Page 114 of Big Stick Energy
“Mini tacos, huh?” Zoe asks from the kitchen. “Interesting. Are those for Darcy?”
“Of course they are.” I wouldn’t even pretend otherwise. There’d be no point. “Zoe, would you see that she gets these?” I open the cooler bag and pull out the container.
“Sure. Good choice,” she says, taking it from me. “She can eat them one-handed.”
“One-handed,” I repeat slowly. “Which matters because…?”
Zoe almost winces. Or maybe I imagined it. “While she’s studying. For exams.”
Ah.Of course. I check the time. “I’d better roll, guys. What am I supposed to wear to my big sponsorship meeting, anyway?”
“Something expensive,” Merritt says. “Make him pay up.”
I’m meeting Mr. Randolph at Balthazar, which is practically a New York institution when it comes to power lunches. It’s all dark wood and gold mirrors. It’s the kind of place that whispersmoneyin French. The servers glide between closely packed bistrochairs like they’re performing choreography. It’s exactly the sort of spot Darcy’s father would choose—impressive enough to make a statement, but not so flashy that it screams nouveau riche.
When I’m led to the table, though, I get an unwelcome surprise—
Mr. Randolph is seated beside Tessa, of all people.
“You’ve met my new assistant,” the man says with a laugh.
“Sure have.” I shake hands with a frozen grin on my face. “How’ve you both been?”
“Can’t complain,” Tessa simpers, giving me a catlike smile.
Suddenly, the next hour feels long. I seat myself and glance at the menu, trying to get my head in the game. “Are you seeing Darcy before you leave town?” I can’t help but ask. This is supposed to be a high stakes lunch, but all I really want is a crumb of news from her. I just want to hear that she’s okay.
“Uh, not on this visit.” Her father chuckles awkwardly. “We’re only here for the day.”
“Tonight, we fly out to Portugal for a scouting trip,” Tessa says.
“That sounds fun,” I manage.
“Sure is!” She eyes her menu, and when the waiter returns, she orders the escargots and a Bellini.
I order the salmon and decline a glass of wine. Even alcohol can’t make this lunch less awkward.
“So,” Mr. Randolph says as soon as the waiter departs. “Let’s get this part out of the way—here is your contract.” He pulls a folder out of his briefcase and passes it over the table to me.
The folder is made of smooth, weighty paper, withWayfair Propertiesrichly embossed across the front. I’ve been waiting so long for just the right sponsorship offer that I’m tempted to stroke the paper with my hand.
Instead, I nudge the cover open, giving myself a glimpse of the first page. And it’s right there in the middle, in bold text—a seven-figure number, paid out over the next four years, for various photo shoots and appearances.
This is really happening.
“Don’t worry about the terms,” Mr. Randolph says. “I already sent a copy to Bess, and I’m sure she’ll vet it thoroughly. She wouldn’t want you to discuss contract details, right? Which means we can focus on the fun stuff.”
“Like… photo shoots?”
“Exactly!” Tessa says brightly. “Since the hockey season is already starting, and your schedule is a bear, we know we won’t get a block of your time until June of next year. But we were hoping you could spare a day in Los Angeles in November, when you’re scheduled to be there on a road trip. We’ll put you in the executive suite at our property there and shoot for a couple of hours in the room and at the pool.”
“That’s probably doable. We always stay at the Wayfair in LA.”
“Wonderful.” She beams. “Our next opportunity after that will be when you play Seattle in December. We’d repeat the same trick, grabbing a day of your time on the road. We’d want shots of you in the spa and at the rooftop bar.”
“I like it. Is there anything I’d need to bring?”
“No way. We’ll take care ofeverything,” she says, waving a hand across the table. “We’ll hire a hair and makeup guy for the set. You’ll provide your measurements ahead of time, and on the day of our shoot, a stylist will arrive with wardrobe choices. Even a bathing suit for those thirst-trap shots by the pool.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me.
