222 unread emailsstare back at me.
I push up from my desk to stand by the glass, watching the players. A handful are shooting, and I assume others are in the weights room or with the trainers.
I check the time, knowing his flight would have landed.
2:22 p.m.
I let out a breath because every minute feels like an hour, and I am already over today.
Then, I see the significance.
An angel number.
A sign to trust the process.
To let go and have faith that it’s a sign of harmony in my life.
A positive change is coming, and I’m on the right path in my finances and relationships.
My cell rings, with Franklin’s name lighting up the screen.
“Hey,” I say, a little more upbeat.
“Are you attending the meeting to greet Brandon Johns?” I don’t miss the fact that he doesn’t call him BJ.
“No. I have a personal appointment.”
“You booked a personal appointmenttoday?”
“Yes. I told you I had another commitment when you first asked.” I storm back to my desk and find the details of an artist friend from college who is now a tattooist. I had no intention of attendingthat meeting. “Please welcomehimfor me.”
“I’ll be leaving that up to you, Lottie. It’s protocol.”
“Protocol when I have never met the player, and he has never played for us.”
“Point taken. I’ll keep you informed.”
“No need. It will only ruin my day.”
“You’ll need to face him eventually.”
“Yeah, when it pleases me, Frank,” I say louder, reminding him who is in charge.
“He is in the market for a new manager.”
“Not my problem.”
“Okay. I’ll get Walter on it.” I roll my eyes. “The board decided not to give Brandon his previous playing number.”
“I expected not when we issued it to the rookie last year.”
“Stefan,” Frank clarifies.
“I don’t care what number you issue him. Number seven stays with Stefan.”
“It’s already been issued. His name and number are printed on the cabinetry in the locker room?—”
“Not interested,” I interrupt. “Bye, Franklin.”
