She's so disingenuous. She's practically spitting nails.
"Have you heard of him?" I ask with a saccharin smile.
Abby gives me an incredulous look then sighs heavily as if she's about to teach the dumb girl a lesson.
"Of course I have. He's a huge star, Sabrina. He's like the second coming to the league. Everyone is looking for him to bring the city our first championship in over twenty-one years."
She places one of her pointy-nailed hands on her hip.
"Huh, I'm surprised Peter even gave you Saint Stevenson considering you know nothing about football. It's not like you've ever tried to hide the fact that you don't follow sports. It's just so odd."
Good grief. Is it that obvious to everybody who I work with that I don't like sports? Just because I don't participate in the various betting pools they always have going?
"It's not odd to me. I won't be teaching him how to catch a ball. I'll be managing his money."
I throw a few of Marisol's words back at Abby, but instead of what I'm saying making some sort of poignant point and shutting her up, Abby bursts out into laughter instead.
"He doesn'tcatchanything, silly. He's paid to throw the ball. That's what quarterbacks do. Throw the ball."
"Catch. Throw. It doesn't matter," I say slightly embarrassed. "My only job is to keep him out of bankruptcy court."
"Wow. You don't hold much regard for professional athletes do you? I think that you should perhaps have higher aspirations for your client's financial well-being other than keeping him out of trouble."
I didn't mean it like that. Dammit, this girl has the extraordinary ability to push all of my buttons.
"Thanks for your concern, Abby, but I've got it under control. I know what I'm doing or they wouldn't have given him to me."
"Okaaay," she says with exaggerated uncertainty in her irritating singsong voice.
I should have known she'd be pissed. Everything with her is a competition.
"Have you heard any news about Spin?" I ask trying to change the subject.
"May I sit?"
I rather you didn't.
"I'm almost finished with my lunch so–"
"That's okay. I'll just wait while you finish. I'm not ordering food or anything. Some of us have to watch what we eat."
I suppose she's referring to the alcohol and carbs on the table, and the fact that Abby is at least three sizes smaller than me.
"Some of us are happy with a little cushion," I say defending my broad childbearing hips and ample bottom.
"I guesssomeof us are."
I wonder if I'd get arrested for tossing this frozen strawberry daiquiri in her face. I'd be really tempted to do it if it didn't taste so damn good.
"So do you have any information on Spin or not?"
She smirks before speaking.
"Well I overheard a conversation Peter was having on the phone. He's still trying to convince them into staying. So I guess he's not going to assign them a manager yet, since he isn't even sure that they're still clients. He's still got some sweet-talking to do I suppose. Especially to Marley. From what I heard, he's the main one who wants to leave."
That's not good news.
"So when do you meet Saint Stevenson?" she asks.
