Page 2 of Frozen Promises

CALENDAR FULL, MARRIAGE EMPTY

Elias

I expect Catalina to be awake, pacing around the foyer, ready to read my ass to filth, when I get home. Some of it is warranted, but my wife doesn’t see the big picture like I do. Every damn thing I do is for us.

When I walk in, light radiates from the Christmas trees sporadically placed throughout the house—Catalina’s doing, not mine.

Light comes from Catalina’s office, but when I peak in, I only see her assistant, Santiago. The man is here at all strange hours, editing whatever video Catalina filmed that day. He’s so submerged in his work that he doesn’t notice me staring. I duck out a moment later.

I find my wife in our bed, sprawled out on her side.

She’s in that satin camisole and shorts set I bought her for her birthday.

I can make out her curves, the same curves I think about every fucking day before I go to work.

If there’s one thing I regret, it’s not fucking my wife as much as she deserves. A woman like that drives a man feral.

I take my time removing my suit, piece by piece, letting them fall to the floor for the housekeepers to deal with later. As far as I’m concerned, my girl shouldn’t have to lift a damn finger—not if I can help it.

I slide into bed beside her, careful not to wake her. Catalina lets out a soft groan and shifts onto her side, turning away from me before settling back into sleep. Her presence is agony—a sweet, addictive kind of torment I can’t get enough of.

I fall asleep to the soft sound of her breathing.

But sleep doesn’t last long. My body is jolted awake when my alarm goes off a few hours later, the sound reverberates around the quiet room. When I reach to turn it off, a soft, feminine hand brushes my shoulder.

“Dinner tonight,” Catalina whispers, still half asleep.

My day is packed, starting with the gym, a final hearing with a client who’s been a pain since day one, and then to the office for meetings.

Somehow, I have to fit dinner in. “I’ll meet you tonight.

” The words, which I hope aren’t lies, fall off my lips easily.

“Go back to sleep, carino. I’ll see you tonight. ”

Satisfied with my answer, Catalina lets out a soft sigh and withdraws her hand, turning away from me as she snuggles back under the covers.

She pulls the blanket up to her chin, tucking herself into its warmth.

Within moments, her breathing evens out, and she's asleep again—peaceful and undisturbed.

I'm left lying there, awake and alone with my thoughts. The familiar stillness of the room marks the beginning of another day. Just like every morning.

* * *

I hadn’t been surprised to find another NFL player waiting in my office after my afternoon meetings.

He fits my clientele, which includes professional sports players, A-list celebrities, and politicians who find themselves in the midst of another scandal.

They call me to clear their names that have been dragged through the dirt.

And I always do. For a pretty penny, that is.

The man stands, patting down his already pristine suit. He offers me his hand, which I take. Strong grip. Something I can appreciate.

“Mr. Ayala, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Even as he says it, his shoulders stiffen and his lips purse in a tight line. It’s clear he doesn’t want to be here. No one wants to end up in legal trouble.

“And your name?” I ask.

The man furrows his brows, pursed lips turning into a frown.

These big shots hate when I don’t automatically recognize their faces, but how could I?

I spend every waking hour at my job. If I’m not meeting with clients, I’m working with my managing partner, César Estrada.

He’s the closest thing I have to a brother.

We were two broke kids who built our empire from the ground up with our blood, sweat, and tears. It paid off.

“My name is Joaquin Cortez, and this is my manager, Leon Travers.” Joaquin steps aside.

and for the first time since entering my office, I notice the smaller man.

He’s in a fine, luxurious, and unmistakably expensive suit similar to Joaquin’s.

The kind of suit that proclaims they can afford my specific expertise and time.

Leon shakes my hand, stepping past Joaquin. “Gotta admit, Mr. Ayala, I didn’t think I’d get face time with you anytime soon.”

“Yes, well, my client list is ever growing—”

Leon shakes his head, cutting me off, which I loathe.

“Nah, man. Because it’s the holidays, getting anyone on the phone this month has been a fucking headache.

” He gestures back toward Joaquin. “And this guy has already given me enough damn headaches to last a lifetime. I’m five years sober, man, but I swear his goal is to drive me back to the bottle. ”

"So fucking dramatic," Joaquin says, rolling his eyes with a scoff, barely bothering to look up.

“No, I fucking ain’t,” Leon snaps back. The contention between them nearly smothers me.

I rarely, if ever, get managers coming in with their clients, so whatever Joaquin did—or didn’t do—is going to be one hell of a fight.

Thankfully, that’s my specialty. Hell, it’s the specialty of the entire damn firm.

“See, man, we need your help. Joaquin is my best client—”

“He means I make his ass the most money,” Joaquin grumbles before sinking back into his seat, a haughty expression on his face. He holds his tension in his shoulders. Though he’s attempting to prove he’s calm and collected, the cracks in his armor tell me otherwise.

“Take a seat, Mr. Travers, and we can get started,” I say, gesturing toward the empty chair.

Leon gives a curt nod before lowering himself back into the seat.

As he settles in, I turn toward my desk, ready to begin, until the sudden chime of my phone interrupts me.

I pause. A pang of annoyance flickers through me as I reach into my pocket, realizing I’d forgotten to silence it this morning.

I pull the device out, and the screen lights up with a new notification.

I frown.

It’s from my wife.

The driver is taking me to dinner. I’ll meet you there.

Fuck.

This morning’s conversation comes back, reminding me of the promise I made to Catalina.

I had made the reservations last night without knowing I’d get this last-minute meeting.

I glance at the time on my phone. It’s a quarter till six o’clock.

Fifteen minutes won’t hurt, and then I can head to dinner.

Looks like I will be spending the rest of my night in my home office, though.

“You have fifteen minutes. Start from the beginning and tell me why you’re here.”

I nudge my mouse, waking my computer from sleep.

With a few quick clicks my notes pull up, ready to capture every detail of their story.

I focus in, giving Leon and Joaquin my full attention.

They’re my clients, and they know I’m in their corner—always.

I advocate fiercely, no matter what’s happening in my life.

Even when things are messy behind the scenes, my clients get my best. I can’t have it any other way.

Leon carries most of the conversation, his voice steady and assured, while Joaquin chimes in with brief remarks.

Their words hold no surprises for me. I’ve heard it all before.

Years of working with A-list clients has exposed me to every possible crisis and every desperate plea for solutions.

It takes a lot to shock me. But for them, every problem feels like a ticking time bomb, a looming disaster threatening to unravel everything they’ve built.

To them, I’m not just an advisor. I’m their last line of defense against losing it all.

Leon starts detailing the chaos Joaquin has managed to land himself in.

It’s a full-blown scandal: a DUI, illegal possession of a firearm, a defamation claim that’s gaining traction, and a very public meltdown making its rounds online.

This kind of mess that will take more than legal skill.

It’ll take a miracle to clean up. But I’ve worked harder cases and won.

As Leon speaks, my phone chimes again. I glance down, momentarily pulled from the wreckage he's laying out.

Here. Where are you?

Then a second later.

You haven’t even left your office, have you?! Elias, what the actual fuck?

I curse silently, stuck between wanting to stay but knowing I needed to go.

Leon, clearly oblivious to my dilemma, drones on, but I put my hand up, stopping him mid-sentence.

“Listen, I have enough to get started. I’ll contact you both as well as our PR agency soon.

They’re experts at rebuilding public images.

In the meantime, I advise keeping a low profile. ”

Leon snorts, which earns him a hard jab to the shoulder from Joaquin. I stand, reaching out my hand to shake theirs as they stand. “I’ll be in touch.” Then I grab my business card from inside my jacket pocket and hand one to each of them. “Call me if anything changes.”

That should have been the end of it. Hell, I tried ending this meeting and wrapping this shit up, but it took another ten minutes to get Leon and Joaquin out of my office.

By then Catalina is blowing up my phone.

I leave my office in a pissy mood. I don’t like being rushed.

Catalina knows this. She knows the dedication I put into my work for us to have the lifestyle we have.

It should excuse me being a few minutes late to a damn dinner.

Since the universe is determined to piss me off, I hit every fucking light from my office to the restaurant downtown.

By the time I pull up to valet, my nerves are shot, and I chuck the keys at the poor attendant, hitting him perhaps a little too hard in the chest. I’ll tip him well after I meet my wife, who is still blowing up my phone.