Now we're getting to the real point of her inserting herself into my peaceful lunch today. She wants information. She always wants something.
"Today."
"You need any help? I can help you prepare. Maybe sit in on the meeting with you, so you don't make a complete fool of yourself when he starts talking football. I grew up with two brothers who played since pee wee league. I know a lot about the game."
She must have been drinking daiquiris too, because if she were in her right mind, she'd know that I'd never agree to that ridiculous offer. Her in the room at my first meeting? In any client meeting? So she can try to sabotage it. Hell to the no.
"I have Jason for that," I brag.
"Oh?"
"He's worked with pro athletes before. So he's advising me."
"Oh right, I do remember him telling me that the other night."
Abby is on my last nerve. She wants everything I want for no real reason other than because I want it. She wants the senior management position, but doesn't work nearly as hard as I do. She wants Spin, but doesn't even own any of their music. And then one day she must have bumped her head, woke up, and decided that she wanted Jason. She flirts with practically every man in the office, but with him it's so obvious that it's nauseating. Evidently the male ego feeds off ofobviousthough, because Jason seems to lap it right up.
"So ... I need to finish up my lunch and get ready for my meeting."
My subtle way of telling her to go the hell away.
"Good luck with that," she says with zero sincerity.
"Yep. Bye."
* * *
The frozen daiquiri I drank at lunch is doing wonders for my nerves. Must have been the top shelf rum I requested or the fact that I never drink. That's why one drink always does the job for me. It's settled me down enough to take a longer look at my file and do a little further Google research on one Mr. Saint Stevenson.
I knew there was something familiar about this guy. Seems like Saint Stevenson was a football prodigy. I must have heard of him over the years at some point. A talented kid from a famous football family who went on to become a star in college but apparently is flailing in the pros.
Explains a lot about the vibe he gives off. A sense of entitlement, with a touch of arrogance, and something to prove. I've seen it a million times with so many of our celebrity clients. Young, rich, bored and reckless.
The stage has been carefully set for my first meeting with the man they call The Gunslinger. Peter's assistant ordered a mixed hoagie tray and another tray of assorted fresh fruit, which are set up in the small conference room. Apparently this guy likes to eat.
The whiteboard and my laptop are ready for me to give a slide show presentation, and several printed materials on Carson Financial are on the table.
I've done my best to freshen up. Other than smoothing out my slightly wrinkled skirt with my hands, I've brushed my teeth in the bathroom, applied a fresh layer of blush and lipstick, and popped a mint in my mouth for good measure.
Kate, our bubbly receptionist, pops her head in with a wide grin spread across her face. "Sabrina, he's here! Should I send him back here? Are you ready for him?!"
Kate looks around the room as if she's double checking on its cleanliness or something. She's quite excited.
"I'm ready. Send him in."
"Oh hi, Jason." Kate turns her head.
"Hey, Jason," I say with surprise and a little too much brightness in my voice. I need to remember to turn it down a notch, if I don't want to appear desperate and obvious to him. I work really hard to appear as if I'm not plotting on him every single second of the day.
"I thought I'd sit in on your first meeting just in case you run into any snags." He smiles.
"Let me guess." I smile back. "Did Peter or Marisol send you in here?"
"They may have mentioned that it would be a good idea for me to drop by."
"The Carson tag team strikes again. So I take it that you've been debriefed on the fact that I'm sports illiterate and football dumb."
"Yes, I have been, but I have plans to change all of that."
