Gunslinger: A Sports Romance (6 page)

The groupie's provocative questioning snaps me out of my train of thought like a splash of cold water.

"Nah, I've got a ride."

"Then how about I take your mind off of things and onto better things while you take that ride."
 

Quick and dirty girl makes her move in a tone full of sexual promise, but one I'm not really in the mood for. Usually, I rely on noncommittal girls like her to make me come hard and snap me out of the funk a bad game puts me in.
 

But not tonight.

The groupie and her Red Bull tank top remind me of something. I'm Saint fucking Stevenson and bad season or not, I should at least have endorsements flying out of my ass, and I know just the girl that can get them for me.

SABRINA

I notice it immediately. The office feels transformed the moment I walk off the elevator and into the main foyer. While Mondays are my favorite day of the week, they typically aren't anyone else's at my workplace. Yet today there seems to be a vibrancy floating through the air and bouncing around from person to person.
 

Contained excitement.

Reserved glee.

I'm not sure that I can explain it. Everything
seems
normal. My coworkers are at their cubicles with fresh lattes and small Pyrex bowls of warm oatmeal, typing away, writing on sticky notes, or texting on their cell phones about one thing or another. But something is definitely different, and I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Whatever's going on, I'm clearly the last person to know. I just hope it's a sign that I'm going to have a good mid-year evaluation.
 

"Morning, Sabrina"

"Morning, Peter."

It's common at the company for employees at my level of junior management to have mid and final year reviews with a supervisor and a senior level account manager both present in the room. In my case today that's my team supervisor Peter and my friend who's a senior account manager, Marisol.
 

"So before we get into the thick of your review, Sabrina, we wanted to talk to you about some changes that are happening within the company. Exciting changes."

My eyes widen. Oh my God, is Peter going to give me Spin? Marisol silently nods her head back and forth behind Peter's back as if she can read my mind.

Spin is one of Carson Financial's top clients. They are an award-winning, platinum-selling band, that sells out stadiums every time they tour. Their account manager Priscilla Carson just left the company after finding out her husband, and Carson Financial founder, has been having a long-standing affair with his executive assistant. So now Spin is abruptly without a full-time money manager, and the company needs to fill the spot quickly, before the group walks away from us completely and takes their money with them.
 

It's no secret at my office that there is only room for one new senior account manager to join the fold, and that both my coworker (and frenemy) Abby and I want the position. If one of us is assigned the Spin account, that will speak volumes about who's going to get the promotion. It means that we're trusted with a Tier-One, A-level client. Opportunities typically offered to only senior level or rising senior managers. For me it's a serious long shot, because I'm so young. Abby has seniority, but I truly believe I work twice as hard as she does.

"So it's just come down from the powers that be that Carson is expanding our brand. No longer will we be limited to musical entertainers, but we've now opened our doors to professional athletes. In fact, there is an entire new division of the company under development. The Carson Athletic division."

My supervisor Peter sounds almost excited as a kid on Christmas morning as he talks about this big expansion the company's making. And I get it. Athletes make tremendous amounts of money and have huge international profiles. What's not to like ... if you're management. If you're Peter. But this isn't the direction I'd hoped this conversation was going to go.
 

Now I'm starting to understand the silent head nod from Marisol. She knew I wasn't getting Spin or getting the promotion I was hoping for at all. She also knows how much I hate sports and despise professional athletes. They're just overgrown kids who get paid way more money than anyone should be allowed to earn for kicking or hitting a ball. I've never been able to understand that concept ever since I was a kid.

"We're starting off small. The Downtown office is getting three players. I think two of them are baseball and one is tennis, and our office is getting three new clients as well. One of them I feel very confident about giving to you, Sabrina. Best of all he's a football player."

Best of all?
 

"They call your new client The Gunslinger. Ring any bells?" Peter asks excitedly.

I think I'm supposed to have heard of this guy but I haven't.

"Umm, not really."

Peter chuckles, "That's all right. Marisol mentioned that you don't really follow sports. So maybe I'll have Jason help get you up to speed. He worked with ball players at his previous company. Is that okay with you?"

I'm a little shell shocked, but I go ahead and nod yes. Marisol grins like she always does whenever Jason's name is mentioned. I swear she's going to get me to the altar and popping out Jason's babies even if it kills her. She's worse than my mother, albeit a little more optimistic about getting me married.
 

"The only important things to know for now are that he's the franchise quarterback for the New York Nighthawks, he's being paid the rookie wage cap of twenty-two and a half million for four years, and he's never signed with a money manager before. His father has been taking care of his investments."

It's quiet for a moment in the room until Marisol breaks the silence with a loud clap. "That's a fantastic client, Sabrina! Congratulations, girl," she says with a little extra added enthusiasm in her voice.
 

I guess she can tell by the look on my face that I'm completely overwhelmed by Peter's news and maybe a little freaked out. I know zilch about football.

"That's right, Sabrina," Peter chimes in. "The company is giving you this account and with it is expressing pretty much everything that I planned on verbalizing in today's mid-year review. You are an excellent account manager. You have the type of work ethic and attention to detail that Carson Financial values. You've met all of your goals last quarter, and more importantly we value you as a person.

"Good work and congratulations," Peter commends as he hands me a plain manila folder with a stapled packet inside.
 

"The Gunslinger's one sheet is in here along with a portfolio of his current assets. His game and practice schedule is grueling, so unfortunately the only time he has over the next two weeks to meet with you and sign his paperwork is later today at four o'clock.
 

"When you meet with him, make sure to have him sign the contract and discuss how things work with us. I've come up with a few goals that you can discuss, which I'll email you, since I know you weren't prepared for all of this today, but feel free to run with any ideas you may come up with.
 

"I'm giving you full rein with this client, but obviously we'll be watching you closely. He's pretty important to us. So make sure you document things well. Add all significant meetings to the calendar. And just do what you do. Making sure to leave a paper trail that management can check if need be."

I accept the folder reservedly, while my brain is moving a mile a minute. Change is difficult for me. It builds a level of anxiety within me that I am working very hard to keep at bay this very minute. A trait passed down to me from my wonderful nervous Nellie of a mother.

Signs that my nerves are frayed? Well right now I am dying for a bag of potato chips and a Pepsi, and it's only nine in the morning. Grease and sugar cravings are a sure giveaway that I'm spiraling.
 

I'm dying to ask Peter why the hell he gave
me,
of all people, this particular client.
Is this some sort of test?
I want to yell at Marisol and tell her to stop laughing at me with her eyes, because trust me, she's cracking up at the fact that I'm silently unraveling. And most of all, I want to smack myself for being so ungrateful. While any sane person would look at this meeting as a sign that their career trajectory is on the right track, and be jumping up and down with excitement, all I can seem to dwell on are all the things that could go wrong, very wrong.
 

Number one. Carson Financial is known for its management of music entertainers. That is what we specialize in. That is where most of the managers' passions lie (such as myself), and it is where most of our connections are, with companies that want to do business with music entertainers. We (I) don't know the first thing about athletes.

Number two. I don't like sports. I don't watch football, baseball, soccer, hockey, or tennis. I don't even watch the Olympics. Winter or summer. And when the sports segment comes on the evening news, I turn the sound down and read a book. Some of my attitude might have to do with the fact that I suck at sports, some of it might have to do with a little crush I had on a very evil baseball player in high school, but mostly it has to do with the fact that I have a big problem with grown men being overpaid to do what they've been doing since they were three years old ... play. Imagine someone paying me millions of dollars to play Words With Friends on my cell phone? Now that would be freakin' awesome.

Number three. I don't want any new accounts distracting me from my real mission. Becoming a senior account manager. There's no doubt that this ball player is probably young, dumb and has more money than he knows what to do with; how on earth am I going to impress management when I'm going to be stuck with such an unpredictable client. If they would just give me Spin, this would be so easy.

I just love their story. Three high school friends, determined not to sell out, writing socially conscious music in their garage, determined to share their art with the world. Doing a lot of pop-up shows for free, so that all their fans have the opportunity to see them live. And the lead singer Marley. On top of the fact that he's gorgeous, the texture and tone of his voice is haunting and makes you feel like he's singing directly to you. About you. For you.

I'm a numbers girl, and I don't have an artistic bone in my body, so I really respect people who have the gift to create art like that and are brave enough to share it with the world. Not to mention that they make a ton of money at it, and from what Marisol has told me about them, they not only make great money but they spend it wisely. They often give a lot of it away to meaningful charities. Never seeking any press or recognition for their good deeds. Who on earth wouldn't want to have them as a client? Who wouldn't look good with them on their roster?

Ugh. I can feel my nerves churning inside of my stomach like a mixture of bad barbecue and warm beer. This is so off my plan. A huge detour. I have to become a senior manager in the next twelve to eighteen months if I want to stay on track. If I don't, then I'm going to have to re-evaluate my plan, which I really don't want to do. Because like I said, I hate change.

But if this is some sort of test from management, then perhaps I need to look at this whole thing differently. Maybe try altering my way of thinking. This could be a massive opportunity for me if I handle things correctly. Make the most out of it. Bide my time. And then I'm sure I'll get what I deserve eventually. I've got good people in my corner like Marisol and Jason. Yeah, I'm just going to have to bide my time.

"Thank you so much, Peter. I know that this is an amazing opportunity, and I'm honored that you've offered it to me."

"You've earned it, kid. Remember four p.m. in the small conference room. I'll have Dawn order a platter or something and put it in there. You like Pepsi right?"

"Yes, but make it diet," I say brightly. Surprised that he remembers such an irrelevant piece of trivia about me. But I guess that's why he's the boss. He is excellent with small details, and he knows how to make everyone feel special.
 

"And that, my friend, brings your mid-year evaluation to a close." Marisol throws her arm around my shoulders.
 

"Any questions about the account can be directed to me or your mentor Jason." She winks.
 

"Great." I smile. "Thank you, both."

Peter gets up to leave first, and as soon as the door closes behind him, I snap my head around to Marisol in an almost panic. She throws her hand up to stop me before I can even blurt anything out first.

"Stop it. I know what you're going to say. You still want Spin. You hate sports. You don't think that you can do this. But trust me when I say that they wouldn't give you a twenty-two million dollar client if they didn't have plans on making you a senior level manager very soon. Also, look at it this way, it's the perfect excuse for you to work with Jason even more. He is the only senior level here with experience working with athletes."