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“That doesn’t answer either of my questions.”
“Oh, sorry.” He walks my way and extends a hand. “I’m George Richards. I’m Layton’s agent.”
“That’s one.” I tap my toe, impatiently. When he waits too long, I twist my wrist in a go-on gesture.
“Oh, yeah. Layton is a client and a friend. He called me before his accident and asked me to do a favor for him.”
I lift my brows.
“…For you.”
My mouth falls open, and I close it, acting as if I’m not floored.
“Layton is the new face of Excel. One of them anyway. He asked me to look into a line of yoga wear that might need a rep.”
I reach back for my desk, needing something to steady me as I take in what the man in front of me says.
“He said you were an athlete, but not in the traditional sense. He says you’d rep them well and would have a lot to offer a company like that.”
“I’m a practitioner and a therapist, not a model or an athlete.”
“I disagree. And I have two companies that are looking for someone who can fit the bill. They usually go with sand volleyball athletes, but want to look at women who would fit the brand better. Yoga and Pilates wear can be modeled by anyone with the right body type. But someone who has that look and can do the poses—that really piqued their interests.”
“Okay.” I hedge.
He’s an affable enough guy, but I’m struggling to take in all that he’s saying. His body is animated as he speaks. He’s not “selling it” exactly, but his excitement is like a child’s. He’s happy about this.
“Excel is one, which is convenient. They already know me. Their attorneys aren’t sticklers with redlines. They’re pretty quick on the deal and generous for an unknown.” He looks at me as if I’m the unknown as if I didn’t already know. “The other is a bigger known company, with a more lucrative deal but with tighter terms. The name is one you would know, so if you’re into that instead of the money, I’m happy to make that introduction.”
I stand, struck dumb. Add this to “things I never considered once in my life.” It’s up there with Hollywood calling or hitting my head on doorjambs.
“What do you think?”
“First thoughts, and not in any order… You’re crazy. Layton is crazy. I know exactly zero about repping a clothing line or anything it takes to make that kind of deal. I’m not a model or particularly pretty—”
He scoffs.
I lift my brows and stare at him. “Why did Layton suggest this?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. He was mentioning the Everglades so I’m fuzzy on the details. I just kept thinking of not being eaten by swamp creatures.” He smiles broadly.
“I can see why he likes you. Back up. You said an awful lot a bit ago.”
He takes a step back and the look on my face must be comical. “Not like that.”
“I know, but it’s been a rough time and it made me laugh.”
“When you saygenerousandlucrative, what do you mean?”
He gives me two figures, both multiple times what I make here. And the NFL isn’t stingy, and it wasn’t my first rodeo with negotiations.
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Obviously, the bigger brand has more money to play with. Like Fashion Week kind of money. But there are more rules that come along with it.”
“I like their product. I wear their product. Same with Excel.”
He pulls some papers out of a messenger bag and sets them on my desk. His card is paper clipped to the top. “Take a look at these. Study them. You may want an attorney to review them, at least the bougie one. And then let me know?”
