Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 679(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
“I can read subtext,” I say.
He claps me on the back. “Let’s head to the conference room and talk business.”
And he doesn’t deny that I’m reading his text tone correctly. I follow Garrett down a corridor lined with framed jerseys and signed tennis rackets and golf clubs. There’s even a volleyball in a glass case from one of his gold medalists in that sport.
Are these other clients as difficult as I am? But I dismiss the thought. I brought him a cup a few years back. Doesn’t get much better than that. We pass by offices bustling with other agents making deals over the phone. The conference room we enter is just as swank as the rest of the office—a long mahogany table surrounded by comfortable leather chairs.
I stop in the doorway though, tilting my head. We’re not alone. A young woman I don’t know is here. She shoots me a cheerful smile that lights up her curious green eyes. She’s with my financial advisor too—John Saito. He played baseball in Japan, where he’s from, for a brief stint. Love the straight shooter and his investment strategies, but I’m not sure what to make of him showing up. Plus, there’s a whiteboard in the corner, with a sheet of paper covering it.
What the hell have I just walked into?
Garrett gestures to the woman. “This is Rosario Valdez, who’s in our branding division. And you know John.”
“Nice to meet you, Rosario,” I say warily as I shake her hand. I’m not used to meeting with the whole crew, but then again, it’s been a long-ass while since Garrett called me to his office. Come to think of it, has he ever?
A sense of foreboding wraps tighter around me as I take a seat. I’m beginning to wish I hadn’t skipped the team yoga class for this meeting, since I bet I’ll be needing something to chill the fuck out after this meet-and-greet is over.
“Good to see you, Max,” John says, but I’m wondering—is it? “Do you want water, coffee, tea?”
He doesn’t offer me an energy drink. It feels like a purposeful omission. “I’m good,” I say, and the tension in the room is obvious in their smiles and their graciousness.
Not one to mince words, I sit back in the chair and say heavily, “Just get it over with. Thrive dropped me. I’ve put that together already.”
Garrett’s smile of acknowledgement is at least kind. “Max,” he begins as he sits, his tone more serious than I’ve ever heard it. “Thrive has decided not to renew their sponsorship with you.”
Even though I knew it was coming, my lungs feel crushed, like I’m gasping for air. Thrive had been my biggest sponsor for years, providing not only financial support but also a sense of legitimacy in the sports marketing world. Without them, I’m going to lose more than just a paycheck.
It’s weird that you can brace yourself for something, that you can read the writing on the wall, and yet it’s still a gut punch when it happens. But I don’t want to let on how disappointed I am. When you let down your guard, that’s when you get sucker punched again. “Okay,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. “Any reason in particular?”
Well, besides the obvious. I’m one of the most hated men in America. That’s what happens when the world thinks you broke up with America’s sweetheart.
Garrett exhales, then steeples his hands together. “It comes down to visibility, Max. You’re not as active on social media as they would like. You’re not seen at events or engaging with fans. You’re not in the game highlights on ESPN.”
I scoff. “I beg to differ. I was the highlight of the game last night.”
“Yes, a shutout is impressive. It’s even better when you give a comment to the media,” he adds, then with a hate to mention this smile, he adds, “Also, you are kind of supposed to be available to talk to the press after games.”
I give him a look. “You know what happened when the press tried to talk to me last year. It was not about hockey.” It was all about the split with Lyra and about her new guy.
“We know,” Garrett says. “And the front office is certainly aware of the media attention that came with your last romance.”
“The breakup,” I correct, since there’s no need to be coy here. “You can say it out loud. I do know we’ve split.”
Garrett moves on with the smoothness of a good agent. “And the front office understood that a lot of things happened—”
“A lot of things happened? That is the fuck-all euphemism of the century. The press showed up at my sister’s house.”
Garrett nods, still the picture of calm. “Yes, and the front office understood you needed a break. And then, after that, they tried to help by having their PR ask you to do features and soft pieces.”