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I walked into the arena and a tall, middle-aged man approached me with a smile. “Sariah? I’m Lance Becker, head of sales and marketing.”
“Hello. Nice to meet you.” I was surprised that the head of sales would be here to greet me personally.
“My secretary’s kids all have strep, so I told her to stay home.” He chuckled. “So I’ll be showing you around myself.”
“Well, I appreciate it.”
“I thought we’d take a brief tour of the Warren Center while we get to know each other, and then we can sit down with a few members of the sales team when we get upstairs.”
“Sounds perfect.” I fell into step beside him as we walked toward a bank of elevators.
“Are you a hockey fan?” he asked as we stepped inside.
“I’m learning to be,” I admitted. I’d been prepared for this question. I couldn’t outright lie, because I’d undoubtedly fail if he tested me, but I thought I had a good response. “I was raised by family big on soccer so hockey wasn’t really a thing for me until I got to college. I enjoyed going to live games, but to be honest, tickets to Mavericks games haven’t been in the budget. I did go to one a couple of weeks ago though and it was amazing.”
“If you enjoy live hockey, I think this job may be a good fit since you’ll be here for most of the home games.
We stepped off the elevator and turned a corner. “This floor is where the private boxes are,” he said. “If we extend you the job offer, you’ll probably spend a good deal of time here making sure your clients are happy and having a good time.”
“These are beautiful,” I said, taking in the spacious box we’d just entered. The chairs were upholstered and expensive looking, with a huge TV on one wall, a bar in the corner, and best of all, the most amazing view of the ice.
“I don’t think I’d have much trouble selling box seats,” I said, thinking about a few of my wealthier clients from the newspaper. I’d made those connections on my own and I’d use every tool in my arsenal to be successful if I got this job.
“That’s good to hear.”
He showed me the press box, the locker room, some of the more expensive seats in the arena, and finally, the executive offices, which were on the top floor. Like everything else, they hadn’t spared any expense here and even the cubicles out on the sales floor were high end and impressive. Hell, the break room was almost as nice as my kitchen at home.
As we walked down a hallway toward a conference room, I noticed a huge poster of an underwear ad. I paused, peering up at it curiously. The guy in the photo was drop-dead gorgeous, with the kind of body that probably made women all over the world lose their minds, and eyes so blue I was momentarily mesmerized. How could anyone be that hot? It had to be photoshopped, right?
“That’s Nash Reilly,” Mr. Becker told me, following my gaze. “He’s one of our star forwards.”
“I’ve read about him,” I said, still looking at the ad. “But what’s the underwear ad about?”
“The company approached him about doing a campaign for them, and since it doesn’t interfere with hockey, he did it. It’s given the team a bit of notoriety as well, so it’s been win-win.”
“I can imagine.”
I could also imagine this guy being an arrogant prick.
Exactly the kind of guy I avoided in my life.
Well, I probably wouldn’t have a lot of contact with the players anyway, but I could potentially use this type of popularity to my advantage when it came to selling ticket packages. I made a mental note to write that down as soon as I had a chance.
“Here we are.” Lance let me walk into the conference room ahead of him and several men I assumed were from the sales team all turned to me. They ran the gamut from late twenties to middle age, and I tried to visualize myself among them. They looked friendly enough, which was encouraging, so I hoped my lack of in-depth hockey knowledge wouldn’t hurt me. The compensation package was five times better than anything I had now, and the potential for bonuses was almost unlimited. I’d have to bust my ass to learn everything there was to know about selling season tickets to hockey games, but I was confident I could do a great job here.
Now all I had to do was convince them to hire me.
I’d figured the interview would last an hour, maybe two, but I was there for almost four hours. By the time I left, I’d had to speed home, change clothes, and then turn around and head right back out for my shift at the restaurant. I’d had to close tonight, so I didn’t get home until after midnight and it was the first time I could relax all day. I thought about running a bath, but I was too tired even for that and I threw myself facedown across the bed.
