Chapter Eight
Parker
Seeing her, this close, no lights or reporters blocking my view, it was the first time I’d seen her since I was a freshman.
It fried my circuits. I’d learned early on in college that when something throws you for a loop, cover it up with cockiness, not confidence.
It was a lesson I had to fall back on, standing there in Lily’s office, a bunch of people from her world staring at me. I was feeling like turning some tables into kindling, and she walked up. I reverted to the same survival instincts that had gotten me to the level of being a first round lock for the NFL draft. Everyone called it cockiness, but I still like to think of it as just having a damned sense of humor.
That doesn’t mean I wasn’t still pissed off. I was . . . until she kept interrupting me and smiling at me, and at that point, as the anger left, I realized what it was all along. I still had a thing for Lily Morgan and instead of arguing with her, I wanted to be in front of her, on my knees, putting my arms around her and kissing her as she sat there on that couch. But like I said, cockiness is a shield. I wasn’t feeling that confident.
“No, I’m not trying to drive you crazy. Well, maybe a little. Is it working?” she asked with a smile that I wasn’t sure was real, or a ploy to defuse the situation.
“Look, I don’t understand why you didn’t even give me a chance to talk with you.”
“We’re talking now,” she declared.
“It’s a little late for that now,” I explained.
“Why?”
“Because you– I–, the article. Christ!” I rambled.
She laughed. It got to me.
I pulled in a deep breath and settled my gaze on hers. “You know I never forgot you,” I said quietly.
That shut her up. “In the tunnel, I– it sure seemed like you had.”
“I couldn’t even see you. And, I mean, your voice—”
“What about my voice?”
I laughed, “Well, the last time I heard a tone like that, it was after my brother and me lit my mattress on fire and nearly burned down the house. My mom used that tone of voice.”
“You lit your mattress on fire?” she asked in disbelief.
“He dared me.”
“Oh, that explains it.” She smirked.
“After reading your article this morning, I know how the mattress felt. We barely got that thing outside in time. It burst into flames and sent black smoke up over the whole neighborhood.”
She laughed. “So, you really couldn’t see me in the tunnel?”
“No. The lights were in my eyes just right. I couldn’t see half the people standing there.”
She seemed to ponder this for a moment. “Well, look, I’m sorry. I can’t really retract it at this point, but I can make you a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” I raised an eyebrow.
“If you really aren’t like all those other assholes I’ve run into since I started this career. If you aren’t just some bad boy who’s getting set to flame out, heading straight toward headlines that will scream about drugs and women, maybe even jail or worse. If you are, in fact, a good guy, then prove it. If you can, give me a chance to write about it. I’ll write a real apology and set the world straight.”
“Why do you care?” I asked.
She stopped for a second, and I saw that girl who’d interviewed me in my dorm room. With a soft smile, she responded, “Because I never forgot you, either.”
Right then, if someone would have held up a magazine called Parker’s Fucked Up Brain and flipped the pages, it would have gone right through images in high school of me and Jason laughing, then suddenly his funeral, then Lily interviewing me, and right to one of our senior linebackers on our college team slamming into me, the first time I’d ever really been hit hard in my life. It would have flashed through the years of sweat and girls I never really got to know, just to come full circle back to the present with Lily sitting across from me.
She was studying me, and I guess whatever was going on inside was right there on my face because she looked concerned. I didn’t know what to say and the walls I was used to hiding behind immediately went up. I pushed back on the memories of opening up to Lily during that interview those years ago. I hadn’t done that with anyone since. That’s what had kept me focused on football. I didn’t need to change that now.
“I’ve got a meeting at Thorne Enterprises,” I declared in a very business-like tone.
She nodded and stood from her seat across from me, went to her desk, and brought back her business card. “Look, don’t worry about any deal with me. You’ve got enough on your plate. You be careful with those sharks, okay? Just…call me if need anything.”
I took the card and then she surprised me again. She hugged me. I wrapped my arms around her and felt her perfect body, how soft she was. I was about to try to breathe in her hair when I realized I had to let go. I didn’t even trust myself to look in her eyes again, so I turned around and got out of there before making an even bigger idiot of myself.
* * * * *
I still had a couple of hours to kill. I spent them walking. I wished I could have been somewhere, maybe a thousand years before, in the middle of the kind of woods that don’t really exist anymore, just me and the quiet.
So I walked through the city streets, not a clue where I was going. I let myself get nice and deep into feeling sorry for myself, not something I’ve ever done before. Instead of being happy that I was about to be rich, on my own, with no help from Daddy’s bank account, I kept thinking money wasn’t all that big a deal in the real picture. It never made Jason happy, and it sure as hell wasn’t bringing him back.
Snap out of it, Parker, I told myself. I had no reasons to be unhappy.
A phenomenally well-tuned wolf whistle brought me out of my self-scolding. A group of college-aged girls outside of a boutique were pushing a rack of clothes from the ramp of a delivery truck into the front doors. The sound had come from them. They giggled when I looked up.
“Nice whistle!” I acknowledged.
“If you want, I’ll teach you how,” a blonde responded.
She wore a shirt with such a wide neck it fell all the way off one shoulder, showing a tattoo I couldn’t quite make out that trailed under her bra strap and down. I’m not against piercings as a rule or anything, but usually, I don’t go for quite the amount she had working. Nose, lip, and when she’d spoken I could see a stud in her tongue. She made it work.
“Would I have to get my tongue pierced?” I asked.
“Actually, it helps,” she admitted.
“Do it again,” I demanded with amusement.
She made a cute shape with her lips, and I could see her tongue bend, with the gold stud right in the middle. She whistled again.
I told her what I thought. “Jesus, you’re perfect.”
She stepped back and considered me. “You look like you fell off the cover of a magazine. Do you have any tats?”
“Not yet.”
“Oh, baby, blank canvas,” she purred.
“I’ve got to be somewhere, but I’m not going to be happy if I don’t get to hear that whistle one more time.”
“Give me your phone,” she said, holding her hand out.
I grinned and handed it over.
“I’m Delilah.”
When she said it, her tongue stud flashed, and I laughed. “You sure are. I’m Parker.”
“See you, Parker.”
I don’t even know why I did it — got her number, I mean. Just habit, I guess. Seeing her again certainly could have been a hoot, but the second I walked away, my mind went right back to Lily.
I checked the time. Then I checked the map. I was too far away to make it to Thorne Enterprises on foot without being late, so I flagged down a cab.
Less than ten minutes later, I was out front of Thorne Enterprises, right on time. A valet opened the door. I reached for my wallet, but the valet just grinned and said to the driver, “We’ve got it.”
The man grunted and pulled away.
I squinted and watched the cabbie pulling away without any cash in hand. I turned a curious eye to the valet. “How’s that work?” I asked.
“They invoice us through email. I spotted the meter and will let accounting know. We’ll tip him twenty percent.”
“Cool. I’m Parker.”
“Nice to meet you, I’m Oscar. If you’ll come with me, I’ll take you up to Tristan’s office.”
“Right behind you.”
When I walked into the lobby a pair of gorgeous girls behind a huge, curved desk near the entrance smiled at me. Before I could even say “hi,” I noticed a projection taking up an entire wall down near the elevators. It was a highlight reel of me. There was a commentator superimposed on the screen, talking about me.
“In Parker’s first year after red-shirting, he set an all SEC record for receptions exceeding twenty yards, and most of those yards were gained after the catch.”
The screen showed a collage of me in four equal panels, making catches and pulling four different moves on the closing tacklers. I remembered every single play and stood there watching as the elevator doors opened. I was about to ask Oscar to hold on. I wanted to see the rest of it. Then I noticed it was also playing on a screen inside the elevator, synched in perfect time, so all we had to do was step in and keep watching.
“Even more impressive, his quarterback that year went undrafted, and the offensive line consisted of two freshmen and two sophomores. It was a rebuilding year. Here’s what his head coach had to say.”
Coach’s face came up on the screen. “Parker was more than a surprise. It wasn’t that we didn’t know he was special—after all, we gave him a full ride. But when we put him on the field the first time, I’ll never forget the way the other coaches and I looked at each other. Some of our seniors, too. Now, I have a reputation. I look out for my players, but that doesn’t mean I tell anything other than the truth. NFL teams know that. And I am telling you, when you think of Parker Starr, there’s only one word you’ve got to understand: quality.”
I think my jaw was nearly on the floor by this point. The most Coach had ever said to me was, “Good job, Parker.” And that’s when he wasn’t chewing my ass out.
When the elevator doors opened again, there was another projection screen, still in sync.
Tristan Thorne was standing there. He grinned, shook my hand, and said quietly, “Parker, this just came out of the editing room. I haven’t seen the final cut either. Let’s watch in the conference room.”
I walked with him down the hall. He opened the door, and we stepped into a room with a very cool circular table, hollow in the middle, with a bunch of panels that seemed to grow inward from the outside ring. People had these panels pulled out so they could work and eat and watch the projection that was playing on both of the end walls. A couple of people looked up and started to greet me, but the others shushed them and bounced French fries right off their heads. It made me laugh.
We sat at one of the ends, people smiling and nodding at me, giving me thumbs up, but just as interested in the video about my college career. I was shocked when, at the end, they’d even managed to get footage of me and Grogan bench pressing together at the combines.
When it was done, the room applauded.
Tristan stood up, grinning at the room. “Good job, everyone. Parker, should we agree to work together, this our team. We all have clients, but we also watch each other’s backs and help out whenever one of the firm’s clients needs anything.”
Then he waved an arm wide, holding an open hand toward me. “Parker Starr.”
I stood, feeling like I should say something. “I sure didn’t expect something like that video. Thank you.” And because I felt like I needed to add something, I said, “It would be great to work with you.”
I was wondering what was about to come next, but Tristan didn’t let it get awkward. “Alright, back to work.”
Most of the people gave me a smile as they left. A few stayed where they were, inside that weird, cool table, with sections that I could now see actually folded out from beneath the middle, and seemed to be made of enough layers to keep folding, in any direction the group wanted. Not that I’d say it out loud, but it made me feel like a kid looking at some kind of wooden puzzle toy. I wanted to play with the damn thing.
“Parker, that video is yours, whether we come to any kind of agreement or not. If you decide to work with another firm, take it with you, and we’ll be happy to sign off on it. They can use it.”
I laughed. “Thanks, I noticed your logo on the screen the whole time.”
“Well, it is translucent. Subtle, don’t you think?”
I grinned because he was. I followed him farther across the room until we reached a desk where a knockout brunette stood to greet us.
“This is Amy Nolan,” Tristan said. “She’s well, indispensable.”
“Nice to meet you, Amy. If I sign with Thorne Enterprises, are you going to be my agent?”
She smiled and let out a chuckle. “Well, no, I’m Tristan’s PA.”
“Oh, I get it. Well, I mean this as a compliment when I say that’s too bad.” I gave her a little wink to let her know I was joking, and she just smiled bigger, maybe even blushed, but I didn’t try to lay it on any thicker. Tristan’s jaw tightened and I couldn’t really get a read on what it meant. I wasn’t sure if he might have been annoyed with the flirting or if he just wanted to get on with business. He sure wasn’t trying to lay on the kind of charm I was used to getting from all kinds of people who wanted a piece of me. I respected that, but I also wondered if maybe there was something more going on between him and the pretty brunette. None of my business, but I cut the crap just in case.
“Parker, you hungry?” he asked.
“You know, after leaving the Sports Digest offices this morning, I never even thought about eating. I’m starved.”
He cocked his head a notch and looked at me with an unchanging expression. “You went to their offices?”
“Sure did. Sat down with Lily Morgan and gave her a piece of my mind.”
He had a good poker face. Even at college I had enough PR people in my grill all the time to know when I had done something to set them walking around like someone slid an unexpected pole up their ass. As unpleasant a visual as that is, it’s how they’d walk around if someone snapped a photo of me coming out of a frat house at two a.m…or a sorority for that matter. Then they’d start in with the, “We’re not in a position to tell you how to live your life, but…”
It always made me think they stayed up at nights wishing they were in exactly that kind of position. As though their perfect athlete had a slot in the back of their skull where they could insert a hand and move our mouths for us, and maybe even put in the ideas and decisions they’d pre-approved and sanitized for public consumption. I was always tempted to act just as freaked out as they’d get sometimes, and demand they come do some suicide sprints on the field with us before acting like they knew what made up the right kind of football player.
That’s why I was even more impressed as Tristan gave me a smile that had nothing but respect in it. I could see he was thinking, but he wasn’t freaking out.
“Amy—” he turned to his PA and didn’t have to say another word.
“I’ll have them send something right up,” she assured him immediately
“Thanks.”
We walked back down the hall, through another room that was filled with people on phones and typing at their keyboards.
“We call it the bullpen. Staff here supports the agents. Anytime anyone isn’t available directly, the call goes to their PA. If the PA is also unavailable, it comes in here. Every person in here is qualified and keeps up on the important things going on with our clients. They all have a calendar of events and any other dates of note that could in any way be important, right down to dry cleaning schedules if that’s the kind of assistance you want,” Tristan explained.
“Really?”
“Yes. Some of our clients prefer to handle that kind of stuff themselves, especially after a couple of years in the pros. Others just let us do it. Some services do come at a cost, but because we handle a large enough volume, in some areas we can even save you money compared to contracting directly. It depends a bit on which city you end up in, and where you keep your homes. But when it comes to cleaning services, drivers, personal secretary kind of stuff, just about anything that allows you to keep your life as simple and focused, or as busy and packed as you choose, we make a point of finding the best and getting you the best price. We don’t make any profit on those kinds of services, but you do have to pay costs.”
I glanced at him. It was smooth the way he went from talking in terms of might and would, to “you do.” If I wasn’t already impressed, I might have minded, but I didn’t completely let him get away with it.
“Other agencies do the same, I’m guessing. I’ll learn that when I explore my options, won’t I?”
What he said next surprised me. “Not one of them does the same. Every other agency makes a profit off their menu of services. Some of them are pretty up front about it, others pencil you to death in the contract and through the accounting department. One reason I started Thorne Enterprises was so that athletes could count on simple, straightforward contracts. I’m the lawyer and their agent. I make my money when my clients are at their best. And they’re at their best when they are totally focused and know they have absolute trust.”
“Is there any such thing as absolute trust?” I asked as he opened the door to his office and ushered me in.
I had to admit, he had one hell of a view. We stood there staring out over the city while I waited for his response. “Parker, that’s damn good question. I think anything I could say to answer it would be just words. I’d mean them, and they’d be real, but still just words. Would you like to have a conversation with Drake Mathison?”
“He’d shill for you?” I grinned when I said it and felt relieved when Thorne smiled back.
“You never know with Drake, but yeah, I think he’d have good things to say about me, otherwise I wouldn’t have suggested it. But he’ll be blunt.” He laughed as he finished the sentence.
So far, I was more than impressed. I knew this must all have been part of his routine, but it was a pretty damn good routine.
Amy appeared in the doorway and announced that our food had arrived. We sat on the couches as the young delivery guy opened up a big brown paper bag and the smell hit me, making my mouth start flooding like a dog who hears the can opener.
“Damn! Barbecue?” I looked at Tristan suspiciously.
“Your wide receiver coach told me. I send him tickets every once in awhile in exchange for completely benign information on potential clients, like, for example, their favorite food. Dig in. It’s the best in the city. They’ve got this tiny little counter that looks like a child’s toy next to a brick oven the size of a building. Never driven by without seeing a line halfway down the block.”
“But we’ve been in here like ten minutes.”
Tristan shrugged and grinned. “I might know a guy.”
I started eating and must have lost my bearings for a while. Tristan was there on the couch across from me, his jacket somewhere, sleeves rolled up, barbecue sauce all over his hands. Every little tinfoil-wrapped package that came out of the bags held another mound of bliss: pork ribs, chicken, potato salad, garlic bread, brisket with a black peppery crust and dark pink smoke line that went so deep, it almost touched in the middle. There were two kinds of sauce, one spicy, and I couldn’t tell what I liked better. When I finally started coming back to my surroundings I saw sticky barbecue up to my wrist, crusty bits included. I might have been embarrassed except if anything, Tristan was worse. With his mouth full he looked up and called out, “Amy! Help!”
“Coming.” I didn’t even want to look up as she giggled, but I couldn’t help checking out her calves as she handed over a steamy, wet towel to each of us. An actual hand towel. As Tristan and I used most of the square footage of the cloth to clean ourselves, Amy left and came back with a lined trash can. Tristan dumped all the carnage from the table in front of us in first, then we tossed in our towels.
I started to stand to help her carry it out, but she put a surprisingly firm hand on my shoulder and said, “You men talk.”
As she pushed me back down, I grinned up at her. She gave my shoulder a little squeeze. I’m used to that. Since my sophomore year in high school, people have always done that extra little test, like “Is it real, or does he wear his pads around?”
“Thanks,” I said. “That was the best barbecue I’ve ever had. Don’t tell anyone I said that. There’d be a lot of hurt feelings at Loui’s.” I am dead serious when I say one huge deciding factor in choosing my school was that barbecue joint and the same is true for a whole lot of the guys who played there.
“That’s one thing you’ll learn about me, Parker—I keep my clients’ secrets, even if it would be in their interests to leak them,” he assured me.
“For example?”
“Well, hang on.” He pulled out his phone, set it to speaker, and made a call. He set it on the table, and I could hear it ringing.
“Yo, I’m working out,” the voice on the other end announced.
“Sorry, Drake, I’ve got Parker here,” Tristan stated.
“Starr, that you?” Drake asked.
“Uh, yeah.” There are not many people that can actually make me nervous. That is deliberate on my part, the whole confident and cocky line I’d been straddling since that first week in college. But I wasn’t prepared to be on the phone with Drake Mathison.
“Nice fucking catch and run kid,” Drake said to me.
I knew the play he was talking about. “Thanks. You too.”
He laughed. “Oh yeah? Which one?”
I actually panicked and looked up at Tristan, but Drake continued, “Just fuckin’ with you. Thanks, kid. So, why am I being interrupted when I should be lifting?”
Tristan broke in. “Drake, I’m trying to brag about myself a bit—”
“Oh, shit, not your ‘presentation,’” he grumbled.
“It’s gotten better. Ask the kid, am I showing you charts, laying it on thick, right?” Tristan petitioned.
I grinned and said, “Welllll…”
“Fuck, Parker, run while you can,” Drake said.
Tristan looked like some kind of abused, yet infinitely patient, dorm assistant dealing with a bunch of freshmen after their first party away from home.
“Does he have that Saint-Tristan-the-Long-Suffering look on his face?” Drake asked me.
I lost it. Laughing hard and letting it out along with the last bit of nervousness I’d been feeling that day, I said, “Definitely.”
“Good. Okay, Tristan, what is it? I really gotta get back to my set,” Drake told him.
“I just want to tell him about your sneaker drives,” Tristan declared.
There was silence, then Drake asked, “Why?”
“Because I managed to brag that I keep my clients’ secrets even when it’s not in their best interests, at least not when it comes to image, contracts, expanding their charity. And since this is a secret—”
“I get it, I get it,” Drake moaned. There was another pause. “Kid, you’re going to keep it to yourself, right?”
“Yes, Drake, definitely,” I assured him.
“You signed yet?” Drake asked.
“Uh, not yet.”
“So, even if you go somewhere else, this doesn’t leave Tristan’s office, got it?” Drake demanded.
“Got it,” I agreed.
“Fine, Thorne. Go ahead and tell him. Take it easy, Parker. See you.”
“Thanks, Drake.” He’d already hung up.
Tristan waited until I looked up. “You’ve seen those pictures of Drake handing out shoes, right?”
“Uh, I think, yeah. Usually a bunch of kids around.”
“Well, what you don’t know, what he won’t let us talk about with anyone, in spite of my urging and his fiancée’s, is that when Drake is hanging out with all those kids and goofing off, there’s more to it than just that. He’s paying a whole staff of phenomenal people — child psychologists, people who spent years in social services working with the young, nutritionists — they attract kids from the poorest neighborhoods and whenever they find one in real need, showing any signs of just needing that extra hand in the family to keep from falling through the cracks, Drake makes sure they get whatever help they need. Whether it’s food, help with transportation, maybe even relocating to a place where they won’t get evicted, or worse.”
“Wait, what?” It wasn’t that I wasn’t listening, well, I guess it was, but I was still enjoying the fact I had just gotten off the phone with Drake Mathison.
Tristan waited as I replayed what he’d said in my mind. Then I looked at him. “That must cost him, what?”
“Over a million dollars last year. His staff works full time. If he let us run one single advertisement, we could raise enough money for the charity and he wouldn’t need to pay even a tenth of the overheads from his own pocket. Considering all he’s done to get it off the ground, it would be more than fair.”
“Why won’t he advertise?” I asked.
“Well, I believe part of it is that it’s personal for him. He doesn’t want kids to think someday he’s doing it for the attention. But what he told me is also very true. If word gets out he’s doing more than giving away a bunch of shoes, then some people who don’t really need the help will try to take advantage. It’d make the jobs of all those people doing such great work much more difficult.”
I had to process it. I knew professional athletes, almost all of them, gave back. Whether they were working off relatively small salaries compared to the superstars or had hit it big with tens of millions of dollars of guaranteed money coming in, most gave either time or money, or both. College teams even offered lectures for their players who were going into the draft about how to pick the right kind of charity, how not to get taken advantage of, but it was all something I’d kind of filed away for later.
“How long’s he been doing this?” I asked.
“He started his rookie year, but then it was just giveaways. He hasn’t told me the details, and I haven’t asked, but I think he saw a kid who was hungry at one of the first ones and it went from there.”
Mathison’s rookie contract was big, no doubt, but he hadn’t signed the monster deal until just this year when it made the headlines he was staying with his team long term.
“You’ve got that look I’ve seen before,” Tristan proclaimed.
“What’s that?”
“Like someone who just realized it’s time to start thinking about the big picture.”
“I guess that’s true,” I admitted.
“You know what Drake did?”
“What’s that?”
“I had just started out on my own after a few years at 360. I gave him my presentation, the one he never fails to give me shit about, but there must have been something worthwhile in there. He gave me a shot. But he also laid down the law for me. He said he wanted to focus on nothing but football, and he didn’t want to be handled. If he decided to go goof around with a bunch of kids in the park, he didn’t want me telling him to wait for a photographer or call reporters. If any of our PR people had a problem with his image, it was their problem. Look, Parker, Drake’s different from others, but you might have some similarities, too. He had a better sense of what worked for him when it comes to public perception than anyone else. A lot of players don’t have that. They want the coaching, and a little help learning how not to step in a seven-foot pile of shit.”
“I like the idea of being able to focus,” I told him.
“Good. After Drake gave me his directions, in that particular style he has,” Tristan rolled his eyes, “I came up with a plan. It was forty damned pages long. Then me and my team boiled it all down to a single page, and gave it to Drake.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, for example, you know he’s got a place here in town?” Tristan asked.
“I didn’t.”
“Yeah, he grew up here. He handled all of that. Hands off for us. But his home down near the stadium? We hired the realtor, the designer…we made it so all he had to do was move in and be ten minutes from the team’s facilities. The trick for us was to spend his money so that the home was ideal for him, but would also be a smart investment. Some players know exactly what they want in their home, right down to the brands of furniture, and how they’re going to build out their entertainment center, from the speakers to the acoustic wall covering, to the square inch. Drake wanted all that, so when his teammates came over they’d have a blast, but he didn’t spend a second figuring it out. Our designer did it all. And if he sold the place right now, along with everything in it, his profit would definitely exceed what he would have earned from a savings account.”
“And this is the kind of service you were talking about before, that others charge for, but which you only pass on cost?” I asked.
“Yes. We make our money on your contract. That means we negotiate all of your deals as a player, which is basically just your team contract and your endorsements. It’s a lot of work, but we’re good at it. The rest? Help with PR, keeping all the nagging details off your plate when it comes to the daily bullshit that piles up, everything we can do to make your life simple, straightforward, and cost effective, so you know you have your back covered while you go play a sport that requires everything you can give…all that is what we consider protecting and maximizing our investment.”
“But I heard Drake almost dumped you guys before he signed his big contract,” I said.
“That’s true.”
“Why? I mean, why’d he almost dump you, and if you’re saying you put this long term investment into your clients, why didn’t you have him locked up for that negotiation?”
Tristan smiled. “Well, to answer your second question first, Drake’s smart. He wouldn’t let us lock him in beyond his rookie contract. It’s not like I wouldn’t have wanted to. I wanted to represent him badly enough that I didn’t try to press too hard on an issue I knew was going to be a non-starter with him. And as to why he almost dumped me, he thought I wasn’t doing my job. He was wrong, but I refused to tell him why.”
“Mind if I ask what you mean? Why?”
He sighed and looked at the ceiling. “I wish I could say for sure. Maybe it was ego. My feelings were hurt. I shouldn’t admit that in this cutthroat business, but there it is. Drake is my friend. The truth, Parker, is I think we were both half nuts.”
He took a breath like he was going to say more, but then stopped and smiled, and just shrugged. I liked it. I don’t know why. Maybe I should have pressed for more, or been worried about an agent who—even if he admitted it—let his emotions and ego get in the way of business. My job was going to be emotional, it had to be. Maybe I should have been looking for someone who knew how to check that at the door so I could rely on him to keep a clear head when I most needed it, but that wasn’t what I was feeling at the moment.
“So, do you have a proposal for me?” I pressed.
“Standard industry percentage for our commission plus actual costs invoiced for services you select. We give you a one page letter of intent to examine, and the full contract is twenty pages. It’s the shortest, by far, of any agency’s in the business. The appendices are where it gets longer, but not much. They contain the last five years of average costs for services, the names of the providers we use depending on your residences, and there’s one other thing,” he added.
“I figured.”
“Anyone that signs with us who is younger than twenty-five, we insist you take at least 20% of your income to one of fifty financial advisors in the US with instruction to invest with maximum security for your retirement years.”
“Fuck that,” I announced.
He didn’t even blink. Actually, he smiled. “That’s just what Drake said. And yes, I do have his permission to tell my prospective clients.”
“I don’t need to be babysat,” I argued.
“I know. And I would feel the same way in your shoes. But I started my business because I knew I could do a better job taking care of my clients’ interests than the others. Actually, several of the other top agents in the business have a very similar clause, except they have a shorter list of financial advisors. Some of them have in-house financial advisors. That’s too chummy, in my book.”
“Hey, I’m going to invest more than that anyway. I’m not going to be one of those guys who’s broke in their early thirties and wondering what to do with the rest of their lives.”
“Not if you’re my client you’re not. Look, I’m glad to hear it, but I’ve been doing this for a while now, Parker. I’ve seen too many athletes receive bad advice. What seems secure, even to some experts, ends up having a hidden risk they never see coming. That’s just life. But the best advisors know how to spread the wealth, literally. So, if there’s a market crash or large fluctuation in interest rates and inflation, runs on banks, the whole ball of wax we thought used to only happen in the old days, you’re protected. I don’t think you want to go get a graduate degree in economics and international finance just to be able to speak the language. Hell, I’m a lawyer and a businessman, and I use one of the advisors on that list for twenty percent of my income, too.”
“Which one?” I questioned.
“I’ll tell you if you really want, but I’d prefer not to. The whole list was compiled based on industry performance, independent ratings agencies, reports in top business publications, and more direct, personal references than I can remember. Which reminds me, you’ve heard of the big bash we throw every year, right?”
“Uh, no. Maybe. I think I saw some pictures.”
His expression fell slightly.
“It’s only become the biggest party of the year outside of televised events. Instead of scattering a lot of promotions throughout the year, we do one major event. Four years ago, it was just clients, some main sponsors, and journalists. Now, it’s got all the top sports media, a ton of entertainment press. A-listers from Hollywood, top pop stars—I mean the ones not performing would pay to just get in—you really haven’t heard of it?” he asked.
“I’m just yanking your chain. Every player in college would give their left nut to go to the Thorne Enterprises party.”
He smiled. At least he had a sense of humor. “Look, Parker, don’t make up your mind today. I’m not saying I wouldn’t love to sign you right now, but I think picking your agent is even more important than your rookie contract. Look around. I’ll even give you a list of who I think my top competitors are, the ones I know are reputable who at least try to take care of their clients as much as we do.”
“Is Liam Rose on that list?” I wondered how he was going to react to me bringing up his old boss at 360 Sports. Everyone in football knew there was some bad blood between the two.
“No.”
“I hear 360’s turning things around.”
“I’ve heard that, too,” he said in a way that clearly conveyed he didn’t believe it.
“Is your problem with them personal or professional?”
“Both. Anyone who tells you there’s a difference is lying.”
“That doesn’t sound like a business approach to me,” I said.
Tristan’s expression transformed from thoughtful to grim. It suddenly seemed like his eyes could melt sand. “Parker, you ever hear the phrase, ‘treat man as man?’”
“Uh, maybe.”
“How about ‘business is business?’” he asked.
“Of course.”
“There are too many people in this world who think the latter gives them an excuse not to do the former. Do me a favor, will you?”
“Sure.”
“Think about it. If you’re someone who doesn’t get or doesn’t agree with that philosophy, then I promise you, I don’t have the slightest bit of hard feelings, but you’re not for me, and I’m not for you.”
My stomach knotted a little and something caught in my throat. It shocked me. I’d gone from thinking of myself going through lists of services like a menu, letting people who knew what the hell they were doing taking care of things I didn’t even want to think about, concentrating on cashing my checks and training, practicing, focusing…to being out in the cold, heading off to some room full of suits who were going to smooth talk my rookie ass into something I’d hate for the rest of my life.
“What the fuck?” I muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“I want to know what just happened,” I declared.
Tristan pursed his lips and squinted at me like he was guessing my weight.
“Parker, what I just did was the classic salesman’s takeaway. But the difference between me and a whole lot of others is, I didn’t set you up for it, I really meant every word. I’m a damn good businessman. One of the best you’ll ever meet. I make hard business decisions without looking back, but business is not fucking business. There are a lot of billionaires on this planet who disagree with me, probably would laugh at me for being naïve. So be it. I started my business to run it my way, based on the experiences I’ve been through and the philosophy I bring to my life. I think it’s the best way, but it’s certainly not the only way.”
I thought for a bit. “Takeaway, huh?”
“That’s what they call it,” he stated.
“You’re right, I’ve got a lot to think about.” I thought I meant it, but as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. I was sold. I wanted to sign right then and there.
He nodded and stood up, extending his hand. I didn’t even want to leave, but what else was I going to do? I got up and shook his hand.
“The party’s next week, Thursday night. Whatever you decide, will you come?”
I thought maybe I should act like I’d have to think about that, too, but whatever I am, I’m not some phony asshole. I didn’t even hesitate. “Hell yes, I’ll be there.”
“Great. Amy will get you an invitation. You’ll need it to get in the door, but hey, so will the Commissioner. Bring a friend if you like.”
“The Commissioner? As in of the NFL?” I said in amazement.
“Of course. Half the owners will be there, too.”
We walked to his door, which he opened. “Amy, would you mind taking Parker down?”
“Not at all,” she said with a smile.
“Parker, it was great meeting you. I’ll see you at the party,” Tristan said.
“Nice meeting you, too, Tristan.”
Amy walked with me to the elevator. “Parker, I’ve emailed you Tristan’s and my contact information along with a link to your video online. It’s already gotten a thousand hits today, by the way.”
“You guys put it up?”
“We figured you wouldn’t mind,” she replied.
“Hell no, that thing looks like a damn Under Armour ad!”
She laughed, and I couldn’t help noticing how great her laugh was. I made a few flirtatious comments because, I’m a guy, that’s what we do around beautiful women. But it was pretty clear pretty quickly that Amy wasn’t interested in me. And considering the glances I’d caught sight of between her and Tristan, my guess was there was something there. Even if neither of them wanted to admit it. Yet.
“So, I take it I’d better not be calling socially. Strictly professional?”
She blushed, which was cute as hell. The doors opened, and we walked out before she answered.
“Parker Starr!” a young boy in the lobby cried out.
Amy spoke as the boy ran up to me. “That’s one of our client’s children. She must be meeting with her agent.”
“Can I have your autograph, Park?” the boy asked enthusiastically.
“Sure. Think I can get your mom’s?” I replied.
“Really? You want her autograph?” the boy questioned me.
“You kidding me? Your mom is awesome!” I proclaimed, even though I had no idea who his mom was.
The boy’s chest puffed up, and he put his shoulders back. Amy stepped over to the welcome desk and handed me a Sharpie. She was smiling obviously at me, and then she wouldn’t let go of the pen as I grabbed it. I glanced down and saw her finger pointing to the wall, so I played it smooth and turned a little as I took a step toward the kid, catching a glimpse of the soccer player that must have been his mom. Thankfully, I recognized her from watching the Olympics.
“What’s your name?” I asked the kid.
“Thomas.”
“You play sports, too?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess, all of ‘em, right?” I smiled.
“Yeah, but I’m not going to be big enough for football. I’m best at soccer.”
“Like your mom. Me and my buddies went crazy when she got that hat trick in the gold-medal game.”
He nodded. It looked like he grew another inch right there, and I’m not sure he could speak. It felt damn cool.
“Think she’d mind if I signed your shirt?”
“Nope,” he stated proudly.
“Back okay?” I asked.
“Sure.” He turned around and hunched his shoulders over.
Amy leaned over and watched as I wrote out a personal message and signed my name. She whispered, “Awesome,” as she took the pen back. I guess it was my usual reflex because I was tempted to ask her out that night, and just as quickly saw Lily’s face the way she looked that morning in her office. I blinked and shook my head.
“You okay?” Amy asked.
“Oh, sure, it’s just, actually it’s already been kind of a long day,” I told her.
Thomas was tugging on his shirt and twisting around like he might somehow get a chance to read it. Then, before we could say anything, he just pulled it off, standing shirtless right there in the lobby.
The elevator door dinged behind us and opened. “Thomas, what are you doing?”
“Mom, Mom! Parker Starr just signed my shirt.”
She was shorter than I imagined. I couldn’t help grinning as she came up. It was the truth, what I’d told Thomas about a bunch of us watching her in the Olympics.
“I am a huge fan of yours,” I announced.
“Mom, he said his whole team watched you in the Olympics!”
She smiled. “Thanks. We’re looking forward to watching you on Sundays, huh, Thomas?”
“Oh yeah! Gonna watch you get some touchdowns! Mom, he said he wants your autograph.”
“Oh, Thomas, he’s being nice.”
“You kidding?” I claimed.
Amy already had the Sharpie ready. I reached and passed it over, then turned around and hunched my shoulders just like her boy had. Everyone laughed as I felt the soft tip of the pen looping and scrawling across my back.
“There you go,” she said with a smile in her voice.
“Awesome.” I held my hand up and Thomas high-fived it. “If you ever need tickets, just say the word.”
Amy nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
We said our goodbyes and then Amy walked me out.
I asked, “You going to be at the party?”
“Definitely. All hands on deck,” she said.
“Is it any fun for you guys, or all work?”
“I hope it’s fun. I’m sure it will be, but I’ve never gone before.”
As we arrive at the car she had called to take me back to my hotel, I was tempted to ask if she and Tristan had something going on. Even though I only really had Lily on my mind, I was curious, but in the end something told me it would have been way too awkward, so I just grinned. “Thanks, Amy. It was nice meeting you.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Parker. Call me if you need anything.”
I found myself hoping there was a little more meaning there, but she held her hand out and had a tight, professional smile. We shook, and I got in the car and gave the driver the address of my hotel.