Page 21 of Turn Me On
“You’d probably love to endorse Ferraris or McLarens. I saw the way you stared at those cars with lust in your eyes.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “You gonna get me a deal for one of those babies? Hell yes.”
He smiles kindly but shakes his head. “No.”
I groan, then drag a hand through my hair. “You’re killing me.”
Another squeeze of my biceps, and I look at him again, waiting for him to put me out of my misery.
“You’re too new for a big brand like that,” he says. “When you break out with three seasons in a row of one hundred-RBI stats and become the face of the franchise, that’s when you can land a luxury sports car deal. I’d be a terrible agent if I said I would even try for one now. But what I am going to do is find you a partnership that makes sense. That fits you. Brands and fans can ferret out a lie like that.” He snaps his fingers. “That’s why I’m glad Energize Drinks fell apart. I’m glad the video game company picked someone else. Someone, a fan probably, would have figured out you don’t even play video games, or you don’t drink energy drinks. Hell, I knew you don’t drink energy drinks.”
He has a damn good point there. “True, true.”
“My job is to find you a deal that’ll make you and the brand so very happy. A healthy quick-serve restaurant, a streaming music service, a podcast network, a water-bottle company.Make your own lucky bottle, or some such. Maybe a scotch distiller. Or,” he says, his eyes traveling up and down my body, “better yet, a men’s fashion company.”
I smile. I feel good again. “Now you’re talking.”
He reaches for the collar of my shirt, fingers it, then lets go. “This whole look you’ve got going on?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“You have style. You dress well, but you have this sexy playful vibe too. You don’t dress like you’re going to an office, but you don’t slum it in sweats either. You have exactly the style for an upmarket menswear brand trying to reach young men who want to look good but don’t want to look like their fathers. That’s what I want to find for you.”
Holy shit. This guy does his motherfucking homework. I am sold. “Do it, Maddox. Fucking do it.”
“That’s my goal.” He glances at his watch. “And now it’s time to get your car and get you onto the field.”
Twenty minutes later, I slide into the town car, wishing this day weren’t ending. But I executed my strategy today and nailed this at-bat. What’s the harm in taking another swing?
“You do know we have a four-game series?” I ask from inside the car.
“I do.”
“You should come to one of the games.” Then I pull closed the door and tell the driver to take me to the ballpark.
I sure hope Maddox shows up.
3
BOSS’S ORDERS
Maddox
Vance lets out a low whistle of approval from the other side of the video call.
“Damn. This is some serious progress,” my boss says as he reviews the list of brands Adriana and I’ve snagged for preliminary phone meetings in the last forty-eight hours.
Framed by a view of Central Park, Vance peers at the memo from yours truly. Adriana sits next to him, perched straight and tall, eager for his feedback too. I’m at my office in the heart of Los Angeles, squeezing a stress ball as I pace by the floor-to-ceiling glass overlooking the Avenue of the Stars.
I’m not stressed. I just like to make every minute count. I’ve been busy the last two days, and it shows in the report I sent my boss and in the work Adriana and I have knocked out. We want him to be impressed, and he damn well should be.
“Sweet,” Vance says, clearly pleased as he counts off on his fingers. “You’ve got a water-bottle maker, a podcast network, and Bespoke. This is so Zane. All the stuff he loves.”
Yes, that’s how I work.“They’re all a good fit, and we’ve spoken with their CMOs,” I say, squeezing the red ball again. My grip strength is epic.
“The bottle maker is a more distant possibility. They’re trying to figure out if they have enough marketing firepower yet to invest in an athlete,” Adriana says.
“Understandable,” Vance says.