Finish law school and pass the bar on my first try—check, check.
Join one of the most prestigious sports agencies in the country—triple check.
And best of all, I crossed each achievement off my list without the help of my very large, very influential family. I did it with hard work, great grades, and okay, maybe very little life or fun, but it was worth it. Now, that doesn’t mean I’m naive enough to believe being a St. James—or more accurately a Kingston-St. James—didn’t help me get my foot in the door. But it’s pretty hard to find someone in the world of professional sports who, at the very least, isn’t familiar with my family name.
Serena isn’t the only heiress. She’s just the most easily recognized one within our family.
The Kingstons have owned the most successful, highly respected football dynasty in NFL history for nearly a century. And since I’m only one in a long line of overachievers in my family, they went and bought a flailing hockey team and turnedit into one of the most winning teams in the NHL a little over thirty years ago. And that’s just my mother’s side of our hard-to-live-up-to family tree.
Not to be outdone, the St. James side doesn’t believe in slackers either. My father, brother, uncle, and cousin are all world-champion MMA fighters, and my older sister is the physical therapist for Crucible, the family gym.
It’s impressive, not that I’d tell any of them that.
Their heads are big enough already.
Basically, Philadelphia sports is in my blood, even if I don’t have an athletic bone in my body. But like my mother, I’ve got a sixth sense for business, and I may or may not enjoy making men twice my size shake in their expensive black Brioni suits when they sit down across a conference table from me to negotiate a client’s contract.
Bonus points if their clients shake too.
This industry is still an old boy’s club, and those old boys love underestimating a young woman.
They look at me and see beauty instead of brains. You can’t be pretty and a formidable opponent according to most of them, and my God, I love making them eat their words before they’ve even realized what’s happened.
Some clients are great. Some are assholes. Some fall happily in-between. Those are the easy ones. I don’t have many I’d call easy. But I guess such is the life of pro athletes and their agents. There’s a sick symbiosis of sorts. But it works.
Here’s the thing. I don’t care what you are or who you are. As long as I’m representing you, it’s my job to get you the best deal, even if it’s pushing back against one of my family’s teams. And I’m damn good at my job, which is why I’m hoping today will be the day they’ll finally announce I’ve made partner. I’m tired of chasing the stupid carrot.
“Wouldn’t you agree, Olivia?”
Shit.
I look up at Tristan and casually nod, like I’ve been paying attention instead of thinking about the new shoes I’m buying as a promotion present to myself. But seriously, they are sexy shoes. I learned early on that being five foot three isn’t an advantage in this industry, so I pivoted. Maybe more likeadjusted... Whatever. You’ll never catch me in a heel less than four inches high when I’m working.
Ridiculous—yes. Necessary—you bet your ass.
The height helps me look older and scarier because I could absolutely stab a man with one of my shoes. An urge I’ve definitely fought a time or two. Apparently, Brynlee and Killian got all the height from our parents. They left none for me.
Tristan’s smile broadens as he looks to my right and left at the firm’s two other associates here today. Both men. Both older. Both far less successful at bringing in new clients.
I might be against using my family’s name to get ahead, but the connections I’ve made through the years because of who I am are stillmy connections, and I’ve pulled in every single one of them since joining the firm. Hockey players, football players, baseball players, MMA fighters, basketball stars, three soccer players, two golfers, and one Formula 1 driver. Add in a few Olympians and a coach or two, and my roster is just how I like it, beautifully full.
“Wonderful.” Tristan claps his hands together and turns toward the projector where the associates from our satellite offices sit. “We’ll be sad to see you go come January, Peter, but retirement will look good on you. And I have no doubt that everyone is anxious to step up and show us why they should be the next partner at Mulland Exeter.”
What?
Did he just say January?
“Thank you all so much for an incredible year. Now go enjoy sin city. We’ll see you all in the office next week.”
Murmurs can be heard through the Zoom being broadcast behind Tristan. Our international associates in our satellite offices are obviously as surprised as me and Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum sitting beside me.
January?
As in five months from now?
The fucking carrot was supposed to be mine today.
How many times has Tristan told me just a few more months.
