodded, then turned to Shae with a look of dismay spreading across his face.
Shae touched his arm. “What?”
“I just assumed that it was okay. That’s not always true. You might have allergies or problems with milk. Who knows, you may not like Italian food,” J.D. said. “It never occurred to me that you might not like pizza. I wanted to take you to someplace where you would feel comfortable and safe. I figured you’d be a little tired after the flight and wouldn’t want to go someplace glitzy where we had to dress up and be on our best behavior.” J.D. waved a hand around the restaurant. “This seemed a lot better.”
Smiling, Shae patted his arm reassuringly. She wasn’t the only person worried about their date. “Relax. Everything is fine. I love pizza.”
They followed the waiter to a quiet section of the room. A white-and-red checked vinyl tablecloth covered the tiny square table. Two very shiny wood chairs faced each other from across the flat surface.
J.D. helped Shae get comfortable at the table, then slid into the opposite chair, flashing his companion a beguiling smile. “I know it doesn’t look like much. Trust me, this place makes the best deep dish pizza that I’ve ever had.”
“What do you like on your pizza?”
“Meat,” he answered quickly. “I like pepperoni, sausage, chicken. Meat.”
Frowning, the nurse asked, “What about vegetables?”
“That works for me,” J.D. replied nonchalantly.
Together the pair studied the menu before finally selecting a Meat Lovers’ Deep Dish Pizza. Shae added mushrooms, olives and green peppers and an antipasto salad. J.D. ordered a carafe of Lambrusco wine.
All of her adult life, her father’s business associates and the men in her social circle had tried to impress her, hoping to get closer to Albert Weitherspoon. It was nice to be appreciated for herself. Here she was out on an ordinary date with a person who didn’t know or care about her background or her connection to Prestige Computers.
Linking her fingers, Shae rested them on the tabletop; she intently studied the man across the table. “This is nice. I’m glad you convinced me to get out of the hotel. To be honest, I probably would have stayed in my room until the first day of work.”
Grinning, he teased, “See, I’m having a positive effect on you already.”
“Yes, you are.”
The waiter returned with two long-stemmed glasses and a carafe of red wine. He filled each glass before strolling away on short, stubby legs.
J.D. lifted his glass and touched it to hers. “Here’s to new beginnings.”
Smiling, Shae repeated, “New beginnings.”
Shae leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine, enjoying the sweet and fruity flavor. Watching her date closely, she decided to ask the question that had been on her mind since they’d met. “J.D., what do you do for a living that makes it necessary for you to fly all over the country?”
He smiled, swirling the wine in his glass. “I’m a sports agent.”
Surprised, her eyebrows lifted. “Really? What does that mean exactly?”
“I represent new talent in the industry. Most of my clients are basketball players.”
Impressed, Shae asked another question. “Are you allowed to name names?” She giggled, then admitted, “I probably wouldn’t know who they are, anyway. I don’t keep up with sports.”
“The people I represent are new talent. You wouldn’t recognize them. Most are on the college circuit and are seeking an opportunity to move to the pros. It’s my job to help them make that transition. That’s why I travel so much. Part of what I do is make sure there’s a good match between player and team—then I coordinate things with the NBA draft. I have to see how they play, then talk to the teams that might be interested in making an acquisition.”
Nodding, Shae queried, “Is that difficult? Do your clients have any idea where they want their careers to go?”
Everything feels so awkward and stiff. She smiled, thinking, But that’s how it normally is on a first date, until we settle down a bit.
He leaned closer and grinned, “Most times, no.”
Laughing, Shae said, “I imagine that makes things difficult for you.”
“Very,” J.D. agreed, taking a sip of his wine. “They all believe they belong on the top professional teams. Most times my clients have only played in high school and then for a short time in college. Very little pro ball. When I tell them they have to work at their careers, they give me plenty of grief. Kids don’t understand that you have to build a career.”
A smile lit up his face and made J.D. appear younger and more carefree. Shae tapped a finger across her lips. “Once you acquire new talent, how do you market them?”
J.D. reached for the carafe and carefully topped off both of their glasses. “The biggest problem I have is new clients who don’t understand the building a career thing. No one becomes a superstar overnight. I try to explain that it’s like being a movie star. Actors begin their careers with small roles. As they develop a reputation, they move to better, more ambitious roles.”
“Does that work?”
“Sometimes. Unfortunately, I’m dealing with young guys straight out of high school or college who think they should be making what Kobe makes, because they’re legends in their own minds.”
Shae’s shoulders shook as she laughed heartily.
“That’s enough about me. Is this your first time in Chicago?”
Shae shook her head. “I was here about a month ago for a job interview.”
“Did you get it?”
“Yes.” She grinned proudly.
J.D. asked, “Doing what?”
“Nurse practitioner.”
He tipped his head and his glass in her direction. “Very nice.”
“Thank you.”
“Are you going to work in one of the hospitals?” J.D. inquired.
“No. Actually, there’s a new clinic opening on the south side that I’m heading up.”
Nodding, J.D. folded his arms across his chest. “Good. There are some communities there that really need the help.
“What made you decide to become a nurse?” J.D. shifted the condiments on the table to make more room. The waiter wobbled the couple’s way with a large bowl of antipasto salad and two plates.
Shae glanced covertly in J.D.’s direction. She hoped she hadn’t sounded like a Goody Two-shoes. It wasn’t her plan to destroy the pleasant mood of the evening, but he’d asked her a direct question about a topic that she felt passionate about. “When I was sixteen, my family took a vacation to Africa. It’s a beautiful place,