by Sandra Kitt
“Patrick. Hey. What can I do for you? You’ll have to make it fast; I have…”
“JoAnn just told me. This won’t take long. Five minutes, tops.”
With that, Patrick pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He took his time opening it flat, all the while keeping his gaze on the manager. So far, the man looked curious, but nothing more. Patrick passed the paper over to him.
“I think this belongs to the station, to management, actually.”
The man on the other side of the desk carefully reached for the paper and held it gingerly as if something offensive was crawling all over it.
“Are you kidding me?” Patrick asked, his annoyance and disbelief putting a sharp and bitter edge to his tone.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the manager said, slowly examining the sheet.
“I think you do. I didn’t ask for any recognition for how great REPLAY has been doing. I didn’t need an expensive dinner at an exclusive restaurant at which everyone there got to have dinner except me.”
Patrick stepped even closer to the desk, peering down at the man, who was still reading every detail of the receipt, while trying to come up with a plausible response.
“I didn’t ask to have the regional head of ESPN there to chat me up and tell me what he thinks I can do next for business. And I’m fucking pissed off that somehow, I got stiffed with the bill.”
“Well, I can hear that you’re upset.”
“What you hear is me handing you this expense report and expecting to be fully reimbursed, immediately.”
“You know I can’t just authorize that. I have to…”
“You have to make me happy. I’m giving you the opportunity to make this right by the end of the week. It’s not going to go over well if I take this over your head. I really don’t want to do that.”
The manager put the paper down flat on his desk and stared wide-eyed at Patrick. “No need for that. And I don’t like to be threatened.”
Patrick kept his voice even and smooth, but no less firm. “Take it any way you want. I don’t really care. I’m going to assume the guys upstairs are not really interested in getting rid of me. Are you really willing to jeopardize all the good news with the bad news that I might be fielding offers?”
The man sighed, considering his position and his options.
“Patrick, take it easy.”
“I’m going to go you one better. I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt that no one was trying to screw me over.”
“This was clearly an oversight. I’ll talk to whoever set up that dinner. Of course you should not have gotten the bill for that. Just…just calm down. We’ll get it straightened out.”
“I’m glad you agree,” Patrick said, his smile frosty and stiff.
“I’ll have accounting push this through. You’ll get a check by the end of the week. Soon enough?”
“I can live with that,” Patrick said, turning easily to leave the office. He checked the time on his cell phone as he opened the door. “See, I told you. Under five minutes. We’re done.”
* * *
Patrick sat alone, for the time being, at a table in a corner in the depths of the tavern. He was frowning over two pages of a narrative he’d asked Pete Samuels to send him before they met. But Patrick was restless, his brows knotted as he considered yet another request for money—a loan—from someone he knew and liked. He’d ordered a drink while waiting for Pete, but the throbbing and gnawing at his temples told him it was probably not wise to drink. Patrick was not used to headaches. He wasn’t used to ongoing stress and people, mostly friends and acquaintances, constantly asking for something from him. His problem was that he didn’t know how to say no.
Jean had said to him at the start that it was okay to say no, to take time to consider the merits of each request and not automatically say yes because the request was coming from someone he knew. But Pete had been upfront from the very beginning about his need. And he might have asked even if Patrick had not won the lottery. Pete had no other talents beyond his ability as a running back in football. But his career had been short, if spectacular. He’d fallen victim to bad judgment, poor decisions, and massive overspending of his then very generous salary from the NFL.
Patrick had heard the sob story a dozen times over. Blaming everything from bad coaches to unexpected accidents and injuries to bad calls on the field. Nonetheless, Patrick empathized with Pete, not because of his bullshit excuses and lack of critical thinking, but because Pete was a genuine good guy, an I got your back kind of man he’d want on his team. This was different. Pete’s playing days of glory had been over for almost ten years, and his gofer work deep behind the scenes of the station was purely by way of his friendly personality and former teammates wanting to protect him and help him out. But it was to Patrick that Pete had come for help. And he couldn’t say no.
When his cell buzzed, Patrick immediately hoped it was Pete canceling. But he recognized Jean’s number, and although the headache remained, he felt, magically, revived.
“Hi, Jean. How are you?”
“I’m good. And you?”
He hesitated but was finally honest. “Working on a monster headache. Gin and tonic doesn’t help,” he joked. But there was no immediate response.
“Anything wrong?” she asked.
“Long day.”
“I’m sorry. This is probably not a good time to…”
“No, no. This is fine. I’m glad to hear from you.”
“You sound busy. I hear conversation.”
“Not with me. I’m waiting for Pete.” Again, it was a long moment before she replied.
“Is that the one with the bright son going to college?”
“Not yet. He’s still in high school, but Pete asked me if I could…you know…help out a little with future tuition,” he said, his voice trailing off.
“I remember. Patrick, I know you’ll make the right decision.”
“Thanks,” he murmured.
“I won’t keep you. I wanted to thank you again for the outing. I can’t even begin to tell you how fantastic the whole day was.”
“Your call is good enough for me.” He briefly hesitated. “On second thought…how would you feel if I…came out later…if it’s not too late?”
“Do you want to stay over?”
“Well…I don’t want it to sound like I want… We should…”
Jean giggled. “You don’t have to explain. I’ll see you later?”
“Definitely,” he promised, suddenly rejuvenated.
Patrick sat back in the banquette and sighed. He rubbed his temples, eyes closed, trying to ease the sense that his head was about to explode. He checked the time. Pete was not late, but Patrick wished he’d show up. It had been a difficult day. Natalie had tried reaching him again, but he’d not taken her call or any made from her in the past two weeks. And suddenly, out of nowhere, he’d developed an odd posse of bridge-and-tunnel groupies who’d become adept at finding him when he was in the city. He knew he’d have to have a talk with the station assistant assigned to his Instagram account and tighten the reins on what he could and could not post.
“Hey, man. I’m not late, am I?”
Patrick quickly pulled himself together. He opened his eyes to find Pete sliding into the banquette opposite him. Pete held out his hand for the customary bro clasp and greeting.
“You’re good,” Patrick said, signaling for the waiter.
“I’d like to know why the fuck ESPN had to put a goddamn studio in New Jersey. What a pain it is driving back in.”
“Leasing there is cheaper than New York.”
Pate cackled loudly. “Like they can’t afford it,” he said, shaking his head. “I know you don’t mind ’cause you seeing some cute thing here in the city.”
Patrick lifted a cor
ner of his mouth in resignation. No point in denying it. Besides, his headache precluded excuses and sidesteps.
“You get that paper?” Pete asked.
“Yeah. Just reading it over again. Thanks for making it clear what you need.”
Pete shook his head. “No, man. Thank you for meeting with me to talk about it. I’m a little ashamed, know what I’m sayin’?”
“Forget about it,” Patrick said, scanning the pages again.
“Wait, wait!” Pete said suddenly, leaning over the table to Patrick. “You’ll never believe who I saw last weekend.”
“I give up,” Patrick said at once. He wasn’t in the mood for guessing games.
“Kate.”
Patrick stopped, lifting his head sharply to regard Pete, who, given his expression, knew he’d succeeded in surprising the hell out of him.
“Kate. Katie?” Patrick murmured.
“That’s right.”
“Where did you see Katie?” he asked, not particularly pleased to be reminded of his ex-wife.
“Down in Philly, man. I mean, we didn’t talk or anything. She wouldn’t have remembered me anyway. I was in the car with my lady friend, my son, and two of his friends. We were at a stoplight, and I glanced out my window, and it was her crossing the street. Looks pretty much the same, but she let the blond hair go.”
Patrick had no choice but to listen and was silent, waiting out Pete’s report.
“She looks good,” Pete said without being prompted, and almost with admiration. “But then Katie was always a looker, you know? She had a kid with her.”
Again, Patrick’s curiosity got the best of him, and he looked at Pete, expecting more details. “A kid?” he found himself asking. His mouth went dry.
“Yeah, yeah. ’Bout three or four. Little guy. And there was some man with them. Of all places to run into her. Philly, for Christ’s sake!”
“That’s where her folks live,” Patrick filled in automatically. He took another deep breath, shaking off the past and the unexpected churning of his stomach.
Three or four…little guy.
Patrick swallowed, shuffled his papers. It had been longer than that since he and his ex had seen each other.
“Okay, Pete. Let’s get to it. Let me tell you how I want to handle this. If you and I can agree on the basics, I’ll turn this over to my attorney.”
“Cool! This is dope, Patrick. Thanks, man.”
Chapter 10
“Hi. I’m Ross Franklin.”
“Patrick Bennett.”
“Have a seat.”
Patrick took the offered hand and liked that the grip was very firm but not aggressive. He was also pleased that Ross Franklin did not take the power seat behind his desk, but sat adjacent to him in the second of two comfortable chairs on one side of the office. There was a small functional table between them.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Ross said with a polite smile as he placed a small sheaf of papers on the table.
He didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get down to business but appeared relaxed and willing to chat. The putting-the-potential-client-at-ease talk.
“This is going to sound lame, but I’m a fan of REPLAY. I caught your program last week. Do you really think the Giants are going to get the first-round draft pick this year? Who do you think they’re seriously interested in?”
Patrick settled comfortably in his chair. The initial formality he always expected in a business meeting was not present. He gave Ross credit for not being officious. His interest in football talk was real.
“I’m not a betting man,” Patrick responded. “I’m comfortable that I know what I’m talking about, but it is show-talk.”
Ross nodded.
“I’m not sure the Giants organization is the best place for a top team prospect. If it turns out to be who everyone else is after, I’d say he’d probably develop best with the Eagles.”
Ross’s brows rose. “I hadn’t looked at it that way, but that’s a very interesting idea. And it makes sense.”
“That’s why I get the big bucks,” Patrick joked dryly. Ross grinned.
Patrick tried to be subtle in his curiosity about Ross Franklin, studying him from the moment he walked into the office. He quickly knew two things. First, that the financial analyst appeared serious and organized and had done his homework. The second was that he had a strong, authoritative presence, was very professional and personable. And he was Black. Patrick hadn’t expected that, but it didn’t really matter. Jean had vouched for him.
“I hope you don’t mind that I did a little informal background check,” Ross stated.
“Not at all. I expected that you’d want to.”
“I will say that you are in a very positive and, hopefully, satisfying financial place. You won’t have to worry about paying your bills. Congratulations, by the way, on your lottery win.”
“Thank you,” Patrick answered simply. “Maybe. It’s early yet.”
“I understand it hasn’t been all champagne and roses. You’ve probably already started to experience the good, the bad, and the ugly after your win.”
“I’m starting to find out.” Patrick glanced at the papers on the table. He detected a photocopy of an article. “You’ve been following some of the recent press about me.”
“I have. And I will guess that much of it is distorted, written for maximum effect, and to sell papers. Not so many people read newspapers anymore.”
“But they do browse the banners on their social media apps. The word still gets out.”
“You don’t seem to have lost any popularity.”
“That I know of. It’s still been…difficult.”
“Of course.”
“I’m still fortunate. Things could be a whole lot worse.”
“So the last few months since your win have been an eye-opener.”
“That would be an understatement. I need to gain some control. I’m trying to figure out, how do I deal with all the stuff coming at me because I won so much money?”
“I get it. But I was surprised to get your call.”
“Why is that?”
“You’re fairly high profile, Mr. Bennett…”
“Patrick, please.”
“You could have gone to any of the top money management firms in my field. I’ve never had a sports figure come to me for help. Someone who’s really in the entertainment end of public service.”
Ever since his conversation with Pete, where he mentioned having seen his ex-wife, Patrick had been speculating like crazy about a possibility that was too mind-boggling to deal with in a single sitting. It had given him a few sleepless nights until he’d finally decided that he needed to pursue the information. But that wasn’t part of what Ross needed to know or would even have to deal with.
“Jean Travis recommended you. That was good enough for me.”
Ross was studying him, as if he was trying to look beyond the simple statement.
“How do you know Jean?”
“Beyond the surprise factor that she worked in the mayor’s office and hosted the public announcement of the lottery win? Jean and I went to the same high school, different grades. Haven’t seen each other since then.”
“So…you don’t really know each other well, do you?”
Patrick shifted in his chair, feeling the sudden need to be cautious in his response. He ran his hand through his hair.
“Small world, the saying goes.”
“And getting smaller,” Patrick murmured.
Ross continued to study him, pursing his lips. Patrick waited him out.
“Do you have any idea why Jean recommended me?”
Patrick’s senses went instantly on alert. It was nothing more than the mention of a connection, but he didn’t feel it was a simple question. And he didn’t have an answer. He shook h
is head.
“She told me that you work with her father and that he was very happy with what you’ve done for him.”
“Glad to hear that. I like my clients to be satisfied. I offer what I consider to be sound suggestions and back that up with statistics and annual reports. The client always makes the final decision about where to put their money.”
“Good. So what do we do next?”
“Thanks for your confidence,” Ross said smoothly. “Let’s go through this initial interview session. I’m sure you have lots of questions for me. Why don’t we start with basic background facts? Tell me more about your past career and financial situation up to right now. Next, I’d like to see copies of your salary arrangement with ESPN, and what the company has offered in terms of stock options, savings, and retirement plans.
“Then we’ll move on to the seventy-five million dollars. That will be our next meeting. I’d like to get an idea of your future plans. Any major expenses coming up. Any liens against you—”
Patrick’s knee began to bounce. He quickly caught the nervous movement and stopped.
“—that sort of thing. Has it fully hit you that you are obscenely wealthy?”
“I have my moments,” Patrick said honestly, with an embarrassed grin. “And a lot of nightmares.”
Ross laughed.
* * *
Jean heard the excited voices raised outside her office, down a length of the hallway to the left. She glanced up just as two department staffers walked by her doorway in the direction of the commotion. She turned to her boss, Brad, as he left his desk and headed for the door.
“What’s going on?”
“I have no idea,” he said.
She followed, glancing over his shoulder.
There was a small cluster of staff surrounding someone they all seem to know, chatting with the man with a great deal of familiarity, as if he was a celebrity. A quick tension gripped at Jean as the tall visitor turned his head and she recognized Patrick. After a few seconds he looked up, saw her and Brad, and gave a short nod and wave.
“Did I forget something? Was Patrick Bennett due in today for any reason?”