Chapter 1
Becca
“Becca,” the male caller says when he answers the phone.
“Mr. Grant,” I say, tapping my Mont Blanc pen on my desk. I lean back in my office chair, looking out the window at the bright sun.
“You know shit is real when you call me Mr. Grant,” Matthew says, and I laugh.
Sitting up straight in my chair, I say, “I’m wearing a different hat today. Usually when I call you, it’s about making you pay more money.” Matthew is the general manager for the New York Stingers, and as a sports agent, I have a couple of clients on his team. He comes from hockey royalty, so it’s no surprise his son is following in his footsteps.
“How many hats do you wear?” he asks, and I have to smile. When it comes to my clients, I’ll wear any hat I have to in order to earn them as much money and make them as successful as I can.
“I can’t give away all my secrets.” I remain my cool, calm, and collected self. “Today, my hat is that of an agent requesting a sit-down with the future NHL leading top scorer.” Matthew listens without interrupting me because his son is the reason I’m calling. “I know Cooper will be drafted this year. He’ll probably be number one if everything stays the same.”
“Fingers crossed,” Matthew says, and I can only imagine what he’s going through as a parent not wanting his son to be compared to him. If anyone compared me to my mother, I think I would want the earth to swallow me up whole. “So what can I do for you, Becca?”
“I’m calling to see if you had time to meet with me. I’ll be in New York at the end of next week,” I say, looking at my calendar. I’ll be in New York for four days.
“Should I be worried?” he asks, chuckling. “Every time you come to town, my salary cap goes up.”
It’s my turn to chuckle. “Come on, Matthew. We’ve known each other a long time. I’ve never been unfair to you.”
“We can agree to disagree on this one,” he says, and I can hear he’s walking.
“Fair enough,” I say, “but with that said, I’d love to sit down with Cooper and go over things to see if we are a good fit.” He isn’t going to get better than me. I also don’t give him a chance to answer me. “I know that you want the best for Cooper, and bottom line, you have to admit”—I tap my perfectly manicured nail on the desk—“I’m the best.”
I’m not going to beat around the bush anymore with him. I’m the best sports agent out there. Sure, people will try to argue how good I am, but I have the facts, and I have the numbers. I represent the top twenty leading players on the ice, not counting the other thirty scattered around. I’ve been hustling since day one to become the top female sports agent in the game, and now I’ll fight to stay there.
He finally gives in. “I’ll check our schedule and let you know when we’re free.” I’m about to push for something more definite when he adds, “I’ll talk to Cooper tonight and see when is good for him and send you something.”
“Sounds like a plan. I look forward to meeting with you two,” I say, and we both hang up. I smile, knowing that the first step is getting them to the table to discuss what I can do for them. One thing I know how to do is sell myself.
Pulling my schedule out, I add him to the top of the list with a star to remind myself to reach out and give him a nudge if I don’t hear back soon.
My phone pings, reminding me of our weekly meeting in the conference room in five minutes. I start to collect my papers and walk out of my corner office. “Erika,” I say to my assistant, “you can leave early. Both of us don’t have to suffer by staying.”
“I just forwarded you the two emails we got this morning,” she says. “I’ll have my phone with me all weekend if something comes up.” I nod, knowing she’ll be ready to go regardless of what time I call her. She also has no idea I’m grooming her to become an agent. I know she has what it takes, and if she plays her cards right, she’ll kill it.
Nothing screams good mood like Friday at four o’clock. “Have a nice weekend,” I tell everyone who looks up at me as I walk toward the conference room.
I pass the receptionist, Tammy, who looks over at me and smiles. “Do you need anything, Becca?” she asks, and a smile fills my face.
“I would kill for a latte from Starbucks,” I say, and she nods. I’m sure she has it ordered even before I walk into the conference room with the TRI Star Sports Agency logo decorating the wall.