“Good morning, Stephen,” I say cheerily.
Putting his phone down, he looks up. “Come in,” he says, laissez-faire as always.
I step inside the pit of doom.
Taking his time, he stands, walks around his desk, and grabs a cup. “Remembered you liked horchata lattes,” he says. Most of the time, the man talks in phrases. “When you indulge, that is.” He taps his temple. “Filed every team member’s coffee preference. Comes in handy.”
Is that the secret to being an EVP? Memorizing the staff’s coffee orders? Is that handy when you need to fire them?
“Stopped by the Cuban café near the ballparkand picked some up for you,” he says and holds the cup out for me.
“Thanks,” I say tentatively, taking it.
He takes one for himself from his desk too. “Try it.”
I lift the cup and down the hatch it goes. And wow. That is tasty, warm, and cinnamon-y.
And damn him for his well-honed strategy. Making an employee feel good before you drop the hatchet.
“Sit,” he says, gesturing to a chair. I obey.
He parks himself in the chair across from me. “Wanted to take you out to lunch to tell you this,” he says, and I brace myself. It’s coming.
Oh yes, it’s coming.
“But…I couldn’t wait till lunch. So horchata it is,” he says, then his gray eyes dance and, wait. Is that a hint of a smile too, to go along with a full sentence? “The reason you didn’t get the promotion is…we have a brand-new job for you instead. And you’re the only one I trust to do it.”
A few full sentences.
“I am? You do?” Wait. No. I shouldn’t be speaking in question marks. I clear my throat. “I can’t wait to hear about it.”
“We’re adding new responsibilities to your plate. Along with a hefty raise,” he says, then shares the dollar amount.
I purse my lips so I don’t drop my jaw.
But holy ovaries. That’s a twenty percent increase. It’s like a hazard-pay level raise. “That sounds terrific. And what are the added responsibilities?”
Stephen beams, something he rarely does. “We want you to handle legal work for both the baseball and football teams that Carlisle Enterprises owns.”
I nearly jerk back in my chair. I did not see that coming. Of course I know Elizabeth Carlisle also owns the Los Angeles Mercenaries, but the day-to-day operations are run separately. “That would be great,” I say, trying to strike a balance between gobsmacked and appreciative. I’m not the overly effusive type, even though I want to overly effuse right now.
Because I love football.
And responsibility.
And I really like more money.
Stephen exhales, as if relieved I said yes. I mean, how the hell was I going to say no to that?
Fine, the Mercenaries are a bit of a poster-child team for bad boys, but I won’t be managing the players or their hard-partying reps. That’s for the press department and the GM, frankly, or should be.
“When can I start?”
“Today,” he says.
I sit up straighter. “I’m ready.”
“Great. As part of your new responsibilities, we want you to review all the press releases and statements for both teams, especially with the heat theMercenaries have been under due to the, how shall we say, player fuckups in the last year.”