Stevenson considering you know nothing about football. It's not like you've ever tried to hide the fact that you don't follow sports. It's just so odd."
Good grief. Is it that obvious to everybody who I work with that I don't like sports? Just because I don't participate in the various betting pools they always have going?
"It's not odd to me. I won't be teaching him how to catch a ball. I'll be managing his money."
I throw a few of Marisol's words back at Abby, but instead of what I'm saying making some sort of poignant point and shutting her up, Abby bursts out into laughter instead.
"He doesn't catch anything, silly. He's paid to throw the ball. That's what quarterbacks do. Throw the ball."
"Catch. Throw. It doesn't matter," I say slightly embarrassed. "My only job is to keep him out of bankruptcy court."
"Wow. You don't hold much regard for professional athletes do you? I think that you should perhaps have higher aspirations for your client's financial well-being other than keeping him out of trouble."
I didn't mean it like that. Dammit, this girl has the extraordinary ability to push all of my buttons.
"Thanks for your concern, Abby, but I've got it under control. I know what I'm doing or they wouldn't have given him to me."
"Okaaay," she says with exaggerated uncertainty in her irritating singsong voice.
I should have known she'd be pissed. Everything with her is a competition.
"Have you heard any news about Spin?" I ask trying to change the subject.
"May I sit?"
I rather you didn't.
"I'm almost finished with my lunch so–"
"That's okay. I'll just wait while you finish. I'm not ordering food or anything. Some of us have to watch what we eat."
I suppose she's referring to the alcohol and carbs on the table, and the fact that Abby is at least three sizes smaller than me.
"Some of us are happy with a little cushion," I say defending my broad childbearing hips and ample bottom.
"I guess some of us are."
I wonder if I'd get arrested for tossing this frozen strawberry daiquiri in her face. I'd be really tempted to do it if it didn't taste so damn good.
"So do you have any information on Spin or not?"
She smirks before speaking.
"Well I overheard a conversation Peter was having on the phone. He's still trying to convince them into staying. So I guess he's not going to assign them a manager yet, since he isn't even sure that they're still clients. He's still got some sweet-talking to do I suppose. Especially to Marley. From what I heard, he's the main one who wants to leave."
That's not good news.
"So when do you meet Saint Stevenson?" she asks.
Now we're getting to the real point of her inserting herself into my peaceful lunch today. She wants information. She always wants something.
"Today."
"You need any help? I can help you prepare. Maybe sit in on the meeting with you, so you don't make a complete fool of yourself when he starts talking football. I grew up with two brothers who played since pee wee league. I know a lot about the game."
She must have been drinking daiquiris too, because if she were in her right mind, she'd know that I'd never agree to that ridiculous offer. Her in the room at my first meeting? In any client meeting? So she can try to sabotage it. Hell to the no.
"I have Jason for that," I brag.
"Oh?"
"He's worked with pro athletes before. So he's advising me."
"Oh right, I do remember him telling me that the other night."
Abby is on my last nerve. She wants everything I want for no real reason other than because I want it. She wants the senior management position, but doesn't work nearly as hard as I do. She wants Spin, but doesn't even own any of their music. And then one day she must have bumped her head, woke up, and decided that she wanted Jason. She flirts with practically every man in the office, but with him it's so obvious that it's nauseating. Evidently the male ego feeds off of obvious though, because Jason seems to lap it right up.
"So ... I need to
Good grief. Is it that obvious to everybody who I work with that I don't like sports? Just because I don't participate in the various betting pools they always have going?
"It's not odd to me. I won't be teaching him how to catch a ball. I'll be managing his money."
I throw a few of Marisol's words back at Abby, but instead of what I'm saying making some sort of poignant point and shutting her up, Abby bursts out into laughter instead.
"He doesn't catch anything, silly. He's paid to throw the ball. That's what quarterbacks do. Throw the ball."
"Catch. Throw. It doesn't matter," I say slightly embarrassed. "My only job is to keep him out of bankruptcy court."
"Wow. You don't hold much regard for professional athletes do you? I think that you should perhaps have higher aspirations for your client's financial well-being other than keeping him out of trouble."
I didn't mean it like that. Dammit, this girl has the extraordinary ability to push all of my buttons.
"Thanks for your concern, Abby, but I've got it under control. I know what I'm doing or they wouldn't have given him to me."
"Okaaay," she says with exaggerated uncertainty in her irritating singsong voice.
I should have known she'd be pissed. Everything with her is a competition.
"Have you heard any news about Spin?" I ask trying to change the subject.
"May I sit?"
I rather you didn't.
"I'm almost finished with my lunch so–"
"That's okay. I'll just wait while you finish. I'm not ordering food or anything. Some of us have to watch what we eat."
I suppose she's referring to the alcohol and carbs on the table, and the fact that Abby is at least three sizes smaller than me.
"Some of us are happy with a little cushion," I say defending my broad childbearing hips and ample bottom.
"I guess some of us are."
I wonder if I'd get arrested for tossing this frozen strawberry daiquiri in her face. I'd be really tempted to do it if it didn't taste so damn good.
"So do you have any information on Spin or not?"
She smirks before speaking.
"Well I overheard a conversation Peter was having on the phone. He's still trying to convince them into staying. So I guess he's not going to assign them a manager yet, since he isn't even sure that they're still clients. He's still got some sweet-talking to do I suppose. Especially to Marley. From what I heard, he's the main one who wants to leave."
That's not good news.
"So when do you meet Saint Stevenson?" she asks.
Now we're getting to the real point of her inserting herself into my peaceful lunch today. She wants information. She always wants something.
"Today."
"You need any help? I can help you prepare. Maybe sit in on the meeting with you, so you don't make a complete fool of yourself when he starts talking football. I grew up with two brothers who played since pee wee league. I know a lot about the game."
She must have been drinking daiquiris too, because if she were in her right mind, she'd know that I'd never agree to that ridiculous offer. Her in the room at my first meeting? In any client meeting? So she can try to sabotage it. Hell to the no.
"I have Jason for that," I brag.
"Oh?"
"He's worked with pro athletes before. So he's advising me."
"Oh right, I do remember him telling me that the other night."
Abby is on my last nerve. She wants everything I want for no real reason other than because I want it. She wants the senior management position, but doesn't work nearly as hard as I do. She wants Spin, but doesn't even own any of their music. And then one day she must have bumped her head, woke up, and decided that she wanted Jason. She flirts with practically every man in the office, but with him it's so obvious that it's nauseating. Evidently the male ego feeds off of obvious though, because Jason seems to lap it right up.
"So ... I need to
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