Broken By A King

by Lisa Lang Blakeney

  Marley smiles at that comment, so I take that as approval to keep going. I start flipping through my tattered marble notebook and look for one of the ideas I jotted down for them eons ago.

  "For example, what if we find a specific and local need in each city you tour in, and donate ten or twenty percent of the show's proceeds to that charity. What makes it unique is that instead of a general cause like say breast cancer, your donation would make a direct impact on the community you're performing in. Getting that community even more excited. Getting the press more excited about you, the concert, and the charity.

  "And just to take it a step further, I took a look at some of your last tour dates. You had a great turn out in Hawaii, but did you know that Honolulu has a very high homeless rate in ratio to their population? A twenty percent donation to shelters in that city could dramatically impact the ability to serve more displaced families."

  "That's a damn good idea," Marisol says. Backing me up like the friend she is.

  "It definitely is," Peter agrees. "What do you think, fellas? Does this sound like something you'd like to hear more of? I'm sure if you give us the opportunity to brainstorm, our team here can come up with a lot of ideas that will work for you."

  "Maybe," Marley responds then turns his body in my direction. "Do you listen to our music, Sabrina?" he asks.

  "Yes." I smile. "You're my favorite band of all time. I listen to you all the time."

  "What's your favorite song?"

  "Treading Lightly," I say with no hesitation.

  Marley smiles. "I didn't write that one."

  "I know." I look at the drummer Paxon. "You wrote it right?"

  "You're right." He smiles proudly. "Maybe I should write more."

  "I've been saying that for years," Marley says.

  "All right team Carson. Maybe we were a little hasty. We can give this thing a trial run. It won't hurt for us to stay on board for another three months, but I think the three of us agree that Sabrina here should be our point person. She seems to know us best. You cool with that?" Marley asks me directly. In front of the entire room.

  "Umm–".

  I'm stuck like chuck. This isn't my decision to make. I look to Peter.

  "Absolutely," Peter says. "Sabrina is one of our best."

  Abby looks like she's about puke.

  "Yes," I chime in. "I would definitely love to work with you all."

  "Good then." The band stands up to leave. "You'll be hearing from us soon, Sabrina. Even though we're in a transition, please make sure my mom gets her bills paid on time this month. She'll kill me if they're late."

  "No problem. I'm on it," I say in what I hope is an assuring tone.

  The three of them shake hands with everyone in the room and once we're sure that they're not within earshot any longer, the office erupts. Spin is our biggest client, and if they left us, it would have been a huge loss.

  Woo Hoo!

  Hallelujah!

  "You did it, Sabrina. Spin is really yours. Congratulations." Marisol hugs me.

  I'm still a bit numb.

  "What in the ham sandwich just happened in there?" I ask her.

  "You just saved the company's ass. That's what happened."

  I receive several more pats on the back as well as one disgusted look from Abby, as she pulls Jason away for another one of her so called mini meetings.

  "Can we speak in my office for a minute, Sabrina?" Peter asks.

  "Sure."

  Marisol hugs me again. "Smile. This is a good thing."

  "I know. I'm happy. Just stunned."

  I check my cell phone before I go into Peter's office. For some reason, I have the urge to tell Saint about Spin. Maybe to throw it in his face since I've been threatening him with them for the longest time, or maybe because I just want to talk to him. But there are no missed calls or texts from him, so I abandon that idea for the moment and go talk to Peter. I'm sure we have a lot to discuss, seeing that he's been temporarily handling Spin since Priscilla left the company.

  "Have a seat, Sabrina."

  "Thanks," I say nervously.

  "You've been here for a little over three years, and you've made amazing strides. It's no secret that you've wanted to work with Spin in some capacity, and now I see why you do. You're passionate about their music as well as who they are as a group. You understand them."

  "Thanks, Peter. I like to think that I do."

  "Spin is a huge account. Trust me when I say that no matter how down to earth that they appear to be, that they are a lot of work. I worked with Priscilla closely on many projects and got a chance to see first hand all that's entailed with running their tours and their daily lives. They have large families, and they employ a lot of people. You'll be paying a lot of bills and putting out a lot of fires."

  "Understood."

  "I'm going to be honest and say that I wasn't going to give you or Abby Spin. I just didn't think either of you were ready to handle such a huge account, but I had to agree with the group in the meeting today, because they requested you specifically. And for obvious reasons. You were good in there. Like I said, you know them in a way that I don't."

  "Thank you."

  "But we have a problem."

  Uh oh.

  "What is it?"

  "You take care of Saint."

  You mean the jerk who I haven't spoken to in weeks?

  "And you think I can't handle them both?"

  "It would be tough ... not to mention that Saint requested that he be notified first if by some chance you were put on the Spin account."

  "Notified?!"

  "I didn't want to invade your privacy before, Sabrina, but I have to ask. Just what is your relationship with Saint Stevenson? He asked for you specifically when he agreed to sign with us. Or rather he made it clear that there was no deal if you weren't his manager. I don't usually agree to demands of that nature, but I was afraid we wouldn't get his business if I didn't, and we needed it. Especially if Spin decides to leave."

  "Saint and I don't have a relationship other than a professional one. We had a very brief meeting in the past, but nothing to warrant him asking for me specifically."

  I swear Peter is looking at me like he doesn't believe a word I'm saying; and as if it couldn't be worse timing, Kate knocks on the door.

  "Sorry to interrupt guys, but Saint Stevenson is here to see you, Sabrina."

  Great.

  "Should I send him to the conference room? It's still a little trashed in there from the meeting."

  "Thanks, Kate. Have him wait in reception. Sabrina will be right out."

  "Ok!" Kate sounds happy that she gets to ogle Saint for a little longer. I'm sure he'll enjoy it as well.

  "So I guess you're going to need an office," Peter says after Kate exits.

  "Really?"

  "You now have five clients. Two of them being multi-million dollar clients. That's a senior management load. If you're able to get Spin to commit after the three-month trial, you'll be promoted and you'll get your office. Think you can handle it?"

  "I do." Or at least I want to try.

  "Well your first challenge is going to be how you're going to convince your ball player that you can take care of him and a bunch of rock stars all at the same time. I get the feeling that he likes to be the center of attention. Especially yours."

  "I'll handle it."

  That arrogant ball boy doesn't have a choice.

  Eighteen

  SABRINA

  I giggle to myself. Saint is entirely too wide and long for the chairs in the waiting area, although he actually looks comfortable stretched out with his arms behind his back and his legs crossed at the ankles.

  He also looks absolutely mouth watering. Freshly showered, dressed in a dark blue hoodie, jeans and sneakers, and I can smell his yummy ass from here. He makes it difficult to stay angry with him.

  "Like what you see?"

  "I'm not looking at much."

  "Should we go somewhere private, so you
can get a better look?"

  I can't believe he's doing this in front of people I work with.

  "Are you showing off for Kate right now?"

  "Can I get you anything, Mr. Stevenson?" Kate grins. No doubt loving the exchange between us. More gossip for the office. I'm going to kill Saint.

  He's different today.

  He seems intense.

  And he's delivering his one-liners with a little edge to his voice.

  He responds to Kate's question without ever taking his eyes off of me. "Thank you, Kate. It's nice to see that someone has some manners around here, but I'm going to grab something when I take Miss White here to lunch."

  "I already ate."

  "You never eat."

  "She's telling the truth, Mr. Stevenson. We had morning buns and coffee in the conference room not too long ago."

  "Big meeting today?" Saint asks Kate while still basically eye fucking me.

  "The biggest! Spin was here and Sabrina–"

  "Thank you, Kate," I cut her short. "But I'm sure Mr. Stevenson doesn't want to hear all the boring details."

  "Oh right. Sorry."

  "Are you going to feed me or not?" Saint asks suddenly impatient. "Since you don't want to talk about your big meeting."

  "You should have called first to check my availability. You've got thirty minutes tops."

  "Well aren't you just a basket of roses and sunshine. What crawled up your ass today?"

  "Nothing." Captain Obvious.

  I take Saint to the first bistro I see near the office, and am waiting for him to complain about it. The more time I spend around him, the more I'm learning. Even though he eats a lot of it, he's quite particular when it comes to food. He pretty much sticks to a high protein and veggie diet (unless it's game day, then he carb loads), and he tends to pick high-end places a.k.a. places I can't afford to eat.

  "I can't eat here," he gripes as he slaps the menu down loudly on the table. Boy that hissy fit didn't take long at all.

  "Why?"

  "These kiddie sized chairs are hard. I can barely fit in them." He wiggles his butt to demonstrate.

  "The food is good."

  I've actually never been here before a day in my life.

  "All they serve are sandwiches. You know I only eat bread on game days."

  "There's a perfectly good salad bar right over there."

  "I'll pass on the serve yourself bowl of bacteria thank you very much."

  "You're so high maintenance."

  "No, I just have high standards."

  "And I don't?" I cross my arms in front of me. "I'm not going anywhere else. I don't have time. I shouldn't even be here now."

  "What's the rush?"

  "I've got a new client," I brag.

  "And who might that be?"

  Isn't it obvious by the grin on my face?

  "The best damn client in the world."

  "You've already got the best."

  "Better." I make sure to annunciate my T's.

  "There's no one better." He pinches his lips together. "Who are you talking about, Freshman–Spin?"

  "Bingo!" I mush his forehead with my pointer finger.

  He laughs a little. "You're getting physical now?"

  "I know how much you like that."

  "You haven't even begun to learn just how much I like it."

  "Whatever."

  "So the meeting in the conference room today was for you?"

  "Oh are you wondering why you didn't hear about it first?"

  He stares at me with a guilty look on his face.

  "I said are you wondering why Peter didn't call you and tell you first?"

  "I guess he told you about that part of our agreement."

  "He sure did, and I'm pretty sure that he thinks that I'm a kept woman or your love slave at this point. Thanks for that by the way. You're making me look real good at work."

  "Snitch."

  "Who's a snitch? Peter? He's my boss. He owes no allegiance to you."

  "He shouldn't have told you, but no biggie. What I'd rather know, because I can see you're dying to tell me, is how you finally landed the big fish?"

  "Well," I preen. "I dazzled them with one of my ideas for charitable giving by the group. They were very impressed. In fact Marley asked specifically for me to be their point person on the spot. Right in front of everyone in the room. There was no way Peter could say no."

  Saint looks at me like he's bored.

  "So Marley took a liking to you, huh?"

  "Of course. I'm very likable."

  "It's not good for you to have all of these unfulfilled crushes on grown men you'll never have. First Jacob–"

  "Jason," I correct.

  "Whoever and now this Marley dude. Do I have to drive a five year old Mercedes or wear clothes made out of hemp to get a little attention from you?"

  I scoff at that. "You're just jealous that Marley makes more money than you."

  "Think about that for a second. And you're supposed to be so great with numbers. Spin has to pay a full band. Tour organizers. Assistants. Not to mention all of their family members probably have their hands out. Me on the other hand? I don't have any one to pay except a lawyer and you guys, and my family is self-sufficient. They don't need my money. So if you think about it, I'm the way better catch. I can always take care of you in the lifestyle that you're accustomed to." He picks up the menu. "Such as it is."

  "Good thing I don't care about things like that."

  "Obviously. You seem to only care about your five-year-plan and your job, speaking of which, have you been watching my games?"

  "Do you really want me to answer that?"

  "What are you talking about?" He takes offense. "We won the game in New England. I was phenomenal."

  "Brady wasn't playing. You didn't have much competition."

  "So now you know all the quarterbacks in the league by name? Just yesterday you didn't know what a quarterback was."

  "I'm a quick learner."

  "I've got something you can learn all about right here."

  He looks between his legs.

  I change the subject pronto, because I refuse to let on that I've done nothing but fantasize about what's between his legs for fourteen days straight.

  "And why do you always sit on the bench by yourself when the defense takes the field?"

  He looks impressed by my high level observation.

  "I'm going over plays with the coaches. You got a problem with that?"

  "I think you should be talking to your players instead. Getting them revved up. Isn't that your job as the team leader? I'd think that you'd be good at that."

  A waitress in a pink shirt and black pants finally comes over to take our order.

  "Excuse me, but aren't you Saint Stevenson?"

  Or maybe she could care less about our order.

  "That's me, darlin'."

  "I hope you don't mind, and I wouldn't normally bother someone like you, but my manager would love it if you would let us take a picture for our wall. We're big Nighthawks fans, and we love you here. You were amazing last Sunday in New England."

  "Was I?" he asks while looking at me in that "I told you so" voice.

  "Didn't you say you wanted to try and find another restaurant?" I say annoyed.

  "Forget lunch. I always have time for fans. Especially when they are as sweet as you."

  Oh good grief.

  The waitress holds her hand up to her mouth and tries to cover the fan girl smile spreading across her face. These corny lines of his actually work, and he's delivering them right in front of me.

  That's it.

  I've had enough.

  "I'll catch up with you later, lover boy."

  I get up to leave in a huff.

  "Wait." He grabs my arm.

  "What?"

  "You're crankier than usual. What's wrong?"

  "Nothing."

  "Don't tell me nothing. I haven't talked to you in weeks, and you're acting like a total bitch today.
What's wrong?"

  "Has it been weeks?"

  Saint pauses for a minute then lets my arm go and smiles.

  "I'm afraid to even ask this, but is it possible that you're angry that I haven't called you?"

  "It's not possible."

  "Oh, I think it's very probable." He grins. "You missed me. Admit it."

  "Never."

  "In between practice, eating and sleeping, I promised my nephew a snowboarding trip. So we drove upstate, and when I got back, I had to get right back to the grindstone. I'm sorry."

  Phones don't work in the mountains?

  Oh my God, what am I saying right now?

  "No apologies necessary. It's none of my business what you do or who you talk to during your down time."

  "I'm making it your business."

  "I've got to go." I try walking away again.

  He grabs me by the wrist smiling like he just won the lottery or something.

  "Why are you smiling?" I ask irritated.

  "Because you're so stinking pretty."

  I squeeze my cheeks together with my hands and stick my tongue out.

  He laughs out loud, and the entire restaurant glares at us.

  "You look even prettier now."

  I roll my eyes.

  "You'd be mad if I kissed you right now wouldn't you?"

  "I'd kill you," I threaten.

  "Sabrina."

  "What. Saint."

  "When's my first meeting?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The meetings you set up for the bye week."

  Oh, right.

  "The first confirmed meeting is on Tuesday."

  "Who's it with?"

  "Wolf Athletics."

  "Awesome, it's a date! I'll pick you up."

  "It's not a date, and that makes no sense. I'm in Brooklyn, and you and Wolf are in the city. I'll come to you."

  "Wolf is downtown on the East Side. Close to the bridge. I'll pick you up. What time?"

  There's no point in arguing with his stubborn ass.

  "The meeting is at ten."