finish up my lunch and get ready for my meeting."
My subtle way of telling her to go the hell away.
"Good luck with that," she says with zero sincerity.
"Yep. Bye."
***
The frozen daiquiri I drank at lunch is doing wonders for my nerves. Must have been the top shelf rum I requested or the fact that I never drink. That's why one drink always does the job for me. It's settled me down enough to take a longer look at my file and do a little further Google research on one Mr. Saint Stevenson.
I knew there was something familiar about this guy. Seems like Saint Stevenson was a football prodigy. I must have heard of him over the years at some point. A talented kid from a famous football family who went on to become a star in college but apparently is flailing in the pros.
Explains a lot about the vibe he gives off. A sense of entitlement, with a touch of arrogance, and something to prove. I've seen it a million times with so many of our celebrity clients. Young, rich, bored and reckless.
The stage has been carefully set for my first meeting with the man they call The Gunslinger. Peter's assistant ordered a mixed hoagie tray and another tray of assorted fresh fruit, which are set up in the small conference room. Apparently this guy likes to eat.
The whiteboard and my laptop are ready for me to give a slide show presentation, and several printed materials on Carson Financial are on the table.
I've done my best to freshen up. Other than smoothing out my slightly wrinkled skirt with my hands, I've brushed my teeth in the bathroom, applied a fresh layer of blush and lipstick, and popped a mint in my mouth for good measure.
Kate, our bubbly receptionist, pops her head in with a wide grin spread across her face. "Sabrina, he's here! Should I send him back here? Are you ready for him?!"
Kate looks around the room as if she's double checking on its cleanliness or something. She's quite excited.
"I'm ready. Send him in."
"Oh hi, Jason." Kate turns her head.
"Hey, Jason," I say with surprise and a little too much brightness in my voice. I need to remember to turn it down a notch, if I don't want to appear desperate and obvious to him. I work really hard to appear as if I'm not plotting on him every single second of the day.
"I thought I'd sit in on your first meeting just in case you run into any snags." He smiles.
"Let me guess." I smile back. "Did Peter or Marisol send you in here?"
"They may have mentioned that it would be a good idea for me to drop by."
"The Carson tag team strikes again. So I take it that you've been debriefed on the fact that I'm sports illiterate and football dumb."
"Yes, I have been, but I have plans to change all of that."
"Really?"
I like the sound of that.
"Absolutely. That's what mentors do right? Instead of working dinners, I'm thinking we should have a few working game days instead. We catch a game, I explain what's going on, and then you will learn the landscape and who the major players are in no time."
"Sounds perfect!" I say, yet again too brightly.
I can't help it though. I'm excited about the possibility of us spending all that quality time together.
Kate returns to the door with my new client in tow.
"This way, Mr. Stevenson," she says as she directs him inside of the conference room. Her lips covered in a fresh coat of iridescent lip gloss, which has me wondering how she found time over the last sixty seconds to put it on. I'm seeing already how this man has an effect on women, and giving him a once over as he crosses the threshold reminds me why.
Good Lord.
Let's just say his stats don't do him justice.
I already knew that Saint Stevenson towers over most human beings on the planet, but he's also wider and even more muscular than I remembered. I think I read somewhere online that he's unusually big for a quarterback, which apparently adds to his value as a player.
He's dressed very casually in a dark gray sweat suit, white sneakers, and a New
My subtle way of telling her to go the hell away.
"Good luck with that," she says with zero sincerity.
"Yep. Bye."
***
The frozen daiquiri I drank at lunch is doing wonders for my nerves. Must have been the top shelf rum I requested or the fact that I never drink. That's why one drink always does the job for me. It's settled me down enough to take a longer look at my file and do a little further Google research on one Mr. Saint Stevenson.
I knew there was something familiar about this guy. Seems like Saint Stevenson was a football prodigy. I must have heard of him over the years at some point. A talented kid from a famous football family who went on to become a star in college but apparently is flailing in the pros.
Explains a lot about the vibe he gives off. A sense of entitlement, with a touch of arrogance, and something to prove. I've seen it a million times with so many of our celebrity clients. Young, rich, bored and reckless.
The stage has been carefully set for my first meeting with the man they call The Gunslinger. Peter's assistant ordered a mixed hoagie tray and another tray of assorted fresh fruit, which are set up in the small conference room. Apparently this guy likes to eat.
The whiteboard and my laptop are ready for me to give a slide show presentation, and several printed materials on Carson Financial are on the table.
I've done my best to freshen up. Other than smoothing out my slightly wrinkled skirt with my hands, I've brushed my teeth in the bathroom, applied a fresh layer of blush and lipstick, and popped a mint in my mouth for good measure.
Kate, our bubbly receptionist, pops her head in with a wide grin spread across her face. "Sabrina, he's here! Should I send him back here? Are you ready for him?!"
Kate looks around the room as if she's double checking on its cleanliness or something. She's quite excited.
"I'm ready. Send him in."
"Oh hi, Jason." Kate turns her head.
"Hey, Jason," I say with surprise and a little too much brightness in my voice. I need to remember to turn it down a notch, if I don't want to appear desperate and obvious to him. I work really hard to appear as if I'm not plotting on him every single second of the day.
"I thought I'd sit in on your first meeting just in case you run into any snags." He smiles.
"Let me guess." I smile back. "Did Peter or Marisol send you in here?"
"They may have mentioned that it would be a good idea for me to drop by."
"The Carson tag team strikes again. So I take it that you've been debriefed on the fact that I'm sports illiterate and football dumb."
"Yes, I have been, but I have plans to change all of that."
"Really?"
I like the sound of that.
"Absolutely. That's what mentors do right? Instead of working dinners, I'm thinking we should have a few working game days instead. We catch a game, I explain what's going on, and then you will learn the landscape and who the major players are in no time."
"Sounds perfect!" I say, yet again too brightly.
I can't help it though. I'm excited about the possibility of us spending all that quality time together.
Kate returns to the door with my new client in tow.
"This way, Mr. Stevenson," she says as she directs him inside of the conference room. Her lips covered in a fresh coat of iridescent lip gloss, which has me wondering how she found time over the last sixty seconds to put it on. I'm seeing already how this man has an effect on women, and giving him a once over as he crosses the threshold reminds me why.
Good Lord.
Let's just say his stats don't do him justice.
I already knew that Saint Stevenson towers over most human beings on the planet, but he's also wider and even more muscular than I remembered. I think I read somewhere online that he's unusually big for a quarterback, which apparently adds to his value as a player.
He's dressed very casually in a dark gray sweat suit, white sneakers, and a New
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