Thirty-Two
Jazmine
“You ready, Andretti?”
Rich Hanson has been referring to me as Mario or Andretti ever since I borrowed his car to pick up Maya from tennis. There was a time when this would have irritated the crap out of me, but he says it with such relish that it somehow comes out feeling like a compliment.
He is without a doubt one of the most maddening people I’ve ever known, and given the egos I deal with on a daily basis, and even some of my family members, that’s saying a lot. But it’s hard to be angry with someone who argues with such good humor and remains respectful even in disagreement.
We have argued over virtually every detail involved in purchasing, converting, and staffing the tennis center, as well as its role in the ultimate creation of the StarSports Academy, including the things we agree on. He believes we have to “go big” in terms of facility and amenities, much bigger than I think advisable. And when it comes to identifying and attracting talent in both students and instructors, he’s far more inclined to go after top names than identify lesser-known but equally talented choices.
“You can’t be the best if you don’t have the best,” Rich insists.
“Yes, but I’d rather identify potential and build on it than try to steal existing talent from others.”
“That’s nothing but semantics,” he says with a laugh. “Is it really stealing if someone else’s boyfriend thinks you’re smarter, funnier, and more attractive than the woman he’s with? Should you be judged poorly for being born with more beauty or brains or a better sense of humor and then not hiding those things?”
His eyes twinkle as he looks into mine. The hazel turns a deeper amber, and the green is reduced to flecks, but I’m not sure if this conversation is as personal as it feels.
“I’ve been accused of stealing since I first became an agent, but in a lot of cases I just made myself more attractive than the competition.”
“And how exactly did you do that?” I ask.
“I took a smaller percentage than the other agent was willing to consider. Or I agreed to a sliding fee based on my performance, not theirs. Sometimes I just worked harder to prove myself, sold more convincingly. It’s not so different from what you do. Only people, especially women, don’t trust me as easily as they trust you.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
“See? You just don’t want to trust me. You don’t want to believe I could have become successful from working my ass off rather than poaching off others.” His eyes deepen further. The smile remains on his lips, and his tone is light, but I can tell how strongly he feels. “I think it actually bothers you that I’m not the bastard you thought I was.”
I burst out laughing. “You’re assuming I don’t think you’re a bastard anymore. Maybe I’m just better able to deal with you.”
“No.” He searches my eyes as if looking for something. “You are desperately trying to hold on to your dislike. You don’t want to believe I’m a good guy. So, you look for examples of bad behavior.”
“I think you think I think about you way more than I do.”
“Do I?” His grin is infectious. In fact, he uses humor more effectively than almost anyone I know. He’s quick. And opinionated yet able to argue from multiple sides, sometimes all at once.
Dueling with him keeps me on my toes. And although I’m not planning to admit it anytime soon, having to defend my positions and being forced to seriously consider his has helped hone the presentation we’re about to make to Larry in ways I never would have expected.
By the time we settle on the sofa and chairs in Larry’s office that Tuesday after lunch, another choice we hammered out together, finally agreeing it would be more effective than a formal presentation in the conference room, I don’t even need the notes I always have as backup.
“Okay,” Larry says. “Go!”
Without actually planning it, we present as a tag team. I explain our intention to stick with tennis and baseball, with the focus on tennis first, including the role of the Tennis Center. Rich lays out our overall strategy for recruiting staff and coaches and players, but there’s a lot of back-and-forth and filling in with background on how decisions were reached.
We spend a lot of time on why we think this is the moment and the importance of getting started as quickly as possible to prevent IMG from getting a toehold here on our turf.
We summarize, then hand over two possible budgets—one with all the bells and whistles and one that contains compromises—partly because you almost never get everything you want and because the bottom line will ultimately depend on Larry’s enthusiasm for the project. Which based on the size of his smile and the nodding of his head is looking pretty encouraging.
“Jazz brings a lot to the table. You were right about not even attempting anything of this scope without her,” Rich says in closing, startling me not only with the compliment but with the use of the nickname my sister bestowed on me long ago. Every time I think I know exactly who he is, he pulls out some shiny new facet.
“I’m glad you’re finally seeing the light,” Larry replies. “You two are even more impressive when you’re pulling together.”
When we leave Larry’s office, I’m jangling from the whole presentation, the ease of communication, the flow of our pitch, how clearly Larry seemed to get it.
“Did that go as well as I think it did?” I ask as we round the corner, headed, by unspoken agreement (a first!), toward my office.
“Better. It was a beautiful thing. If he doesn’t approve every penny of every bell and whistle, I will be shocked to the very depths of my being.”
“I didn’t realize your ‘being’ was all that deep.” But in truth, he has depths I never expected, and I have never been part of a better, more cohesive experience. I am high on it.
“Very funny. Tear me to shreds if you must, but we definitely need to celebrate. And no, we’re not waiting for a formal approval from Larry. Can I buy you a drink? Unless you need to pick up Maya or something. You could take my car so you can get there and back faster.”
“My dad’s picking her up. She’s spending the night with her grandparents,” I say as we near Erin’s desk. “I am not opposed to a drink. But I’ll do the buying.”
Erin’s eyes are bigger than I’ve ever seen them. They blink in surprise.
“If you’re waiting for me to go all macho or something, you can forget about it,” Rich replies. “You can definitely buy me a drink. Hell, you can buy me two.”
Erin looks between the two of us. “So, it went well?”
“It went better than well,” I say.
“Your boss is a genius. I mean really, she’s that good,” Rich adds.
I drop my files on my desk and grab my purse. “We’re going to celebrate. See you tomorrow.” I can’t seem to stop smiling. “Hold down the fort.”
Rich gives her a salute and links his arm through mine. “Come on, Mario. Time’s a-wasting.”
We decide on Mission + Market because it’s in the next building and are ordering a drink and “bar bites” by 3:20.
“I always wondered what kind of people went drinking at three thirty,” I say as our cocktails arrive.
“Smart people. People who have things to celebrate.” Rich raises his glass to mine.
“We are both of those things, aren’t we?” I say with relish as we clink glasses.
I buy Rich the two drinks I promised, but I’m too busy talking and laughing and arguing to order a second for myself.
When we move to Kaleidoscope on Dresden, close to my home, he insists on reciprocating. I’m sipping a glass of my favorite rosé when I ask the question that’s been on everyone’s mind. “So why did you leave Pinnacle Partners and LA for Atlanta? I mean, I think StarSports is a great agency—Larry’s built something impressive—but it’s pretty small potatoes compared to Pinnacle.”
“It’s a lot simpler and less interesting than all the rumors going around.” His eyes snare mine. “My daughter started at Emory in the fall. She’s a freshman, but a young one.” He hesitates. “And I, uh, know it sounds a little old-fashioned, but I didn’t want to be all the way across the country from her.”
“You have a daughter.”
“I do.”
I try to picture Rich as a father and husband. “You’re not married, though.” It’s a statement and a question.
“No.” Another hesitation. “I was. But . . . no.”
There’s something in his tone that tells me there’s more but warns me not to ask. I try on the idea of Rich Hanson as a concerned and involved father. One who would pick up and move across the country for his daughter. It flies in the face of everything I’ve ever heard or thought about him; it adds another layer of satisfaction to what we accomplished together today. And all that lies ahead.
He leans forward and looks directly into my eyes. It’s clear that he wants to kiss me.
But I’m the one who disregards my normal aversion to public displays of affection and presses my lips to his. It’s my eyes that flutter shut. But I’m not in that kiss alone.
When we pull apart, he looks slightly stunned, exactly how I feel. Without discussion or debate, he pays the bill and follows me home. On the front porch we kiss again. This time our tongues tangle, and I feel the clear, hard pull of desire. I take his hand and lead him inside.
Which is how I awake next to a naked Rich Hanson the next morning. Our clothes are strewn across the carpet. The late-morning sun streams through the wood blinds. I go up on one elbow and reach for my phone on the nightstand. It’s almost ten o’clock. “Oh, God!”
“What? What is it?” He sits straight up beside me. Our naked bodies touch.
I yank the comforter up to my neck, which pulls it down below his waist. In this moment, I actually wish I had drunk more so that I could at least pretend that I did not choose to sleep with this man. My colleague. And until so recently, my nemesis.
I shake my head. “I can’t believe we did this.”
He turns to face me. He’s trying not to smile. “But we did. And frankly it was . . . unbelievably fantastic.” He sighs. “I don’t think I can apologize for something I’m pretty sure I’m going to remember to my dying day.”
“But I don’t even like you!” Somehow, I pull the sheet out from under the comforter and stand while wrapping it around me. “I don’t understand how this happened!”
“Well, let’s see,” he says calmly as he gets out of bed, picks up his boxers and pants from the floor, and steps into them. “You kissed me at Kaleidoscope. I saw you home. We kissed again. You invited me in. One thing . . . led to another.” He stands on the opposite side of the bed, bare chested, his hair tousled.
“Oh my God. I can’t believe this.”
“That’s what you kept saying last night. Only you sounded happier about it.”
And, of course, I was. Because while I am shocked at my behavior, I haven’t forgotten how thrilled I was with our collaboration, how great it felt to bowl Larry over, how much I enjoyed celebrating with Rich. How surprised we both were when I kissed him. How eager we both were when I took his hand and led him inside.
It’s the rare man who can make you laugh even while he’s making love to you. The rarest of the rare who understands just how great an aphrodisiac humor can be. The only other man I’ve ever known who got that connection was Xavier.
I shake my head. “I’ve never slept with a client or a colleague. I don’t believe in it. It can lead to complications and . . . misunderstandings.” I look him directly in the eye. “I won’t be another notch in someone’s belt.”
“I’m not into notches,” Rich says, pulling on his shirt, tucking it in, buckling his belt. “I’ve never seen the point. But as much as I think we both enjoyed last night, if it’s a problem we can pretend it never happened.” He says it lightly, but I’m starting to be able to read those hazel eyes. To decipher what he means, what he doesn’t.
Nonetheless, I take the out he offers. “I apologize for crossing the line. We’re going to be working together, and it would be silly to jeopardize that. As far as I’m concerned, it didn’t happen. And it definitely can never ‘not happen’ again.”
Erin
Jazmine arrives at work late the next morning even though she had nothing on her calendar, something that’s never happened before. She offers no explanation. Rich Hanson never shows his face. When I ask, his assistant says he’s out at meetings all day.
We spend the day on paperwork and researching high school and college tennis players. Jazmine displays none of the excitement or satisfaction of yesterday’s presentation. I had never seen her that excited. It’s as if some curtain has been brought down and now it’s back to business as usual.
It’s early afternoon and we’re in her office going over upcoming travel plans and discussing her calendar when Larry strolls up, knocks on the open door, and steps inside. He has a huge smile on his face.
“Afternoon, Jazmine. Just wanted to say again how impressed I was with your and Rich’s work. I am blown away by what a great team you make, how well you managed to work together and put aside your differences.”
Jazmine’s head cocks to one side. It’s a signal that she’s listening, of course, but although there’s still a smile on her lips, I can see that she’s gone very still. Her eyes are pinned on Larry’s face.
“I told him when he joined the firm that the only way he was ever going to make his mark here was to get you on board.” He chuckles, wags his head. “I have to admit, I never thought he’d win you over. I was kind of looking forward to seeing you put him in his place.”
“Is that right?” Jazmine’s smile freezes on her lips. Her eyes go all flinty.
I’m not sure exactly who that look is meant for, but I hope I never find myself on the other end of anything half as lethal.