“Water is fine,” I say.
Unbuttoning my suit jacket, I take the seat across from DeAnde and wait to hear what he has to say. He doesn’t leave me waiting long and gets straight to the point.
“You’re a good quarterback.”
“Thank you.” Leaning back, I wait. If he expects me to gush like some school girl over his praises, he has the wrong guy. I know I’m a good quarterback. Outside affirmations aren’t really my thing.
“Good enough to play pro.”
I nod. Again, he isn’t telling me anything I don’t know.
“Your Coach tells me you’re not planning to enter the draft.”
Our server arrives with his drink and my water and we pause long enough to place our orders.Coq au vin, for him and theConfit de canard, for me. As soon as she takes our menus and steps away, he continues.
“Is there a reason for that?”
“I’m a junior.” But I’m sure he knows that already. “And my father has aspirations for me to join the family business.”
He smiles. It’s almost… unnerving.
There are few people in the world capable of intimidating me, and I’m beginning to suspect that Andres DeAnde might be one of them. There are rumors surrounding how he’s amassed his fortune. You need money from the start to purchase a football team, so the team isn’t his money maker. My guess, it’s his hobby. It’s that way for most owners. You reach a certain point where you have more cash than you can spend in your lifetime. I would know. My family is there. Only my father has no interest in athletics. DeAnde does.
“Ah, yes,” he says. “Richard has always been a man consumed by legacy.”
My brows shoot up to my hairline and I give Andres a calculated look. Dressed in a black suit with a black button-down shirt, he could easily pass for a business man until he turns his face, exposing the top of his neck where the dark edges of a tattoo attempt to hide. Interesting. Searching for more details, I note the signet ring on his right hand and the wedding band on his left. He’s married to a former business rival's daughter if I remember right. Wonder how that’s working out for him.
His dark brown hair is slicked back from his face. His jaw freshly shaved. He knows what he’s doing, and the look is passable. But there’s an edge to the way he carries himself, one you don’t achieve by spending time in country clubs and boardrooms, which are the only places I can imagine he’d get the chance to cross paths with my father.
“You two know each other?” I raise the glass of water to my lips.
“We do,” is his only response.
This is a test. DeAnde stokes my curiosity while figuring out what I know. If they do know each other, he might wonder if my father has mentioned him before. What opinions I have that are already formed. I’m young, but I’m not stupid. I won’t bite at the first carrot he dangles in front of my face.
Amused, he shifts to more comfortable topics and shortly after, our server arrives with our food. We eat our meal in silence, offering the occasional thought or compliment on the food. The silence isn't uncomfortable. He appears to enjoy small talk as much as I do.
When our server returns to clear our plates, we both decline a look at the dessert menu and Andres orders himself a third drink.
“Are you sure you don’t want one?” he asks. “You’re of age. I’m not going to judge you for a single indulgence.”
“Thanks, but I’m good.” And I don’t give two shits about his judgments.
“Very well. Onto business, then?”
I nod, eager to get this meeting over with. I appreciate Coach for setting it up. He’s looking out for me. But at the end of the day, this is just a waste of time.
“I want you on my team.”
“Funny,” I deadpan.
“Is it?” he asks, the edge from earlier entering his voice.
Neither one of us is laughing.
“Why?”
“I told you already. You’re a good quarterback.”
