Wrestling back control, I walk over to the desk. I offer the soccer players each a seat, and when they accept, I remain standing and lean back against the desk.
Mel stays by the door, half-smiling. “If you’re ever in this office, it’s because something either very good or very bad has happened,” she says.
Kevyn chuckles, but Orlando only raises a wobbly smile.
I keep my face and voice steady. “Your old agencies,” I say. “You were both at the big ones. The jock warehouses. They didn’t land you any endorsements?”
Kevyn shakes his head. “Hell, I don’t know if they remembered my name half the time.”
I turn my eyes to Orlando. “Same,” he admits.
“Good. You’re still mediocre players. You’d be stuck in shit contracts.”
Mel chuckles. “That’s the man I married.”
“Endorsements,” I continue, “are just like your contract with your team, same as your contract with us. They’ll come with a million stipulations. I take care of that part for you.”
“Our clients get the best deals,” Mel says, joining me by the desk. “Just like you get the best PR. Understood?”
They both nod. I see the excitement rising on their faces. It usually feels good to tell an athlete that their interests are taken care of, and they’ll be making loads of money.
But I can’t look at Orlando. Just the presence of him causes me to tense up, strangling the joy at my throat.
A man of that little integrity, good thing I have an ironclad contract to protect my own interests, too.
“When it comes to dealing with the leagues, Frisk is our big hitter,” Mel continues, gesturing to me. “And you just hope he doesn’t swing his bat at you.”
Heat flushes across Orlando’s face. There’s barely innuendo in what Mel said, but it still makes me overheat, too. “She means,” I grumble, “we’re going to be more demanding than your team or your sponsors.”
“And that’s why we’re not going to pursue any endorsements now,” Mel adds. “And not any time soon, either.”
Both of the men look confused. “What?” Kevyn asks.
“Your stats are flat,” I tell them. “And you still act like rookie jokers sometimes. We need a solid season of consistently improving performance and no stunts off the field.”
“When you’ve got that,” Mel concludes, “we approach the right sponsors from the right position. Hopefully not long after a strong showing at CONCACAF.”
CONCACAF is the tournament that brings together the best teams from North America, Central America, and the Caribbean. Earning a spot there is the only real goal for Orlando’s team this season.
Not wanting to give them time to process the information and prolong the meeting with a lot of questions, I grab the two folders my assistants prepared earlier today.
“Here are your contracts with the agency as well as some revised training plans, athletic retreats for the off-season, your new nutritionists. We’re working with your current team, building on what’s already there. But the agency has our own network of resources to take advantage of.”
“The agency is making me a new training plan?” Kevyn asks, confused as his eyes scan over the papers.
“And you’re lucky we are,” Mel says. She squeezes my shoulder. “You can think about our faces every time you’re pushing those extra ten burpees or turning around for an extra lap.”
Orlando looks up. He dances close to meeting my gaze, and even though I stare steadily at him, he doesn’t quite make it. “My coaches—”
“We’ve already talked to your coaches. That’s my job. Now are you two going to be able to cut it?” I ask abruptly, ready to wrap this up.
My jaw grinds. I don’t need to be this intense. Kevyn is caught in the crossfire.
Orlando swallows, answering first. “Yeah. I guess. Do you have a pen so I can sign this?”
I sigh. He would just sign away his life, wouldn’t he? “You take it home and read it first. And from now on, any problems or opportunities that come your way, you bring them straight to the agency.” I turn my eyes to Kevyn. “Understood?”
He nods. “Yes. Understood.”
