Hollywood Bad Boys Club: Book 2: Mason by Alexis Adaire Page B

word had it Paramount was leaning toward someone else. I had no idea Terrance Massey was that person.
    Now it’s my turn, and as I think about what to say to up the ante, I again glance at how her tits push against that dress. The fit of that dress alone would make me want to fuck her, even if she weren’t so goddamn beautiful.
    “I’m negotiating a new shoe endorsement deal for Marcus Jennings. I’ve got Adidas up to one-seventy-five over ten years and we’re still talking.” Okay, so I’m exaggerating a little.
    “I didn’t realize his contract was up,” Claire says. “I could get him a lot more than that, though.”
    I give her a derisive smirk. “Sure you could.”
    “I’m not joking. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could get it done,” she says. “First of all, we do way more athletes at CT than MAU does. Hell, I’ve got two full-time agents doing nothing but sports work. Secondly, I’ve got Derek Brodhurst at Nike, and his deal expires next year. If Marcus Jennings were my client, I’d convince Nike to go to two-hundred over ten just to keep relations good because they can’t afford to lose Brodhurst. He’s their prime NFL guy and they’ll bend over backwards to keep him from walking.”
    All of that makes perfect sense, which annoys me immensely. I had forgotten that Claire negotiated that Brodhurst deal. Still, I have serious doubts she could get Nike up to two-hundred million for Marcus, regardless of what leverage she may have.
    “Third, I’ve been friends with Chance Gainey since we were both at USC. We’ve got a great relationship. I worked with him directly on the Brodhurst deal.”
    Like a lot of other agency people, I always wondered how CT had managed to get Nike to agree to the terms of that blockbuster contract for Derek Brodhurst, who was a huge college star but had yet to prove himself capable of playing at the pro level. Now it makes sense. Chance Gainey is Nike’s Executive Vice President of Global Marketing, the guy who makes the final decisions regarding those huge endorsement deals you hear so much about.
    I look across the table at this stunning blonde bombshell and see a cocky expression that practically dares me to challenge her. The problem with contesting her on this is that she might just be right. I know she’s got me, and she knows I know it. It irritates me that I have nothing to come back with, so I change the subject.
    “Why did you start an agency?” I ask. “What do you get out of this?”
    “The same thing you get out of it.”
    “Tons of pussy?”
    Claire is unfazed by my comment. “I’m in this business for power and money. In that order.”
    I’m quite surprised by the sudden realization that I like this woman. Not because of her beauty, but because we’re much alike, personality-wise. I never expected to get this kind of buzz from a simple conversation with her.
    “I’ll tell you what, though,” she says, “there are parts of the business I hate.”
    “Of course there are. Same with me. Building business alliances bores me to tears. Like the thing you’ve obviously done with Nike, and apparently with Trident as well. Having to oversee diversification into sports, online, digital media… I don’t mind the strategizing part, but I hate having to follow through on it. It’s tedious bullshit.”
    “Oh my God, you are so wrong,” Claire says, leaning forward, her eyes even bigger than normal. “I live for that bullshit. That’s the most exciting part, sowing the seeds of partnerships that will reap huge rewards over time. The ground-level negotiations are what I despise, the poker game aspect of sitting across from a producer or studio head, bluffing to try to get your client a few extra bucks. I only do that for my biggest clients because I detest it so much.”
    I’m baffled by this. I have literally the exact opposite point of view.
    “Ah, but I don’t view that part as negotiating, I see it as a contest.” Now I’m animated, too,