Page 133 of Red Zone
“Lyla,” he greets, flashing me that easy, hockey-boy grin.
“Grayson,” I reply, setting my laptop bag on the table as we step inside.
Grayson is the easiest of my three NIL athletes to deal with. He’s good-natured, polite enough to listen to feedback, and genuinely seems excited about the deals coming his way.
He’s also not making it hard to focus, unlike Carter.
We spend twenty minutes reviewing the current offers—local sportswear brands, a mid-tier energy drink company, and an appearance deal at a youth hockey camp.
“This one,” he says decisively, tapping his finger against the camp contract. “That’s the one I care about. The rest we can talk about later.”
I make a note, glancing up at him. “You know, most guys your age would’ve picked the paycheck over the community event.”
Grayson just shrugs, grinning again. “My mom would never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t show the kids some love.”
I laugh under my breath and pack up my notes. “Good choice. I’ll follow up with them and circle back once we have more details.”
We shake hands, and just like that, he’s gone—off to practice, leaving me alone in the conference room to prep for my next meeting.
Savannah.
I don’t even have to look at the clock to know she’s going to show up fashionably late.
Sure enough, ten minutes later, she breezes in wearing oversized sunglasses and a designer warmup set, her glossy blonde hair pulled into a high ponytail.
“Sorry, ran over,” she says, not sounding sorry at all.
I keep my voice polite as I gesture to the seat across from me. “That’s fine. I wanted to go over the latest list of brands that have reached out to sponsor you.”
Her sunglasses come off, and she props her chin on her hand, giving me a perfectly bored look.
I flip my laptop around so she can see the list. “Here are the names—mostly fitness brands and a few apparel lines. And…yes. Posie and Company is still interested.”
Savannah makes a face, sitting up straighter.
“No,” she says flatly.
“I know you’ve mentioned you’re not interested,” I start carefully. “But they’ve come back with an increased offer anda much shorter contract term. It would still be one of the more lucrative deals you’ve had?—”
She cuts me off with a wave of her manicured hand.
“I don’t care if they offer me stock in the company. I’m not working with the same brand that signed Avery Daniels. End of story.”
Her tone leaves no room for argument, and I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from sighing.
Instead, I just nod and make a note.
“I’ll let them know,” I say evenly.
“Thank you,” she replies, leaning back and pulling her phone out of her bag like the meeting is already over.
I close my laptop, gather my things, then stand.
And as I leave the room, I can’t help but wonder if she realizes how much easier she makes it to root against her.
Coming into the second half of the week, I can’t help but feel like my brain has been wrung out like a dish rag.
Finals week at PCU is brutal, and no amount of color-coded planners or perfectly timed study breaks can make up for the way my nerves coil tighter with each passing day.
