Beau
My phone rang and I sighed. Another call? I wasn’t getting any chance to actually get my work done, and I hated talking on the phone.
“Hello?” I asked. I’d seen the name of another local business on my caller ID – Thornton Physiotherapy Practice – but there was no way of knowing whether it was a friend of a friend calling or a stranger. I was guarded, nervous breath catching in my throat as I strained to listen. I hated that feeling of asking a stranger to repeat themselves over the line.
“Hey, man,” came a deep, somewhat familiar voice. Deon. My shoulders relaxed slightly, but only a little. I only knew Deon by way of the fact that he was dating my former Head Chef, Jesse. But I had worked for him before I’d started my own business, and we weren’t close enough to see each other often. “I have a referral for you.”
That, at least, perked my ears up a little. Physiotherapy patients were often perfect fits for my services as a nutritionist. There were lots of things I could do via diet to help someone recover from an injury. “Oh, really? Thanks – who’s the client?”
Deon chuckled, which made my nerves flare up again. “You’re going to love it.”
The first thing that flashed through my head was an image of my ex, Grey Monaghan. My stomach soured and sweat itched across my palms and shoulder blades. It was exactly the kind of cruel joke I could imagine the universe playing on me. Deon thinking I’d want to reminisce with my former boss, not realizing he was also my former lover.
“What does that mean?” I asked, maybe snapping a little more than I meant to. My breath came short. I was wrong, right? Deon wouldn’t get it that wrong?
“It means I just handed you the key to a whole football team,” Deon said. “You’ve got a star wide receiver coming your way.”
I tried to tamp down a groan. A football player? That was the last thing I needed! For starters, I didn’t watch football and I didn’t know anything about the game. And second, I’d only been in business for a few months. There was no way I was good enough yet to work with a serious pro athlete. “Uh, look, Deon, the thing is…”
“Don’t turn him down just because you don’t watch football,” he said. “A wide receiver is the guy who catches forward passes from the quarterback. He runs around a lot.”
“Um,” I said, because that didn’t exactly help given that I didn’t know what a quarterback did either, except go on magazine covers and get famous, from what I’d heard.
“You’ll be great for him,” Deon said. “Honestly, the guy needs taking down a peg or two, so you should lean into the fact that you have no idea how famous he is. He’ll hate it. He needs it. Trust me.”
This was all way too much. Not only was he some kind of star player, but he was also – reading between the lines – an asshole. I didn’t want to work with someone like that. I couldn’t . It was too early.
“I don’t think I have space for him at the moment,” I said, which was an absolute lie because my books were only half-full. I could have taken on a whole football team because even the clients I did have weren’t exactly paying very much. But it was the only thing I could think of to put Deon off – although I could immediately see it biting me in the butt if he decided not to send any more work my way, either.
“Oh, well,” Deon said. “I guess you’ll have to tell him that. But if I were you, I would make space. I think he wants you to cook for him as well. He specifically asked if we knew anyone who could put together the recipes they recommend.”
Oh, god . It kept getting worse.
Don’t just work with a pro athlete before you’re ready.
Don’t just have that pro athlete be an asshole.
But now, also have that asshole pro athlete be the kind of client who needs a lot more hands-on work.
The kind of client I’ve been dreaming of .
Why did it have to be now?
“I just don’t think I can do that to my existing clients,” I said, trying to sound much more casual than I felt. “I’m trying to build my reputation, so if you could just tell him you made a mistake and refer him to someone else…”
“It’s a bit late for that,” Deon said cheerfully. “He should be knocking on your door in the next five minutes or so.”
“What?” I heard myself squeak. And a second later, right on cue…
A loud knock at the door.
“Deon!” I hiss-whispered into the phone. “I think he’s here!”
“Well?” Deon replied with a chuckle. “What are you doing still talking to me?”
I swallowed hard and put the phone down. He deserved me being a little rude. He’d put me on the spot.
I looked at the door. There was no sound from the other side – at least not that I could hear from the opposite end of the room. Maybe I’d imagined it. Maybe he’d already given up and gone away. Maybe –
The knock sounded again.
I took the deepest breath I could manage and wiped my hands on my pants, then headed to open the door.