"Nah, I've got a ride."
"Then how about I take your mind off of things and onto better things while you take that ride."
Quick and dirty girl makes her move in a tone full of sexual promise, but one I'm not really in the mood for. Usually, I rely on noncommittal girls like her to make me come hard and snap me out of the funk a bad game puts me in.
But not tonight.
The groupie and her Red Bull tank top remind me of something. I'm Saint fucking Stevenson and bad season or not, I should at least have endorsements flying out of my ass, and I know just the girl that can get them for me.
Chapter Six
SABRINA
Inotice it immediately. The office feels transformed the moment I walk off the elevator and into the main foyer. While Mondays are my favorite day of the week, they typically aren't anyone else's at my workplace. Yet today there seems to be a vibrancy floating through the air and bouncing around from person to person.
Contained excitement.
Reserved glee.
I'm not sure that I can explain it. Everythingseemsnormal. My coworkers are at their cubicles with fresh lattes and small Pyrex bowls of warm oatmeal, typing away, writing on sticky notes, or texting on their cell phones about one thing or another. But something is definitely different, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Whatever's going on, I'm clearly the last person to know. I just hope it's a sign that I'm going to have a good mid-year evaluation.
"Morning, Sabrina"
"Morning, Peter."
It's common at the company for employees at my level of junior management to have mid and final year reviews with a supervisor and a senior level account manager both present in the room. In my case today that's my team supervisor Peter and my friend who's a senior account manager, Marisol.
"So before we get into the thick of your review, Sabrina, we wanted to talk to you about some changes that are happening within the company. Exciting changes."
My eyes widen. Oh my God, is Peter going to give me Spin? Marisol silently nods her head back and forth behind Peter's back as if she can read my mind.
Spin is one of Carson Financial's top clients. They are an award-winning, platinum-selling band, that sells out stadiums every time they tour. Their account manager Priscilla Carson just left the company after finding out her husband, and Carson Financial founder, has been having a long-standing affair with his executive assistant. So now Spin is abruptly without a full-time money manager, and the company needs to fill the spot quickly, before the group walks away from us completely and takes their money with them.
It's no secret at my office that there is only room for one new senior account manager to join the fold, and that both my coworker (and frenemy) Abby and I want the position. If one of us is assigned the Spin account, that will speak volumes about who's going to get the promotion. It means that we're trusted with a Tier-One, A-level client. Opportunities typically offered to only senior level or rising senior managers. For me it's a serious long shot, because I'm so young. Abby has seniority, but I truly believe I work twice as hard as she does.
"So it's just come down from the powers that be that Carson is expanding our brand. No longer will we be limited to musical entertainers, but we've now opened our doors to professional athletes. In fact, there is an entire new division of the company under development. The Carson Athletic division."
My supervisor Peter sounds almost excited as a kid on Christmas morning as he talks about this big expansion the company's making. And I get it. Athletes make tremendous amounts of money and have huge international profiles. What's not to like ... if you're management. If you're Peter. But this isn't the direction I'd hoped this conversation was going to go.
Now I'm starting to understand the silent head nod from Marisol. She knew I wasn't getting Spin or getting the promotion I was hoping for at all. She also knows how much I hate sports and despise professional athletes. They're just overgrown kids who get paid way more money than anyone should be allowed to earn for kicking or hitting a ball. I've never been able to understand that concept ever since I was a kid.
"We're starting off small. The Downtown office is getting three players. I think two of them are baseball and one is tennis, and our office is getting three new clients as well. One of them I feel very confident about giving to you, Sabrina. Best of all he's a football player."
Best of all?
"They call your new client The Gunslinger. Ring any bells?" Peter asks excitedly.
I think I'm supposed to have heard of this guy but I haven't.
"Umm, not really."
Peter chuckles, "That's all right. Marisol mentioned that you don't really follow sports. So maybe I'll have Jason help get you up to speed. He worked with ball players at his previous company. Is that okay with you?"
I'm a little shell shocked, but I go ahead and nod yes. Marisol grins like she always does whenever Jason's name is mentioned. I swear she's going to get me to the altar and popping out Jason's babies even if it kills her. She's worse than my mother, albeit a little more optimistic about getting me married.
"The only important things to know for now are that he's the franchise quarterback for the New York Nighthawks, he's being paid the rookie wage cap of twenty-two and a half million for four years, and he's never signed with a money manager before. His father has been taking care of his investments."
It's quiet for a moment in the room until Marisol breaks the silence with a loud clap. "That's a fantastic client, Sabrina! Congratulations, girl," she says with a little extra added enthusiasm in her voice.
