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I rolled my eyes. “Cocky-ass nigga.”

Then, he moved closer. “You wanna know why I started callin’ you Juicy?”

If I moved again, I’d be pressed against the damn wall. We were only on the 38th floor. That was too long to be in close quarters with him.

“Nope,” I said, folding my arms. “It don’t matter.”

“Then stop lookin’ at me like you tryna find out.”

I opened my mouth to say something smart, and he moved to the opposite side of the elevator, eyes locked on me. If it was hard with him standing close, it was worse with him watching me. Juvie didn’t have to touch me to unravel me, and that was the problem. From the 38th floor to the lobby, he didn’t look away. I was so grateful when we reached the lobby. I could have run, but I kept my cool and stepped out slowly. He was right on my heels, too. The security we brought, along with the team Nike provided, was waiting outside. Security tried to open the car door for me, and Juvie’s deep ass voice boomed behind me.

“Nah, I got her door. Go ’head.”

I snatched my head around and was face to face with his chest. He swung the door open and stared down at me.

“Get in, Juicy. We already runnin’ late.”

Arguing was out of the question, so I just got in. He waited patiently for me to get comfortable in my seat, then closed the door. When he finally got in the back seat with me, he set my briefcase between us, then handed me my Stanley.

“And drink some water before this meetin’. Ion wanna hear shit ’bout a headache later.”

I sucked my teeth. “Why are you so damn bossy?”

“You don’t listen. Somebody gotta tell yo’ ass what to do.”

“Whatever,” I muttered.

I drank some water, though. This nigga knew me, and he paid attention. I would complain about a headache all day and drink another Red Bull instead. Working myself into the ground while simultaneously being dehydrated was normal for me, but it pissed him off. If I wanted to be sharp for this meeting, I needed this water, so I drank it while looking over my notes. Juvie sat beside me, bobbing his head to whatever was playing in his AirPods. Seeing him relaxed helped me lock in. I had some negotiating to do, and if these people wanted Juvie, they would give him what he wanted and everything I expected a Mercer Sports client to have.

When we finally reached the office building, they escorted us to a conference room. The floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. We were running behind, but the driver got us there fifteen minutes early. It gave me a moment to breathe. I walked around the room, rehearsing what I wanted to say in my head. Juvie leaned against the wall and watched me. Nothing about the way he looked at me was intimidating. If anything, he looked impressed.

“You gon’ do good, Juicy. You built for this. You pacing like you don’t know you ’bout to kill this shit,” he said.

“I know.” I stopped pacing, then stared out the window. “But I don’t want them to think they can erase who you are or water you down. I want you to still be you.”

“I won’t sign if shit ain’t right,” he said, pushing off the wall.

“That, I know. But you deserve this. I know your vision, and I know how passionate you are. We gotta make them see it.”

He finally made it to the other side of the room and stood in front of me, keeping just enough distance.

“They will. Wait ’til these tight mufuckas come in here thinkin’ they run shit. Ima sit back and watch you shake them niggas down for that bread.”

I grinned, almost blushing. One thing about Juvie: he was who he was. He never tried to be overly polished. He toned his shit down because he was always in the public eye, but he was authentically himself.

“Thanks, Juvie.”

“You ain’t gotta thank me. Just make them niggas see the beast in you. Come on. Let’s sit down. They should be comin’ in.”

He grabbed my hand, then led me to my seat. Then, he pulled out my chair and sat down beside me. Everything I needed was already spread out in front of me, and I was ready. When the door swung open, Juvie and I stood and greeted the executives. After introductions and a little small talk, they got straight to business.

Their presentation was impressive. Signature cleats, a lifestyle collection, global campaigns, and an expansion that would run alongside the five-year Nike partnership he’d already signed. They’d clearly done their homework, and so had I.

“We’re prepared to offer an additional twenty million guaranteed over the remaining term of his existing agreement,” Mr. Tanaka announced. “Along with performance incentives and opportunities to collaborate on product development.”

I glanced at Juvie, then back at him. “That’s a generous starting point. But we’re looking for thirty million in additional guarantees.”

The woman beside him raised her eyebrows. “That’s a significant increase, Ms. Mercer.”