“Too true.” I learned that one the hard way when I was first wooing the three-hundred-pound defensive lineman who’d had one too many lemon drop martinis. When he face-planted in a plate of ravioli, I had to figure out how to extract him without attracting undue attention.
“And your father called a few minutes ago to say that he’d pick up your daughter from school—her name’s Maya, right?”
At my nod she continues reading from the screen. “He said he can drop her off at tennis, but he won’t be able to stay and bring her home.” The girl—it’s hard to think of her as a “young woman,” whatever PC demands—drops her eyes to the schedule. “But I see your appointments take you north on Peachtree so that you won’t have far to go to get to the Chastain Park Tennis Center.”
“Yes.” I skim back over the timing of the day’s appointments. “I should have plenty of time to return calls and get over to the courts for pickup.”
“At six thirty. On the dot this time.” Erin winces. “Sorry. That’s a direct quote from your father.”
“I thought I recognized the tone.” I sigh because when you’re giving face time to an athlete you’re eager to sign or trying to keep happy, it’s hard to jump up and leave if they aren’t ready to go. “All right.”
“Please don’t worry about leaving me here. I promise I’m capable of keeping things going until Louise gets back. People have underestimated me my whole life—just because I’m short and blond. I think it’s unfair to make decisions about people just because of how they look.”
I flush as the point hits home. How many times have I been discounted just because I’m female and black? “Noted. Can you get me Matt Fein at the Hawks office? The numbers are already programmed in to . . .”
She’s already scrolling through the on-screen directory before I finish. “I’m on it. Should I buzz you when I have him on the line?”
I nod and walk to my office. When I drop into my desk chair the GM is already on hold.
The morning flies by without any noticeable missteps from my temporary assistant. By the time I head out to my lunch appointment, I’m no longer totally shocked not to see Louise behind the desk outside my office. Still, I slow for one last coaching session. “Just text or forward anything that feels serious or that you’re not sure what to do with. I’ll check in when I can. If you need help here in the office, your best bet’s probably Cameron. He’s Jake Winslow’s assistant.” I point toward the third desk to Erin’s right. Then I make myself leave.
One long lunch and a conference call later, I’m being shown to a prime table at the Bourbon Bar inside the InterContinental. Tyrone is already halfway through a very pink drink decorated with a striped straw and turquoise paper umbrella, and garnished with fat red cherries. The glass disappears completely in his ham-size hand as he lifts and drains it. The drink might be on the girly side, but Tyrone’s eyes are hard and angry.
I slide into the chair across from him and raise a hand to summon the waiter. When he arrives, Tyrone orders another drink that I hope is only his second. I order a Pellegrino and appetizers to help soak up the alcohol he’s consuming.
“What’s going on?” I ask, although I’m pretty sure I don’t really want to know.
“I thought you told me that endorsement deal with Verizon was as good as signed.”
“It is. I just spoke to them last week.”
“Well, somebody’s lyin’. And I don’t think it’s Sports Illustrated.”
“What?” It’s all I can do not to shout the word as he holds up a shiny, new copy of the magazine that won’t be on shelves for another ten days. A wide receiver named Luther Hemmings takes up most of the cover. His arm is slung around his agent’s shoulders. Both men are grinning.
“Luther got the damn deal.” Tyrone and Luther played together in college and hit the NFL draft at the same time. Their relationship teeters between love and hate, with a side of jealousy thrown in. “Five million dollars for five years.” He gestures wildly, sending the pink liquid sloshing and the turquoise umbrella flying. “That’s twenty-five million dollars. I told Lucy we were set. I told my friends it was a done deal. You made me look like a fool or a liar, and I’m not sure which one I hate worse.”
I had begged him not to say anything until the contracts were signed. But that wasn’t really the point.
I look at the agent on the cover. Rich Hanson is one of the most successful sports agents in the business and a prick of the first order. “I’ll give Dan at Verizon a call and see what’s going on.”
“You can read what’s goin’ on right here, girl.” He tosses the magazine at me. “And it ain’t me.”
“Let’s just have a bite and talk this through.”
“Ain’t nothin’ to talk about. I signed with you cuz of the way you went after things for Mo Morgan when he didn’t get signed. I knew you got yourself a law degree. And I heard good things.” He drains the last of the pink concoction and slams the glass down on the table. “But I don’t have no time for people who don’t deliver.”
His accent gets increasingly and belligerently Southern. He has conveniently forgotten the position I helped him hold on to after an altercation with a teammate. The false paternity suit I saved him from and which he told me saved his marriage.
The waiter arrives with the appetizers and places them on the table. For the first time since I’ve met him, Tyrone ignores the food completely. He scrapes back his chair and gets to his feet, intentionally towering over me and the table.
I stand to face him. I’m five-eleven barefoot. Today’s kitten heels take me to six-two, and I still have to look up to meet his eyes. “I’ll find out what happened. And I’ll make it right.”
He snorts.
“Have I ever broken a promise to you?”
He loses some of the glare. “No. Least not that I know of. But this whole thing sucks.”
“It does. But I am going to find out how this happened. And then I’m going to get you an endorsement deal that will put this one to shame.”
A small, grim smile appears on his lips. “You do that. Or I’m gonna be exercising that escape clause from our contract faster than you can say, ‘Where’d he go?’”
I continue to stand as everyone in the place watches him storm out. Then, although I’m not a particularly heavy drinker, I order a Tito’s on the rocks and sip it while I read the article in the magazine Tyrone left behind.
These deals don’t happen overnight. Which means while I was negotiating in good faith, Rich Hanson somehow snuck in and claimed the prize for his wide receiver. This is not the first time Hanson has appropriated something that was meant for one of my clients. What I don’t know and clearly need to find out is whether I’m his only target or just one of many.