"You already have a car."
"I want a nicer one."
"For what?"
"Because it's nicer."
"Are you ten years old?" she scoffs. "As your new business manager I would strongly advise against that sort of impulsive purchase. Cars depreciate right off the lot. It's not a sound investment. Leonardo DiCaprio drives a Prius. Just one."
"Does every purchase have to make complete fiscal and ecological sense when I'm a millionaire? And what the hell do I care about what some soft, baby-faced actor drives."
This woman is so serious. Way too serious and way too rigid for her own good. I'm going to have to save her from herself.
"Eww, who calls themselves that?"
"Calls themselves what?"
"A millionaire."
"Is it obnoxious to say when it's the truth?"
"Totally obnoxious. Especially from someone like you. I'd expect this sort of behavior from someone who doesn't know any better, but didn't you grow up with money?"
"We did okay."
"Oh, please. Let me ask you something,Mr. Stevenson–"
She says my name like it physically makes her ill. This conversation is definitely not headed in the right direction.
"Why did you hire Carson Financial? Why me? The complete truth. If that's even possible for you."
I'm not a hundred percent sure what I'm doing myself. I just know that there was something endearing about her when I met her three years ago. She was alone, drunk and gorgeous. Not to mention that she had zero clue who I was which was something I hadn't experienced in a while. Even back then a lot of people knew my face. So when she didn't, I liked it. I felt normal.
Then I see her again years later. Filled out in all the right places. Sexy as all hell. Funny even though she doesn't know it. And still no clue who I was. And I couldn't help myself. There's something about her that I'm totally drawn to. She's not like the cleat chasers that I'm used to fucking or the models that I use as arm candy. Filling a void in her life with my success is not her end game. She has her own life. Her own goals and dreams. And she could care less that I could help her get there faster. She wants to forge her own path. Who wouldn't be attracted to that all wrapped up in a mouth watering, curvy, package?
I can't say that I know exactly what I'm doing with this woman. This is totally out of character for me. Ever since Adrianna, all I've had are a variety of expendable women in and out of my life. Nothing serious. Nothing even past seven days. But Sabrina isn't that. And until I'm sure what's happening here, I decide to stretch the truth a bit and tell her what I think she needs to hear in order to continue working for me.
"I won't be a football player forever, and I don't want to be one of those broke players begging for work from the league in fifteen years. You asked me what I want from you. Well what I need is some additional income coming in. I need endorsements."
"I could live forever on the interest alone of twenty-two million dollars."
"Well I'm sure that you and I live very different lifestyles. Mine requires a certain amount of funding since I like to go out and live a little. I don't just work, work, work like some people I know."
"Some of us have to work harder than others to make a living," her voice rises. "Some of us will always have to work harder than others to get ahead in life. In my opinion, what you really need is someone to help you make smarter decisions about the money you already have coming in."
"Pretty sure that's the same thing that I just said."
"Not the same thing."
"Did you ever tell me what you were wearing?"
"Oh my God, you promised."
"Wait–what did I promise again?"
"That you would behave and act like an adult if I allowed you to basically strong arm me into working for you."
"I am on my best behavior, Miss White. Especially when I've been at war on the field all day with a bunch of men who want nothing else but to kill me. Especially when what I really want to do is fly to New York and lay my head in between somewhere soft, warm, wet and very much female."
