8. Evren #2
His golf clothes are tailored, but today, he’s sporting neon-orange socks which must be purposely done to clash like that. It’s a calculated choice, and that alone says something—he’s fully leaning into the approachable businessman image he’s got going on.
After we start the game, Mick casually says, “Ben tells me you’re on the lookout for a new sponsor. ”
“We are,” I say, lining up my own shot. I suck at golf and hate to play it. But if it’ll help me close this deal, I’ll do it. I swing and the ball barely moves. How long does this game last? “Why don’t you tell me a bit more about Glam Pop and what you’re looking for in a partnership?”
“Glam Pop,” Ben says, “is more than just flavored sparkling water. It’s a celebration of female empowerment.
It all started to help my mom. There’s a lot of social pressure to drink alcohol at the events she goes to, but she hates the stuff.
So, I designed Glam Pop to be a refreshing and sophisticated alternative.
Where she, or any woman, could feel confident, beautiful, and strong while drinking it. ”
By the end of Ben’s speech, his face is flush, and his eyes are wide with excitement. His energy and passion are impressive, and not something I see every day. He could be a great partner to work with because he cares, truly cares, about his product.
“As for what I’m looking for,” Ben says. “I know it’s not an obvious choice to sponsor an NFL team, but in my opinion, there’s a huge untapped potential there concerning women.”
“There is,” Mick agrees. “But we can’t alienate our customers.
The NFL is typically viewed as a man’s sport.
” He shoots Ben a reproachful look, as if annoyed that Ben wants to take this direction with the company.
“We’d only be interested in sponsoring your team if you can prove that our brand’s values align with each other. ”
I have no idea what he even means by that, but somehow, it’s related to women and a good negotiator never says no. “No problem, I can have a proposal for you soon on what we can do to ensure your customers would be happy and included.”
Mick nods and then throws an easy grin at Ben, who might’ve done something impressive if I knew anything about this game.
“You know,” Mick says to Ben, “now you have to buy everyone drinks, right? Best score on the first hole always does the honors.”
I can’t escape Nina. She’s everywhere. The scent of jasmine lingers in the air like a siren’s song,drawing me in with its intoxicating depths. Every creak of the floorboards,every soft murmur,sends a jolt through me,my mind racing with thoughts of her.
I should be focused on the spreadsheet in front of me, but instead, she’s in the pool and I’m distracted. Her body is like all my fantasies and dreams rolled into one delectable package. She’s all mesmerizing curves and perfection, haunting me whether I’m awake or asleep.
As I drift toward the window, I make a silent deal with myself: just one glance, then I’ll get back to work.
Just one. She’s like a drug,a forbidden pleasure,and I’m powerless to resist her intoxicating pull.
She doesn’t swim laps and instead splashes about and floats like a starfish with a pool noodle under her arms and head.
Where I use the pool to maintain my physique and manage my stress levels, she uses it for fun.
Is there anything I do in my life that’s fun? That’s not necessary? I don’t even need to think about it before the answer comes. Of course, I don’t.
Hours later, I’m still working on the spreadsheet.
After golfing with Mick and Ben, Zeki and I brainstormed proposals on how to include Mick’s condition within the team.
Neither of us had any good ideas, but we settled on including something new in our women’s apparel line for his customers.
Maybe we could make a special line where we incorporate elements of their slogan within the designs.
Evaluating the women’s apparel sales is something I haven’t done yet.
It’s on my list, but now it’s shot to the top.
I pull up the numbers for the past five years and read and compare them three times.
No matter how many times I do it, the result is the same.
The numbers stare back at me witha cold,hard accusation.
Apparel sales in general are supposed to be the cash cow of the franchise.
Since fans love the team,they want the gear,so the money should be pouring in.
But these numbers tell a different story. A damning one.
I run a hand through my hair,a mixture of disbelief and exasperation winding its way through me.
What’s going wrong here? I flip between my screens, and notice there’s been a steady decline over the past five years.
That’s during Harold’s time, and I have no idea what decisions he made to turn these sales against us .
I scan the numbers for the last three months. We should’ve seen a spike in sales after our Super Bowl win, and there is for the men’s apparel, but not women’s.
Shit. I should’ve caught this last year, but I was too busy focusing on the team’s performance, on getting us to the Super Bowl.
But something is seriously wrong here, and I need to get to the bottom of this.
The profits are needed to help support my VR and ARprojects within the team, but more importantly, this area could be the potential way to get Ben and Mick to sign on as a sponsor.
There’s a knock at the bedroom door.
“Yes?” I ask, turning to face the door. Nina’s standing there, wearing her paint-speckled overalls and another black tank top underneath.
The left side of her overalls are unbuckled, and it gives me the perfect view of the words sewn across her breasts that say I’m not listening and my logo integrated on the o and the dots of the i’s.
“Do you like it?” she asks, pointing to her shirt.
“I like everything you design.” I give her a slow once-over, savoring the fact that she’s here, in the same room as me. “Have you reconsidered my offer yet?”
“The answer is still no,” she singsongs, taunting me.
“Remind me again why not?”
“Putting money to art isn’t creative. That’s not why I do this.”
“That’s a specific point of view,” I say.
“I’m not surprised you don’t understand it when your entire focus in life is to make more money.”
“That’s not my entire focus.” I smirk .
“Ugh, fine. Then it’s ninety-nine point nine percent of it.”
“Funny, because lately my attention just so happens to be on you.”
She rolls her eyes, like what I said is a joke, but it’s not. “Ohhhh, are you practicing your pickup lines on me?”
“I don’t need pickup lines.” I shrug, trying to play off my defensive tone.
“Right. You never need them because you never date.”
“I date.”
“Oh really?” She raises her eyebrow. “When was the last time you went out?”
“The night my house flooded.”
“Woooow. And here I thought you were a virgin.”
“Oh?” I laugh, loving that she’s trying to hide how jealous she is if her pursed lips and crossed arms are any indication. “I like that you’ve been thinking about my sex life.”
“I haven’t,” she says quickly.
“Don’t worry, it’ll be our secret.”
“Has anyone ever told you you’re irritating?”
“Yes, many times.” She isn’t the first, or the last, person to tell me that. “Why? Did you come to my room at midnight just to tell me that?”
“Yes. And I need to finish decorating the bathroom.”
“At midnight?” I ask. I’ve noticed the finished office, and that she’s started on a guest bedroom. But I didn’t realize she wasn’t finished with this one yet.
“Yes.”
“Okay.” I shrug. “Have at it.”
“What are you working on?” She lifts her chin toward my screen.
“Spreadsheets.”
“And is working at midnight a regular thing for you, too?”
“Unfortunately.” I miss sleeping and not thinking, where everything shuts off. Where I feel refreshed in the mornings instead of feeling like I’m living one long, unending day.
“And what about when you finish work at night?” she asks. “What do you do afterwards, before sleeping?”
“You’re awfully curious about my habits. Planning to murder me in my sleep?”
“Depends on if you answer or not.”
My lips twitch. “I don’t do anything, just lie in bed.”
“Nothing? No doomscrolling on social media?”
I must make a face because she laughs.
“No,” she says, “of course you wouldn’t doomscroll. What was I thinking? You probably don’t know how to download an app with your advanced age.”
“I’m well versed in many things because of my age.” I give her a filthy smirk, and she swallows hard.
Nina is so tempting with her defiant, tenacious, and unyielding personality. And she’s quickly, frustratingly, becoming irresistible .
“Oh really?” Her voice is all husky and sexy. “Like what?”
“Everything you’re thinking about, pariltim .”
The second the nickname leaves my mouth, I wish I could reel it back in. A nickname is too personal, too close to caring. Even if it fits her perfectly. It means my sparkle in Turkish. It’s exactly what she is, sparkly and shiny, with her bold outfits and sassy mouth that demand attention.
Her eyes narrow. “What does that word mean?”
“Nothing.”
She gives me a long look, clearly not believing me, and I ask, “Are you going to get started?” I wave a hand toward the bathroom, needing to distract her from my slipup. “Or just stand there?”
“You don’t mind? That I need to decorate at midnight?”
“Why would I mind? I’m up anyway.”
Her face softens for a split second, something I would’ve missed if I wasn’t looking at her so closely.
She inches closer, her movements deliberate, as if she’s testing the air between us.
My heart races, anticipation thickening.
I have no idea what she’s going to do, but I desperately want to find out.
Her jasmine scent wraps around me, intoxicating and bold, holding me captive.
She reaches for the window latch, her shoulder grazing mine.
A shockwave of heat sears through me that’s impossible to ignore.
It’s a simple touch, but it doesn’t change the fact that my world narrows into the few inches where her body presses into mine.
When she finally opens the window, the sudden rush of fresh air fills the room, but it doesn’t clear the tension. Instead, it somehow amplifies it. Nina’s cheeks flush and it ignites a spark of desire deep within me.
She turns her head sharply to look at me. “What are you staring at?” she snaps, but there’s an edge of breathlessness in her tone that betrays her.
“Just admiring the view,” I reply, my voice low and teasing, but inside, I’m battling the urge to pull her closer, to let the electricity between us spark into something more.
“Fuck off, that’s so cliché.”
I shrug. I’m sure she’d punch me if I told her that it’s the truth. Instead, I ask, “Why did you open the window?”
“I can’t have you dying on my watch from the paint fumes.”
“So you do care about me.”
She flips me off and disappears into the bathroom, taking my focus with her, leaving the world a little dimmer in her absence.