Before the call I was on had even ended, I was already moving quickly toward Bob's corner office. I'd just received the news we'd been waiting for all week. Bob was going to want to hear this.
"Is he available?" I asked Bob's secretary of twenty years, Dana, whose desk was just outside the double doors to his office.
"He is, Mr. Maxwell," Dana replied with a friendly smile. "He's expecting you, so go on in."
"Thanks, Dana."
"Good news?"
"You know it," I answered, flashing her a smile.
I opened the double doors and walked into the office of Robert "Bob" Fitzgerald, the President and largest shareholder of the sports talent agency I worked for. Behind the large, stained wood desk on one side of the office, sat the gray-haired legend himself.
Everything about Bob exuded success. Despite having just turned seventy, he was still fit and handsome, his silver hair perfectly combed, and his steel gray eyes capturing every detail. As usual, he was dressed impeccably in a bespoke charcoal gray suit, white dress shirt, red tie, and black Italian loafers. Even his office, with its sixtieth story view of the Hollywood hills and filled with expensive custom furniture, screamed power.
With nearly forty years in the business of representing professional athletes, Bob had built our agency into one of the best in the world. His reputation among his clients, team owners, and even his competitors, was second to none. And I was his protégé.
"Jake, tell me you're bringing me good news," he said as I walked in, waving his hand to the seat in front of me.
My hands held out and a smirk on my face, I replied, "we got him. He didn't like Schultz. He's coming tomorrow to see what we can do for him."
"Great work, Jake," he said with a wily grin I'd grown used to seeing. "We get this kid and it's a game-changer for this agency. And for you."
The "kid" we were talking about was Connor Adams, the two-time Heisman trophy winning quarterback from USC, who was not only a stone-cold lock to go first overall in the NFL draft, but widely considered the best prospect since Andrew Luck. He was a generational talent. Exceptional decision-making, a live arm, and he could run like a tailback. On top of that, the kid was charismatic, with over two million followers on Instagram--more than most pros. He was an agent's wet dream.
Throughout college, Connor had a family friend as his agent. However, after his junior year, Connor discovered that the family friend had been skimming off the top. Now he was in the market for new representation. Most expected him to go with Aaron Schultz, who was one of the top agents in the country, especially for football players. As I'd just learned from a member of Connor's entourage on the call I'd received before I came to Bob's office, Connor didn't like Schultz and was therefore still in the market for an agent.
"You land Connor, Jake, and you'll be set for life here," Bob said.
"Then I better go finalize my presentation deck for tomorrow," I replied.
"About that," Bob began, his tone concerning me. "I want you to work with Layna on this one. Bring her in for the branding component."
'Oh, no fucking way!' I thought.
"Bob, I've got this. I got us the appointment. Please trust me to close this one."
"I know that Connor's coming tomorrow because of you, son... "
'Uh uh.' Bob only called me "son" when he was about to put me in check.
"... But, you and I both know that Connor and his team are going to put a lot of importance on how we plan to grow his brand. And Layna is the best when it comes to branding and image."
"Yes, sir," I answered, the wind out of my sails. "I'll call her... "
"Oh, I've already let her know. I knew you'd come through. She's set up the large conference room for you two to finalize the presentation tonight. Looks like the two of you are in for an all-nighter," he said with a smirk. "Think you can handle it?"
"Yes, sir," I replied, attempting to force a smile while gritting my teeth.
...
I fumed as I made the long walk toward the conference room. Layna fucking Donovan. Of all the people I had to work with on the biggest deal of my career, it had to be Layna fucking Donovan.
Bob was right about one thing: Layna was a rockstar when it came to branding and image. She was brilliant and our clients loved her. Every client who worked with Layna saw the value of his or her endorsement deals go up at least three-fold. She knew how to create a customized brand for each client that played up his or her strengths. And she had connections all over the corporate world, along with a sixth sense for pairing clients with the right companies.
It didn't hurt that she was beautiful. Like movie star beautiful. And funny. And charismatic.
Everyone loved Layna. Except me. I fucking hated her, and I was pretty sure the feeling was mutual. Though, at least I had a reason to hate her. I don't know what her problem was with me.
When Layna joined the agency a year ago, the gossip mill started whispering about her and me as a possible couple. I hadn't even seen the woman yet, but people were talking about us. I was the handsome, successful guy in the office with a reputation for dipping his wick in the company ink. Layna was the hot new girl and, therefore, most definitely my type. At least, that's what many of my co-workers assumed and, naturally, went with that story before Layna and I met.
My reputation as the office playboy was a bit unfair. I only dated three co-workers over five years, and only after Human Resources was made aware of the romantic interest and waivers were signed. As much time as I spent working, the office was one of the only places I met women. And we hired some smoking hot women. However, I did it right. I had worked my ass off to become the agency's rising star. I was wise enough to not jeopardize my career for some pussy.
I met Layna for the first time about a week after she started working at the company. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't instantly attracted to her. Long, golden blonde hair that looked like it was woven from sunbeams. Turquoise eyes the color of a tropical ocean. A brilliant, white smile that was made for toothpaste commercials. Lovely, sun-kissed skin. A flawless face with a chiseled nose. And, at 5' 7" she had long, sexy legs that would make a women's tennis player jealous. I once ran into Tom Brady and Giselle at a charity event; Layna would have made Giselle look plain.
Despite my undeniable attraction, my first interaction with her was entirely professional. In the short time she'd been there, I'd heard great things about her work. So, I introduced myself, mentioned I'd heard rave reviews about her work, and brought up the idea of us working together for some clients of mine.
I may have been a little flirtatious. But I swear she was receptive to my overtures. It wasn't my first rodeo; I knew how to read signs. I can tell when a girl is or isn't interested. Layna seemed interested. She was friendly, animated, smiled, laughed, and made eye contact. As a result, I asked her if she might like to get coffee sometime to discuss working together. It was purely professional. No innuendo. Nothing sexual.
The very next day, I got called into Human Resources because a complaint was made about me making an unwelcome sexual advance. Over an invite to get coffee? Are you fucking kidding me?! To this day, it's the one blemish on my otherwise stellar career. Had I not been a rockstar in my own right, and Bob's protégé, that complaint might have sealed my fate.
Since then, I've steered clear of Layna. There are times when I need her to help one of my clients. I would never let my personal hatred of her get in the way of doing what's best for my clients. But, when that happens, I send my assistant or a junior associate to parlay with her. I want nothing to do with her.
For some reason, she apparently feels the same way toward me. The friendly girl I initially met I haven't seen since. That girl was replaced by a first-rate, world-class bitch. She won't look at me. She won't talk to me. And she leaves the room when I come in.
As I walked into the conference room, Layna was seated at the head of the conference table in front of a laptop, her back to me. She didn't turn around when I entered and didn't say a word. I shook my head, closed the door behind me, and walked to the other end of the conference table.
"Layna," I said flatly as I walked past her.
"Jake," she replied, with equal enthusiasm.
I set down my laptop, removed my coat and tie, and got to work.
