Page 7 of Touchdowns and Temptations

But he’s still a quarterback, so he is off-limits to me. I don't want to organize my life around sports and their schedules, as my mother has done for almost thirty years.

“Nothing, thanks,” he says, smiling at me. Noah rests his forearms on his thighs. I notice he has a tattoo on his left wrist. An L and an A with a crown, I must admit that I really like it. I know he has at least one brother, named Alexander or as everyone calls him: Alex. He's a running back for the Boston Foxes. Of course, I know that from my dad because he's always raving about how the brothers play together.

“First of all, I'd like to talk to you about what you expect from us, and then I'll tell you ...”, but as I begin to talk, I notice that he isn’t listening to me. “Is everything okay?”

“Honestly, no.” He clears his throat and rubs his hands together. “Don't take this the wrong way, Ms. Corse, but I wasn't expecting you. Are you just having this first conversation to get to know me, or are you planning on representing me in the future?”

I look at him a little surprised. I hadn't expected this. Of course, I'm supposed to represent him in the future. He's going to be my first big client, and I'm very proud of that. My dad wouldn't put that much trust in me, and possibly even jeopardize the company's good reputation if he didn't have absolute confidence in my abilities.

“I don't understand,” I whisper, lowering my pen. “Could you please be more precise?”

“Of course!” Noah looks at me firmly. “Corse Sports Management was recommended to me by my colleagues who have been consulting here for years.” I nod, but I know he's not finished. “I made this appointment to get a first impression. Now I'm asking you if this is an introductory meeting or if you're my new agent.”

“Would that be bad?” I blurt out rather unprofessionally.

“Yes!”

It's like a slap in the face for me, and I'm completely flustered. Heat rises in my cheeks, and I feel uncomfortable because he doesn't want to work with me. I've been preparing for this interview all morning because I want to prove to my father and myself that I'm in the right place, not because I'm going to own this company one day. I'm good at my job, and Noah McCarter is my ticket to the world of sports management. I thought because we're the same age, we'd be similar, and we'd have a great working relationship for years to come. But now he's taking the wind out of my sails.

“Oh, okay,” I whisper. “May I know why?”

“You're too young,” he replies bluntly. “I need an experienced agent who knows the business and knows exactly what I need and what sums he has to negotiate for me. I don't think you...”

“I can do it!” I blurt out.

His eyebrows rise skeptically. I feel unfairly treated by him and want a chance. “I mean, I know what I'm doing and what you expect of me.”

“How many clients have you taken care of?” he wants to know.

“I think that's...” I try to evade his question.

“Give me a number,” he demands, and his gaze penetrates me. This has nothing to do with the friendly man in the bar who flirted with me. Sitting in front of me is a tough businessman and athlete who wants to be well represented.

Fuck.

Why didn't my dad warn me? He knows what some of these guys are like, and yet he let me have this conversation. On the other hand, I shouldn't have talked so big. I was bragging about how I was going to outplay that quarterback. I don't give a shit, and now I'm embarrassing myself in front of him, again. Then later I will do the same with my dad, who will tell me he knew.

“I have ... well ... I am ...” I stammer to myself.

“So, none,” he concludes and stands up. I watch him as calmly as possible. When he stands in front of me at full height, I am overwhelmed by his presence. I didn't feel that way in the bar.

“I'm sorry, but that's not possible. I'm not going to be a guinea pig for the boss's daughter.”

Now I stand up and stare at him angrily. That was definitely too much. Even though he still towers over me by at least twenty centimeters. It's not fair to insinuate that I only have this job because my father owns the company.

“I went to the University of California for four years, I interned with the Oakland Pirates, and I know this fucking business better than you think. Don't tell me you're a guinea pig for my career because you think I’m ‘daddy’s girl’. I continue. “I'm going to own this company one day. Do you really think I want to put Corse Sports Management or myself in a bad light?”

Noah opens his mouth and closes it.

“I'm good!” I make it clear again and look at him hard. “Give me a chance - please.” My tone softens at the end, and I point to the couch. “Sit down.” He hesitates, but when I sit down, he follows me.

“I'm sorry,” I mumble. “I shouldn't have freaked out like I did, but I know what I'm doing. Why don't you let me explain?”

“Go ahead, explain,” he repeats, his mouth twisting. “I fired my old agent because he explained too much and did too little. He negotiated bad deals, and that's why my salary is what it is. I can't imagine the daughter of Foxes legend Michael Corse negotiating a better salary for me.”

His blue eyes flash aggressively at me.

“Oh yeah?” I grin at him mischievously. “Why don't you let me try?”

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