Big Dick Energy - Cindi Madsen Page 0,20
having several beers and watching the game. Think of the citizens’ safety.”
Oh, he was good, but I was better. “If you loved watching the matches so much, wouldn’t you just pay the extra money to be on the side where you could watch from your balcony?” Since talking sense into Archer was like bashing my head against the wall and expecting progress, I aimed my next comments toward our client. “There’s also something to be said about appealing to a wider audience and breathing new life into that older area.”
“I think it’s a mistake not to consider all our options,” Archer said.
Letting him go off all half-cocked like this without practicing our presentation together was the mistake. I kept my gaze away from the thick-headed numbskull and continued on with the other thing I had on my side. “As you know, I’ve been working on this project and running figures for two months…”
There. Pointing out he was new to the project without having to say it. I clicked onto the next slide I’d prepared all by my lonesome. “As you can see, there’s a market for—”
“Numbers can be manipulated. Sometimes you’ve got to go with your gut. What’s your gut telling you?”
Mine was insisting I follow through with my threat to stomp on his toes. “Mr. York, I appreciate your enthusiasm, but if you’ll stop interrupting so I can finish showing the data I’ve collected, then you’ll be free to talk about your issues with your gut.”
As he glowered my way, I widened my smile, calmly swept my hair over my shoulder, and then gestured to the chart behind me. I rattled off a stream of facts and figures, as well as highlighted similar projects done in other cities and what’d preformed the best there.
Archer’s eyes met mine the instant I finished, a lightning strike in the stormy gray, and my pulse snagged on its beats. The slight lift of his eyebrow very clearly asked if I’d finished speaking, and I swallowed before nodding.
“Who knows the Pythons better than you, Scott?”
Scott perked up, happy to be called on and even happier to show off his knowledge. “Nobody.”
From there, Archer praised several of the moves the guy had made, including listing players and coaches he’d recruited.
“Johnson was a good grab,” I said, because he was an amazing head coach, and our local team had been lucky to nab him. “I’ve been a huge fan since his Hoosier days.”
Archer turned to me, poker face in place, and I tensed. Witnesses or no, if he called that interrupting, I’d straight-up murder him. I’d been spoken over and interrupted so many times I couldn’t even count them up.
Don’t apologize, don’t apologize, don’t apologize.
“There’s something Miss Jones and I one-hundred percent agree on.”
Was he toying with me? What was his endgame. Did he think I couldn’t rattle off Python stats, past and present? My fingers curled in on themselves, preparing for the cracking of knuckles necessary for how hard I was about to school him.
But he turned back to the three members seated at the table, his long fingers casually threading the button on his suit into its home. Then he reminisced on bartending during games, when for a few hours, ninety percent of the patrons were united, regardless of their various walks of life. It didn’t change that there wasn’t a need for three floors of that when those people could sit in the stadium, but whatever.
The nostalgia was reeling in Mario hook, line, and sinker.
Then Archer launched into making a gift shop where I’d put a nail salon and massage parlor, for people who might not want to spend hours watching a game but liked the tailgate and postgame experience. Why not have an option for people to treat themselves regardless of whether or not they were sports fans. It also meant customers who came to relax and frequented the restaurants, even on days when there weren’t events going on at the field.
Perhaps they’d get a little eye candy when the players were coming out of practice, too. Win-win.
“Sports merchandizing is down in person,” I said when there was an opening. “It’s an online game now.”
“Not if we had the players come sign stuff in person. I’d bet we could have the Padres and other teams, too. One of my favorite memories with my dad was getting a football signed by Shawn Lee. He was one of the greats, gone too soon.”
Now he was milking the emotional angle? And again, Mario was lapping