Page 7 of The Confidentiality Clause
Chapter four
Brock Jones
“Ricky, you can’t climb a light pole after you win a game and expect no repercussions,” I say with an exasperated sigh.
“It was a huge win!”
“It was a preseason game,” I reply drily. “No climbing light poles or anything else. I can’t have you losing your sponsors or worse–getbenched–because you don’t know how to celebrate like a normal football player.”
These first-year NFL players are going to be the death of me. They think because their team is paying them millions that there are no consequences to their actions. Unfortunately, most of the time, they’re right, but it still makes my job difficult when they cross the line. Like my newest client, Ricky Charleston, who decided to climb a light pole and get arrested because his team won apreseasongame.
“Okay, okay, I won’t climb anything. My girl got mad at me anyway because she was waiting for me back at the penthouse, but I was, you know, in jail.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. This guy makes more than a nurse or a doctor or a teacher yet acts like a child. I love being a sports agent, but wow do guys like him make me question my career choice.
“Yes, listen to yourgirland keep your feet on the ground.”
“Well, I have to jump sometimes while I’m playing, or during practice–”
“Not what I meant, Ricky. I’ve got to go. Stay out of trouble.”
“You got it!”
I hang up before he says another thing to increase the ever-growing migraine pulsing behind my eyes. As soon as I hang up, the lights on my desk phone blink to indicate multiple clients or brands waiting on me to pick up. My phone buzzes a few times a minute with emails, texts, or calls.
I scrub my face and click the button to transfer to the next caller.
“You’ve got Jones,” I say, trying not to sound as exhausted as I am.
I didn’t take Ariel’s advice last night. I worked until past midnight, then ate cold garlic bread before crashing on my futon. Needless to say, I’m not in the best shape this morning.
“Hey, Brock, it’s Gianna with Sports Illustrated. I’m calling to check and see if Olive has approved the photo for the cover yet? We haven’t gotten anything from her.”
One of the Olympic swimmers I represent got a feature in Sports Illustrated. She was supposed to approve of the mock-ups last week at the latest. I pull my email up on my desktop screen. A quick search reveals that Olive sent her choices to me instead of Gianna. So it’s partially my fault they aren’t in the right place.I get so many emails it feels impossible to keep up with, and they easily get lost.
“Hey Gianna, I’m sorry about that. I’ve got the photo choices right here and I’m sending them over right now. Let me know if you need anything else.”
I forward the email.
“Just got it! Thanks, Brock. I’ll be in touch if I need anything. Have a good one.”
“You, too.”
Before I click over to the next call, I check my cell again. Just in time to see I have a missed call from Ariel. My stomach flips. I can’t miss her call on day one of our deal. As fast as I can, I call her back.
“What did we say about not answering my calls, Carolina?” she asks in a teasing tone.
“If you knew how many calls I get in a day, you wouldn’t have made this rule in the first place.”
“Maybe you should decrease that number. Would do wonders for your stress.”
I might as well quit my job.
“What do you want, Duke?” I grouse.
“You’re in a peachy mood this morning. Let me guess, you slept at your office?”
I rake a hand through my hair. “I have a lot of work to do this morning,” I say instead of answering her.
