“All work and no play, then?” I study her.
She lifts a shoulder and still eyes me like she’s trying to figure something out. “Pretty much, yeah.”
I don’t want to press her if she’s not willing to tell me more, so I turn the conversation back to football. “So … Aliette Grant, what’s it like, growing up in a football dynasty?” I smile, then take a drink of my water.
Finally, a warmer smile breaks across her face. “Well, it’s all I’ve known, so I’m not really sure how to answer that, I guess. My dad can tell you the story about how his great-grandfather bought the team in the 1920’s for what would be considered pocket change now.” She smirks. “Not to mention, my mom’s family has their own ties to football. So, it’s just really what ourlife is. Holidays, vacations … all revolve around the season, the draft, and playoff math.”
“Wait, your mom’s family too?” I ask, surprised.
“Yep. My mom’s maiden name is Presley.” She looks at me to see if I’m connecting the dots.
“As in the Columbus Bulls?”
“That’s the one.” She nods and shrugs.
“Oh wow. So … Presley Grant. Big name to live up to.”
“Presley has a big personality, so she carries it just fine.” She laughs. “We’re really only involved with the Bulls for annual board and shareholders meetings at this point anyway.”
“And it’s just you and your sister?”
She nods. “My dad was an only child, so it’s all up to Presley and me to keep the Titan legacy alive. My mom’s brother is more involved with the Bulls, and my cousins on that side are somewhat involved, but not like Presley and I are.”
“Do you feel a lot of pressure, knowing that? Is it something you and your sister even want?”
“Of course. I love the game and everything that goes along with it. Well, not the publicity part of it, which is why my family has kept me and my sister sheltered from the media for most of our lives. But the whole infrastructure, the energy, the challenges … I love it.”
That explains why I couldn’t find much online about her. Family privacy.
“Presley feels the same?”
“She does. I mean, medicine was something that was important to her, and she got to pursue that dream and incorporate it into the family business.”
“Then I guess we’re all pretty lucky to be doing what we feel passionate about.”
She gives me a faint smile. “Yeah, I guess we are.”
The server sets down our edamame and sushi, and for a second, we both just stare at it like civilized adults pretending we’re not sitting on top of unresolved tension.
She picks up her chopsticks with annoying elegance.
“So,” I say, nodding toward her plate, “you’re lucky I’m not allergic to fish.”
Her brows lift. “Is that a thing?”
“It’s absolutely a thing.”
“Well then, I would’ve chosen pizza.”
“That’s insulting.”
“To sushi?”
“To me. Unless it’s the best pizza in Manhattan.”
She smiles and pops a piece into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully. “You survived.”
“Barely. Raw fish is a bold choice for a reconciliation dinner.”
