"Thrilled you could join us," Rebecca called as I settled into a seat across from McKendrick and his agent. Many agents were based in Florida or California but Travis Veda was a local boy and he liked it that way. "Thank you for squeezing this convening into your schedule at the last moment."
There were many amazing things about Rebecca Breverman. To start, she wasn't exactly human. As far as I could tell, she didn't sleep, didn't eat, and didn't age. But right now, the most amazing thing was that she said all of those passive-aggressive words without even a hint of shade. She was furious that I was eleven minutes late for an impromptu meeting, but she sounded genuinely gracious and that required talent.
She also rocked a vaguely English-but-also-maybe-Australian accent that was almost definitely fake and that required a version of talent. I'd once heard it referred to as a New Hampshire accent by someone who obviously hadn't visited New Hampshire.
"I'm thrilled to be here," I said, swiping open my tablet and nodding at McKendrick and Veda. "Please, continue. I'll catch up."
"Hey, nice lady," McKendrick drawled, scooting his chair closer to the table as he eyed my cleavage. "What's your story, honeycakes?"
"Shutup, Lucian," Veda cried, slapping his hand on the shiny tabletop. Where his client was bright-eyed and bouncing in his seat with the overflowing energy of a child in a man's body, Veda's suit was wrinkled and his face matched. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. "Justshut up. If you fuck this up, you're on your own. I'll walk, bro, and I won't look back."
Rebecca clasped her hands and glanced back and forth between Veda and McKendrick. It didn't show but she was boiling with rage over the disorderly nature of this gathering. This wasn't a typical pitch session. She wasn't showing off the wonderful things we'd do to solidify his brand or how we'd triage pesky issues.
But this was typical for me. Much like Lucian, I was a closer. I stepped up to the plate only when it was time to bring the heat and shut it all down. Hot messes and train wrecks and zombies pouring out of the closet were my specialties.
The only difference was Lucian wasn't closing anything right now. Not when he wasn't allowed on the field.
"Thank you for that segue, Mr. Veda. Mr. McKendrick, I understand that you're in a spot of trouble with the league. Is that correct?"
He offered little more than a flippant shoulder lift. This was nothing new, not for McKendrick, not for any athlete who came through these doors. Many—definitely not all, but enough—were well acquainted with being exceptional and with that exceptionalism came entitlement.
"Hmm. Yes. That's what I thought," Rebecca said, tapping her fingertip to her lips. It was her way of communicating she'd had enough of this shit. "You've made the rounds, I see. Six publicists in the past two years. That's a new record. And it's all water under the bridge now, isn't it? The team won't trade you. They'll get you back soon enough, god willing, and they're looking for you to close for them all the way to another World Series win. Isn't that right?"
McKendrick turned to stare at Veda. "See?" he said, pointing at Rebecca. "That's what I've been telling you."
Veda shook his head. "Like I've been telling you, the owners called me this morning. If you can't clean up your act and keep it clean through the end of your suspension, they're dropping you. They don't care if you can win them twenty more pennants. They're sick and tired of all the bad press."
"The fuck they did," McKendrick grumbled, but it was a losing battle. The wrinkle in his forehead and downcast eyes told me that he knew where the chips were falling.
In recent years, the league had been quietly shifting its position on the so-called bad boys of baseball. Rather than watching the antics with amusement and welcoming the publicity, they were now taking aggressive steps to penalize unbecoming conduct and looking to make an example of a few players.
They probably didn't bet on that example being the relief pitcher who sewed up series after series, but the dark cloud of negative press was hanging heavy around McKendrick. They couldn't let him off the hook for multiple drunk-and-disorderly arrests, a DUI, and an unpleasant collection of public indecency charges while hammering the next guy for smoking a little weed.
"That's where Ms. Allesandro comes in," Rebecca said. "She has a gift for turning around the worst public images in professional sports and breathing new life into flailing brands. She'll be managing all of your appearances, social media, and other public statements. She'll be the angel on your shoulder, reminding you to keep your knickers on and your todger out of sight. She'll get you back on the field at the end of your suspension, Mr. McKendrick."
McKendrick swiveled toward Veda. "What's a todger?"
"Your dick, you dickhead," Veda snapped.
McKendrick scowled at the table. "I don't need a fuckin' babysitter," he grumbled.
"Yes, you do," Veda replied. "I'm hiring two full-time personal assistants to keep you out of the bars and away from the press, and you're doing everything that Stella instructs unless you want to go back to alfalfa farming in Blythe."
"They better be hot," McKendrick said. "Girls Gone Wildhot."
"They're going to be former defensive tackles who will have no problem laying you out," Travis said under his breath.
"Outstanding," Rebecca said, ignoring their comments. "Very productive. We'll ring you for a chat on progress next week, Mr. Veda. I trust you'll keep your shoes shined and your nose clean, Mr. McKendrick. You'll need both for all the charitable appearances you'll be doing."
McKendrick followed his agent out of the conference room, grousing, "What does that even mean?"
"Talk less," Veda replied.
The glass door thunked shut behind them, and Rebecca tapped her pen against the table to draw my attention.
"I'm sorry I was late," I said, pointing to the abrasion on my chin. "I had an accident this morning, and—"
"Keep McKendrick on the roster and out of trouble, and you'll find yourself with a promotion to partner and a thirty-three percent bonus. There's a corner office with your name on it if you get this right."
