“Saw a picture of your new client and his girlfriend,” he says, referring to Kaden Sizemore, who happens to be the MVP QB of the Outback Bowl. “She’s not exactly destined to hit the list of Hottest Athlete WAGs.”
“Really?” WAGs is shorthand for wives and girlfriends. Certain troglodyte sports writers still like to debate (and continue to write about) which athletes have the hottest girlfriends and wives. “You think the fact that he doesn’t need a showy girlfriend makes him weak?”
“Everyone knows it indicates a lack of confidence,” he replies.
“Only dinosaurs think that way. And we all know what happened to them,” I say. “I have a helluva lot more respect for a man—and athlete—who doesn’t need a model to boost his confidence.”
I look him up and down. “Do you ever have serious relationships with real women who can string whole multi-word sentences together?”
“Me?” Hanson asks. “I think the pot may have just called the kettle black. At least from what I hear.”
I clench my jaw to keep from calling him all the names that are springing to my lips. When my phone rings, I answer it without looking. I’d rather listen to a telemarketer right now than Rich Hanson.
“Wow. I can’t believe you picked up,” my sister says. “I was going to leave you a message. But since I’ve got you, I need you to agree to a double date with us and Derrick Warren on Friday night.”
“This Friday night?” I let a pleased smile curve my lips. “You know I’d love to, but I’m afraid I’m already committed. How about the Friday after that?”
Thea is stunned into silence by my sudden capitulation but recovers quickly. “That’s the twelfth, Jazz, and I’m holding you to it.”
“Wonderful. I promise it’ll be worth the wait.” My voice is almost a purr as I hang up. I give Hanson an innocent look. “I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
When he turns and stalks silently away, I barely resist the urge to fist-pump. I’m smiling as I sail to my office. “Louise, please get Erin on the phone for me.”
“But I thought you were still . . .”
“I’ve spoken to your entire list of candidates, and we’re running out of time. The job is Erin’s if she wants it.”
“Yes, ma’am.” I know Louise is not happy when she ‘ma’am’s me, but this is my decision after all. By the time I’m at my desk, she has Erin on the line.
“Erin?”
“Yes. Hello.” Erin’s voice sounds a bit like Judith’s was at her house after the funeral. But then loss is loss, as I know too well.
“I’m calling to offer you the job as my assistant.”
This is the third stunned silence in under ten minutes.
“You must not have heard about Josh and me. He . . .”
“I heard. And I’m truly sorry, Erin. You got a raw deal. Life, and this business in particular, is full of them. But if you’re in the market for a job, I’m offering you one.”
“But . . . everyone there will know. I’ll have to face Josh.”
“Yes,” I agree, not entirely sure if she’s speaking to herself or to me. “It won’t be easy. But then I wouldn’t be offering you this position if I didn’t think you could handle difficult situations.”
The silence on the other end crackles. I imagine I can hear her thinking, weighing. But as much as I’d like to have her on my team, I’m certainly not going to beg.
“So, what’s it going to be, Erin? You’re my first choice, but there are plenty of qualified candidates.”
“Yes, I know,” she says quickly. “I can’t thank you enough for the offer and for your faith in me.”
I feel an odd smile tug at my lips. I honestly can’t tell whether she’s about to accept or decline.
“Is tomorrow too soon to start?”
Erin
It feels pretty great to have an actual reason to get out of bed, take a shower, wash my hair, and put on makeup. Not crying while I do those things feels even better. I arrive at the office embarrassingly early, something I plan to blame on yesterday’s snowstorm if anyone comments. (Hey, we got a whole inch, and everyone’s still freaking out.) Tyler told me Josh is out of town, so at least I don’t have to worry about running into him. Still, I hang out in the lobby for a while and let several elevators go without me while I work up my nerve. When I check in at the front desk, eagle-eyed for any sign of pity or surprise, Gayle, the receptionist, just smiles and tells me that Louise is expecting me.
There are brief hushes followed by murmurs as I pass by the assistants and agents-in-training that sit outside their bosses’ offices, but although my legs feel Jell-O-y, I’m here because Jazmine chose me. I manage to keep my chin up, a vague smile on my lips, and my eyes straight ahead.
“Good morning,” Louise greets me when I reach the relative safety of her desk. “Why don’t you hang up your coat and go get yourself a cup of coffee before we get started.”
“I’m all set, thanks,” I say as I remove my coat and hang it on the nearest peg. “I’m completely caffeinated and ready to go to work.”
Her expression says she knows I’m afraid to walk the gauntlet again and will starve before I brave the break room, but her tone is more motherly than drill sergeant. “So, here’s survival tip number one: When you work in a shark tank, you need to learn how to master your fear. Or at least mask it. Otherwise you’ll get ripped apart.”
“Got it.” My chin goes up another notch so that I’m practically staring at the ceiling. My shoulders go up around my ears. “No sudden moves. And no flailing or thrashing.”
This wins me a smile. “All right, then. Let’s get started. I only have nine workdays to turn you into me.”
We go over Jazmine’s schedule—despite the snow, she’s in the air and on her way to Indianapolis for the NFL Scouting Combine, which will last all week. Next week, she’ll attend a number of smaller pro days around the country. After that, Louise explains how Jazmine likes information laid out and delivered. How important it is to anticipate Jazmine’s every need. We scroll through her list of clients, which is way bigger and stronger than I realized and contains notes on their likes and dislikes, parents, spouses, children, girlfriends, birthdays, anniversaries, et cetera.
“Just to be clear, this is confidential information,” Louise says. “It is never to be shared with anyone, or even hinted at. Your lips are sealed. You are the Sphinx. Sometimes, despite best efforts, there are leaks. None of those leaks can come from you. A breach of any kind in this regard is grounds for immediate dismissal. Clear?”