Troy Hartman returns from suspension and blew it out of the water for the team once again for the Brooklyn Blades.
And did he ever, the past few games were some of his best yet. Not to mention Hartman was one of the main reasons the Brooklyn Blades just moved up in the standings closer to first than they've come in years this early in the season, with only six games in. The ownership was thrilled with his performance and the fan base was energized…
“This is incredible,” I whispered.
“So, you’re not mad?”
“I meant for Aug—” I looked around us and lowered my voice. “I mean forTroy.”
Nicole shook her head. “Sweetie, I hate to tell you this, but it’s not good for either of them.”
“Harper,” Frankie called as he walked toward the stand. He was carrying his briefcase and a jacket hung over his arm, so I knew he was just coming in to work.
Dropping the magazine, I moved behind the counter. “Usual, boss?” I asked with little enthusiasm behind it.
“Nic will get it. Follow me to my office.”
Nicole jumped behind the counter while I followed him to his office.
“I told you I’d get you in, didn’t I, Harp? And it only took us what, two, three months?”
I jerked. “Are they offering me a job?”
“Well no. Not yet. They need more.”
“I’ve given them more…they just—”
“Of Hartman. He’s taking this season by storm and they want another for next week’s issue.”
I shook my head. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me? Why would they want more sketches, shouldn’t they change it up a bit with a photo maybe?” Not that I was sure if Troy or August would show up to a photoshoot anytime soon.
“Anyone could get a photo. No one else will have this.” He held up his copy of the issue.
I crossed my arms. “Well, I’m not available.”
Frankie wasn’t surprised by my lack of enthusiasm given he knew I didn’t want to share the image. He leaned back in his chair and pulled an envelope out of his drawer. “By the way, here’s your compensation.”
He handed it to me and I withdrew the single check inside written out for…
Nine thousand dollars? For something that took me less than an hour?
“Frankie this check is written out to me. If they know it’s mine why would they credit it as anon—”
“Many reasons, Harp.” He stood and paced anxiously behind his desk. “It sparks interest, eliminates competition. Prevents other mags to offer you deals…” he was careful about that last one.
“If I cash this check…am I accepting the fact that they won’t credit my work?”
He sighed. “If youdon’tcash that check, I could lose my job for telling them I had permission to use it unsigned.”
“Frankie.”
“I’m sorry Harper.” He raced around his desk. “But I’ve got a plan. There’s a game Friday—tomorrow. I’ll get us private seats, bring your sketchbook—”
“No.”
“Let me finish. Make it a big one. Get creative.Sign it. Then we pitch it to the big guys upstairs and you lay out your terms.”
I released a heavy breath, feeling like I finally had someone on my side. “I’ll need space.”
