Page 34 of More Than Pen Pals

“Of course.”

He stands and picks up a paper from his desk. “Here’s the contact information for him and his agent.”

I take the paper from him. My stomach drops when I see the name of Sanchez’s agent, Bobby Jacobs. He has a reputation for being ruthless. I’m liking this situation less and less.

“Sir?”

“Yes?” George doesn’t sit back down.

“Can you tell me why Sanchez was traded?”

“I’m going to let you ask him.” He checks his watch. “He’s expecting a call from you in fifteen minutes.”

* * *

I’m way out of my depth. My previous job was with a tiny PR firm in the small city of Peoria, after two years working for the local newspaper. Our clients were largely area politicians, a couple of B-list authors, and the rare rising star with the Peoria Chiefs, the Cubs’ minor league franchise in town. Over the past week and a half, Wendy has been orienting me to this new world of PR where my clients will typically be high-profile individuals, but I’m mostly going to be flying by the seat of my pants.

One thing I have going for me in this situation is I understand baseball. It also doesn’t hurt that I understand newspapers, which is key to the PR game, though thePeoria Journal Staris not quite on the level of theTrib.

I pick up the phone and dial the number for Sanchez, which has a local 312 area code. I can’t imagine he’s going to answer. Wouldn’t he be on a plane or in an airport? And how would he already have a Chicago number?

“Hola.This is Diego,” a male voice says.

I’m taken aback to find the man himself on the other end of the line instead of an assistant, but I quickly recover. “Hello, Mr. Sanchez? This is Leslie Beckett with Carter-Jenkins PR.”

“Ah, yes,Miss Beckett. Please call me Diego.”

“Okay, and you can call me Leslie.”

“Will do, Leslie.” He emphasizes the second syllable, and I love the sound of it. “So you are my new PR guy.”

“Yes, but I’m not exactly a guy.”

“Then you are my PRdama. Welcome to the Sanchez family, Dama Leslie.”

The man is charm personified.

“Thank you,” I say. “Or should I saygracias?”

“Sure. Speak Spanish all you want, but don’t feel you have to. I’m perfectly fluent in English. I even remember to use contractions sometimes.” He laughs at himself.

I’m tempted to giggle but don’t want to sound unprofessional. “I know approximately five Spanish words, so I’ll stick with English. Now tell me, Diego, what brings you to Chicago?”

He laughs. “You are getting right to it, eh, Dama Leslie?”

“I need to know everything, so I can ensure the people of Chicago love you.”

“That’s what I like to hear, Dama Leslie. Ooo, you know what? Lady Leslie sounds so much better. I’ll go with the English and call you Lady Leslie. That okay with you?”

“I love it.”

“Perfect. My agent says you must sign an NDA before I talk to you, but I say no. What reason would my personal PR lady have to tell anyone anything bad about me, eh?”

“You make an excellent point. You can trust me with anything you have to say.” I know I’ll have to sign the non-disclosure agreement later, but that’s not a problem.

“Good. I left Houston because of my wife. She had an affair with one of the other players on the team, and they claim they fell in love. I refuse to work with the …,” he clears his throat, “… man anymore, so I demanded a trade.”

“Wow.”

---