SABRINA
I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't a little nervous about meeting Saint's father. I guess for a lot of reasons. After some further research on his family, I realize now how it makes very little sense that Saint has signed with our fledgling sports division.
His father has a pristine reputation in the sports management world. In fact, it's so good that other professional athletes have inquired about having him represent them, although he doesn't do it often.
It appears as if the first generation of Stevenson brother's (Saints dad and uncle) bread and butter comes from their NFL pensions and their wildly successful summer combine that they run for student athletes.
They've been quoted in a few articles as saying that management is not something that they really want to get into full time, especially because it could be a conflict of interest with the combine if they did.
I feel like I better be on my A game in an effort to convince Saint's father that we have his best interests at heart. People that always want to keep things in-house have trust issues with "the establishment," and while I think we are a unique company with a lot to offer, Carson Financial is definitely establishment. There's no doubt about that, or at least that's the way it will probably look to Mr. Stevenson.
I regret how I've handled this meeting already.
I should have insisted that we meet on neutral ground. In New York. Being confined in a car for two hours with Saint in one of my shorter skirts is definitely not what I had in mind. He's already staring at my thighs.
"You ready?" he asks casually.
"To attend this very unorthodox meeting all the way in Pennsylvania? Not really."
"Think of it as a date then."
"Why would I do that? We aren't dating. Not to mention that it's the middle of the day on a Tuesday, and this is a work meeting. A meeting which I put on the schedule, so will you take it seriously please?"
"Why would you put today on the schedule? I told you we were going to have a small chat with my father. Maybe some lunch. Not take a damn meeting with Nike. Honestly, you're the most serious woman I've ever met in my life. It's no wonder–"
"No wonder what?!"
"Nothing."
"Beingseriousis what got me my position in the company at my age."
"That's very important to you isn't it? Reaching a certain level of success within a certain time period."
"I have definite career goals that I want to achieve, but doesn't everyone? Isn't it important for you to get a championship ring sooner rather than later?"
"There are a multitude of outside pressures contributing to whether I meet the goals on my career timeline. Yours are self-imposed. There's a difference."
"Well if you mean that I don't have the pressure of twenty-two million dollars to succeed then you're right. You've got me there."
"I find it absolutely incredible that you are so judgmental about the amount of money I make, yet your entire livelihood depends on the fact that I make it."
"Actually my livelihood depends on the income of musicians and television personalities."
"It depended on them. Past tense. Now it depends on mine as well."
"Not if I get a client like Spin. Then you'll be made somebody else's problem. I know just the person that would love to have you on her roster."
"You think that backyard band's money is better than mine?" he asks, as if I've totally offended him.
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to," his voice rises. "You've all but implied it by your words and actions since the day I signed on the dotted line. Would you feel better if I made my money writing songs about clean water and world peace? Is that what you like, or is the real issue here is that's all you know?"
"I'm sorry if I've made you upset, but I think that I've made it clear ad nauseam that I didn't want to work with you, and that I prefer musicians. So don't get all offended about it now."
"I'm not even sure what it is I see in you," he blusters.
"It's baffling to me too."
