“How you doing? You got news about that sponsor?”
No. Dammit, I needed to chase them. “Yes, I have a call with them this morning,” I told him as I scribbled a note. “I’m going to be quick as I know it’s practice for you soon, but you didn’t send anything to my office?”
“Send you? Send you what?”
Zeke was one of my older clients. He’d been snapped up right out of college twelve years ago and had been one of my first clients eighteen months ago. His previous agent was encouraging him to retire. Zeke played small forward, but age and injuries were allegedly slowing him down. They weren’t. He was still on fire; he just needed to beseen. After five years with the team that was ready to wind him down, I got him signed to a new team, selling them on the fact that his age and experience would help the younger guys on the team. And the fact that his stats would rival a fresh-out-of-college rookie made him an asset, not a liability. They argued his stats were poor in recent years, and I countered with the fact his team was only putting him in when they needed towin.
And then I let that settle in their understanding, and I walked away with an impressive contract for my twelve-year playing veteran. And he shone like I knew he would.
“Angel, you there?”
“Yeah, sorry, I was checking something,” I said as I rolled my eyes at myself. “I got flowers yesterday,” I added lamely.
“Oh, shit, did I miss your birthday or something?” He sounded confused. He had the right to, and the other eighteenhad sounded equally unsure as to where I was leading with the “did you send me flowers” question.
“No.” I laughed at him. “Don’t worry about it. There was no card, and I just wanted to make sure that I thanked whoever it was that sent them.”
“Not me. I’ve got to go practice. You call me when you’re done with that sponsor call?”
“Absolutely.”
As soon as I was off the phone with Zeke, I was on the phone to the sponsorship. They’d been avoiding my call, and I knew why, because they would most likely sign someone else and didn’t want to be upfront about it. As my pen tapped off my desk while I waited to be put through, I saw Neil pass my office door. He looked my way and gave me a smile.
My PA had already told me Mr. Evil Incarnate, a.k.a. Onyx, was out of the office all day. The fact that my shoulders relaxed when she told me annoyed me more than I let on.
“I’m sorry, Miss Balan, I can’t connect you right now,” their middleman said to me as he took me off hold.
“Okay, let’s try this again,” I said as I sat up in my chair. “Tell them they either take my call or I put out a press release that states my client is the new face of your brand.”
“But he isn’t!”
“And how would you know?” I asked carefully.
“Um . . .”
“I think it’s time to put me through, don’t you?” I asked him as I placed the call on speaker and started to open up the draft contract.
An hour later, and after a very carefully controlled conversation with the brand’s legal team, I had one sponsorship for my client. The terms were less than they had been, but they were still favorable. I would have to work on Zeke to accept, butthe good thing about the veteran players — they didn’t broadcast potential income until the legal part was finalized.
The flowers were a bust, but with a contract to finalize, I pushed all thoughts of mysterious flowers out of my head as I settled down to work.
My mom calling me mid-afternoon was the first break I took. I’d had the guys from finance in to check the numbers for Zeke’s sponsorship and the fees, and I had one of the other contract lawyers in to tweak a section for me. Zeke’s deal was looking good.
“Hey, mom,” I said as I took a drink of hot lemon. “How’s your day?”
As my mom told me about the neighbors’ marital problems and about the lady across the street whose dog died, I carried on proofreading the contract.
“And when are you going to land yourself one of these hotshot players?” she suddenly asked me.
“Never,” I reminded her. “And before you tell me the eligible bachelors who are potentially my clients, I’ll remind you that my clients are either married orplayers. On and off the surface of their chosen sport.” Tucking my hair behind my ear, I grinned as I checked that the door was closed. “And I don’t need to marry them for their money, mom; I already take a hefty percentage of their income.”
I heard her muffled giggle, but my mom was not to be deterred. “You could tell me all of your clients, you know. I don’t know why you have to be so secretive with me.”
I wasn’t secretive, and I was actually very open about who I represented, but just not to my mother. She would have it all over social media, and although publicity was good, it wasn’t if your mom was playing matchmaker on socials. We spoke for a little longer and said goodbye on the promise that I would call later.
Later that afternoon, I got a call from one of my more eccentric clients.
“Hey, it’s Angel,” I greeted.
