AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Hockey is awesome!” I said, laughing. “Way more exciting than baseball.”
“Hey, now.” He chuckled good-naturedly.
“Well, it is, but that’s not the point. I actually didn’t reach out for season tickets because I know that’s not your jam. But I thought you might want to put an ad in one of our game-day programs. Ad space is quite reasonable and—”
“You don’t need to hard sell me,” he interrupted. “You know I’ll advertise anywhere you tell me to. So give me a full page near the back, where the player bios are. We’ll start with the first two games of the playoffs. You know where to send the mock-ups and the bill. My assistant will approve or make suggestions, but you know what I like.”
“Don’t you want to know how much—” I tried again.
He just laughed. “Don’t know, don’t care. Tax write-off. Talk soon!” He disconnected and I couldn’t help but laugh.
Sure, I’d worked hard to make most of my contacts through the paper, but the Mavericks were so hot right now they were practically selling themselves.
“Let me guess,” Kevin said, strolling over to my desk. “You sold five thousand more season tickets and now you have a waiting list until the year 2050.”
I glanced up at him, surprised at the mocking tone in his voice.
“No, smartass. I sold a full-page ad in the program for a couple of playoff games. What’s your problem?” I knew from experience to never let anyone, especially not men, condescend to me or they would all do it and my life would be hell.
“You know how long I’ve been trying to get a foothold at Jackson Athletics?”
I arched a brow. “Everett and I have been business associates and friends since I worked on my college newspaper. That’s an established relationship. I’m sorry you feel like I stepped on your toes, but that’s not how it is. I’ve been to his home, I’ve met his wife and kids, and he always takes my calls. It had nothing to do with you.”
Kevin sighed. “Man, it’s always the pretty girls.” He shook his head and walked back to his desk, muttering.
“What’s always the pretty girls?” A voice whispered behind me, and I started, swinging around to see Nash standing there with a large Starbucks coffee that I had a sneaking suspicion was for me. This would be the third time he’d brought me one in the last two weeks if it was, and I didn’t understand why he was hanging around so much.
I shrugged. “He’s mad I landed the Jackson Athletics account, but Everett was already my client. I can’t help that I brought a lot of my clients with me. And anyway, Everett and his wife are also friends, so he was never going to get that one.”
Nash looked over at Kevin and made a face before glancing down at me. “You know that’s not what he’s really mad about, right?”
“What do you mean?” I looked up as he handed me the coffee. “And thank you—but you don’t have to bring me coffee every time you come up here.”
“I know, but I want to. And you’re welcome.” He perched one butt cheek on the edge of my desk and lowered his voice. “Kevin wants to take you out, but since you’ve made it clear you’re not interested in dating anyone you work with, he’s acting out the only way he can.”
My mouth fell open. “Seriously? What is this, first grade?”
He shrugged. “You asked. I’m telling you what I see.”
“I didn’t ask, but ugh.” I sipped my coffee and tried to muster up some indignation, but the sweet caramel on my tongue made it difficult to be grumpy. “He’s old enough to be my dad.”
“He also knows you’re way out of his league. He’ll get over it. You’re bringing in a lot of money, both in ticket sales and advertising, so when everyone gets a bonus at the end of the season, he’ll be singing your praises.”
“I guess.” I leaned back in my chair. “So, what are you doing up here? Don’t you have to rest up for tonight?”
“It’s the last game of the regular season. Most of us starters are going to be taking it easy tonight, letting the younger guys get some experience while we try to avoid injuries and fatigue.”
“Makes sense.”
“You coming to the game?”
“Of course. In fact, my father and brother-in-law are coming too.”
“Nice. You need me to sign anything for them?”
I hesitated. My father would probably get a kick out of a signed puck, but I hated to ask for anything personal.
“I’ll send up a couple of signed pucks once I go back downstairs,” he said after a moment. “It’s no problem.”
“Thank you.” I was flustered and didn’t understand why. It wasn’t like there was anything going on between us, but there was something about him, about the way he looked at me sometimes, that made me feel like we had a connection. It was superficial at best, but it existed and denying it would have been stupid.
