“We’ll beready to launch in three months,” Jatoria Starks, the business consultant I hired, declared.
I thrust my fist in the air at that pronouncement as the others clapped and nodded their approval.
“Anything else? I have a hard stop in two minutes, and I have to rush to the other side of town for another meeting.”
“That should do it for me,” Mariska Shields, my accountant, professed.
“Yeah, I’m good too,” Demetri Farmer, one of my business partners, confirmed.
“I’ve got everything that I need,” Gabriel Stringer, my other business partner, agreed.
“Perfect. I’ll be in touch with you all before the next meeting,” Jatoria stated.
“All right. I’ma get up with y’all later. I gotta head out to another meeting on the other side of town too,” I announced.
I stood from the table and shook hands with Gabriel Stringer and Demetri Farmer, an investment banker and a retired college coach, both of whom were investing with me to create a sports management business, Unleashed Athletes Group.
I dapped the men up, shook hands with Jatoria and Mariska, and headed to my truck knowing that my sports agent, Amélie Devereaux, was right on my ass.
As soon as I cleared the building, I unlocked the truck and opened the door. Titan, my four-year-old cane corso, bounded across the seat and jumped down at my side. I had left the windows down far enough for him to get fresh air, but up high enough not to allow anyone to steal him or the truck. But I wasn’t worried about anyone stealing his mean ass.
“Ash, you’re always about your business. Who are you rushing off to meet?” Amélie asked, grabbing the driver’s side door of my truck to prevent me from hopping inside and closing the door. She leaned inside, all five feet and one inch of her, and stared me in the eyes, daring my ass to lie to her.
I might have been six feet and five inches and weighing 225 pounds, but I didn’t fuck with Amélie. Her feisty, short ass didn’t take anything off any of her athletes, and when she said something, she meant that shit.
I fidgeted with the zipper of my coat before I tugged it up and crossed my arms over my chest. Staring down at her, I replied, “Chanel.”
“As in Chanel Dubois?”
“I don’t know another one.”
“Chanel Dubois, the sports journalist?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Remember when I told you that I might be doing an interview about my career with Legendary Sports Magazine? Well, it’s with her.”
“Damn it. How didn’t I make the connection? I forgot she wrote for them. Be careful around her.”
“Why?”
“She’s got a hard-on for an interview with you the size of Mt. Rushmore, and she’s a ruthless reporter who is willing to do anything to get a story. I don’t trust anything those sports journalists promise, and especially not her. She’s looking for a big story, and right now, your life is a bit complicated. Don’t give her meat to chew on, and she won’t return, looking for a bone.”
“Chanel and I are cool. We’ve done interviews in the past, and she has always been respectful.”
“Be careful. The last thing you need is to fall into her trap. God knows she uses her looks and body to lure unsuspecting athletes into her web.”
“I expect more from you, Amélie.”
“What?”
“You’re hating on another sister handling her business. You of all people know that this is a male-dominated industry, and we don’t make it easy for women at all.”
“It won’t stop her from using her assets to get the story she wants.”
“You’re underestimating my intelligence as though I can’t sniff out game.”
