1
CAMERON JAMESON — CAM
DECEMBER
“It’s justmy favorite kind of video, you know? Even slightly better than the ones of dogs greeting their owners coming home from a trip, or the guys from the army. Those used to be my favorite but not anymore. Youhaveto have seen those, Cam. But these ones... I mean, you see them on videos, or if you go to a concert you get to watch these dudes—and why are they almost always dudes? Someone should probably look into that, but anyway, these dudes are the most passionate ones up there, and they’re waving their little wands around and keeping the whole show going. It’s just so heartwarming.”
I would normally feel bad for barely listening to aword AJ is saying—okay, only a little bit bad—but right now there are more pressing matters than the latest trend he’s obsessed with.
My email rarely pings with an alert, but since it did, I checked... of course I did. One of my clients could be going viral for very bad or very good reasons at any given moment. I have to stay alert and ready to deal with scandals and cancellations.
And AJ never takes it personally if I’m not looking at him while he talks, because he knows I can focus on more than one thing at a time, but right now I’m failing, because this ...
How did they even get my email?
That is not public knowledge. If it was then I’d be drowning in emails from angry fans of the teams my clients play for.
And that means it could basically be any damn fan of sports in the fucking country, because I have more than my share of clients.
“What’s wrong?” The suddenly serious tone of his voice finally has me looking up. I’m in my office with the first client I ever signed—and the most successful—and I don’t have the mental capacity to deal with... that right now.
AJ Quick is what matters right now, though he’s never caught frowning unless he’s wearing a football helmet, and looking at him now, it really doesn’t suit his typical boy-next-door face.
“Nothing’s wrong.” I forcibly relax my cheeks, anddon’t let my eyes stray away from his to go back to the monitor on my desk. That would be a dead giveaway, and of the many things AJ is, probably the most important one is how fucking good he is at reading other people, so I can’t show any signs that something is in fact very wrong.
“You stopped listening to me telling you about those videos on social media. You always listen to me no matter how stupid what I’m saying is.”
“You never say anything stupid,” I growl, and maybe it comes out harsher than intended, but I really fucking hate the way he sometimes think about himself because ofactuallystupid shit people say about him online or sometimes to his face.
Only someone with an impressive set of skills can win two Super Bowls—the pressure isn’t for the faint of heart, the work is brutal, the memorizing of plays, reading the defense, throwing the damn football like it’s an extension of his arm... God, his spirals are a thing of beauty.
He does all of it without complaint or breaking a sweat, so yeah, maybe he’s easily impressed by the simplest things, and maybe he uses Google like it’s school, but he has endless curiosity, kindness in his heart, and he’s always looking for the bright side.
Most importantly, he’s as protective of me as I am of him. You don’t work with someone for more than a decade and keep a good working relationship, even build a friendship, without some sort of protective instinct building inside you. At least that’s not how I function, and it sure isn’t how AJ goes about his business.
“Just forget it. What were those videos about?” I really hope that distracts him, but if it doesn’t, I actually have a few things to discuss with him.
“They’re clips of orchestra directors when the musicians play the ‘Happy Birthday’ song to them as a surprise during concerts.” His words come out distractedly, so I know he hasn’t forgotten anything, notyet.
“They sound awesome. You send me one, yeah?”
“Sure,” he mumbles, and when he opens his mouth to ask again, I know I have to keep this meeting moving along.
“I got the numbers from the last few ads you did for ESoothe,” I pipe in, my voice all business, and it works. AJ cares about the app as more than just a sponsor, and I get why.
It’s magical, really, and he’s been obsessed with it since his teammate and good friend, Derek Johnson, told him about it last year.
ESoothe makes a playlist for whatever mood you’re in, and the songs actually help your brain regulate and process your emotions. It’s pretty damn impressive, and I’m a fan now too. The owner, founder, and creator of the app, Liam, is also a friend of Derek’s, and now a friend of AJ’s.
That’s another thing about him. If he decides he wants to be your friend, good luck shaking him off, because soon enough you won’t want to.
AJ leans in on his seat and looks at me, locked into the conversation now.
“Good, right? Those last few videos we shot with a bunch of QBs were funny as hell, they had to do great.”
He’s right of course.
“They did. Apparently you guys got them another couple of thousand users, and they’re about to celebrate one year of being live and want to do another shoot soon. I’m guessing you’re up for it?”
