"Can I really not convince you to reconsider?" Xavier asked as they stood outside the cafe, ready to part ways.
"I'm sorry, I've just put in too much time with this Ravens team and owe too much to the organisation to leave them now." He responded with a resigned sigh. "Although I must say I am intrigued with your vision, and if it had been a few years earlier, I wouldn't hesitate to join you."
"(sigh) I guess it can't be helped. I wish you all the best in your future endeavours," Xav responded, grasping his hand for a handshake. "See you in the league, I guess," He exclaimed before walking off to a waiting black Lincoln Continental.
He sighed the moment he got in the car, before flooring the accelerator, unwilling to linger there. Ozzie Newsome was the answer to all of his troubles for two simple reasons: the man was a genius, and his fame would counterbalance the negativity surrounding his name at the moment.
After all, you could hate a spoilt rich heir all you wanted, but a legend in the game that has just been honoured with his entry into the Pro Hall of Fame? No, you have to give that guy a few years to prove himself; otherwise, you risk being labelled all kinds of names. However, it was not meant to be, and he needed to pivot somehow as he couldn't afford to leave his organisation without a brain.
Speeding up as his mind raced for a solution, he drove toward the Baltimore International Airport. "Sigh, I guess I'll have to ask grandpa for help." He muttered as, after a 20-minute drive, he pulled up to the airport. It took him another 15 minutes to complete the rental car return procedures, but he also managed to book his ticket to LA with Continental Airlines at the same time.
~~~
[16:30, Calabasas, Los Angeles, CA, USA]
A yellow town cab rolled along the winding uphill road in the Calabasas community, the afternoon sun spilling gold over the terracotta roof tiles and manicured palm-lined entryways. The homes that passed them by sat on elevated ridges overlooking Calabasas Valley, showing you exactly what kind of luxury money could buy.
Inside the cab, Xavier James leaned slightly forward, elbow on the open window frame, letting the California breeze wash over his face, tussling his curls lightly. It had been a long flight from Baltimore — longer still with the thoughts swirling in his head. He needed a win, even a small one, before the day ended, after Ozzie's polite but firm rejection.
"Big fan of the Tigers, man," the driver, a cheerful Chinese-American in his late twenties with a Dodgers cap, said suddenly, glancing at him through the rear-view mirror. "But I gotta say, the Rams? We're gonna smoke you guys this season!"
Xavier chuckled, resting his chin on his hand. "Oh yeah? You sure about that? I hear your O-line's still got more holes than Swiss cheese."
The driver laughed, a booming, infectious sound that filled the cab. "That's true, man, that's true. But we got Warner, Faulk, Bruce, and Holt — the Greatest Show on Turf! You've got… what, Testaverde still trying to prove he's twenty-five?"
"A gunslinger is a gunslinger no matter the age," Xavier smirked. "But we've also got a young receiver room that's about to wake the league up. Trust me, come April, we'll make some noise in the draft."
That caught the driver's curiosity. "You mean you already know who you're picking?"
Xavier didn't answer right away. He just smiled, watching the palm trees glide by outside. "Let's just say the front office needs to make some moves if it wants to keep the coach happy. Can't build a kingdom without a general, right?"
"That will take you four years minimum, in the meantime, it'll be Ram city in the league!" the driver said, getting animated as they turned into the gated community. "But hey, respect to you, though. Everyone's been talkin' about that purchase! Youngest owner in history — you're like the Michael Jackson of the NFL, man!"
"Appreciate that, Mr Hong Yi," Xavier replied with a chuckle. "I need to do something big come draft time or the fans will have me lynched along with the media."
"Oh, you're one of the first Americans to call me by my name," the driver said, looking genuinely surprised.
"Well, you're just as American as I am, no matter where you came from," Xav replied with a light smile, meeting the man's gaze. "Plus, you're the first Tigers fan I met in person, and you don't want to kill me; in my books, you're a good guy."
There was a short silence, the only sound the rumble of the engine tearing up the road. "Well, can you blame us when you throw up 'Tigers fans, you're welcome,' and then proceed to fire half the front office?" he responded with a light chuckle at the end. "You guys need a QB, right?"
Xavier chuckled, leaning back against the seat. "Yeah, we need a quarterback, but not just any arm. I want someone who can lead, set the tone for everyone else—someone who hates losing more than they love winning."
Hong Yi nodded, tapping the steering wheel. "Sounds like you already got your mind on a few names."
"There are a few in this draft that need someone who can assemble the rest of the troops," Xavier replied vaguely, eyes drifting to the view outside. "Depending on the QB, the pieces around him will shift drastically."
The cab climbed the final bend toward Gladiola Drive. From this height, the sun-kissed ridges of Calabasas stretched endlessly, each mansion framed by citrus trees and white stone walls. The air here was thinner, and the atmosphere was quieter, the peace that money bought in America.
"Here we are, sir," the driver said, easing to a stop in front of the Mediterranean-style villa perched at the crest of the hill. Cream stucco walls, wrought-iron balconies, and a red tile roof caught the orange of the evening sky. The place effortlessly radiated elegance without needing to flaunt it.
"That's the one," Xavier murmured, reaching for his wallet.
The driver turned in his seat, his grin easy but sincere. "Hey, man. Whatever you do with the Tigers, make 'em something special again. We're rooting for you, even if I gotta root against you twice a season."
"I'll make you a fan yet, I promise," Xavier said, handing him a folded $100 bill and a business card. "If you ever join the sports business, give me a call."
"Whoa, that's too much—"
"Then think of it as an apology for beating you for the next few years."
Hong Yi blinked, then nodded in appreciation. "Take care, Mr James."
Xavier stepped out with a small leather duffel bag with his coat draped over. Moments later, the cab pulled away as the California sun threw long shadows across the cobblestone driveway. The smell of blooming jasmine drifted from the garden. He took a moment, rolling his shoulders, feeling the exhaustion of the past few days catch up to him.
He pressed the doorbell, and moments later, soft, feminine laughter erupted from inside. The door opened to reveal Elena Stewart, his grandmother, holding a wine glass with a bright smile. The faint notes of Frank Sinatra played somewhere deeper in the house.
"Xavier, baby!" Elena exclaimed, her face lighting up as she moved forward to embrace him in a hug. "I wasn't expecting you, but I'm glad you're here. Come in quickly, ladies, my handsome grandson is here."
"Ohhh," The loud exclamation of women greeted him as he let himself be pulled inside by his grandmother.
The scent of white wine, perfume, and freshly baked biscotti hit him all at once. The living room was bright and warm, the golden California light spilling through arched windows that overlooked the valley below. The soft, elegant voice of Sinatra resounded from the old vinyl player, filling the background as six elegantly dressed women turned their heads in unison.
He immediately recognised them as his grandmother's book club friends, curiosity flashing in their eyes like paparazzi bulbs. "Elena, you didn't tell us your grandson looked like that," one woman gasped, setting down her rosé.
"Heavens, look at those eyes! He's a Casanova for sure," another teased, earning a ripple of laughter from the others.
"Ladies, behave," Elena said with a laugh that sounded far too amused to be a warning. "This is my grandson, Xavier."
Xavier straightened his collar and smiled politely, his composure barely holding against the flurry of attention. "A pleasure to meet you, ladies," he said, shaking one woman's hand, then another, careful to keep his grin measured as he navigated the circle of grandmothers armed with charm and Chardonnay.
"Oh, such manners!" one cooed, her pearls glinting in the light. "And single, too, isn't that right, Elena?"
Elena smirked into her wine glass. "Unfortunately, yes."
"I have a granddaughter—lovely girl, UCLA graduate, great with kids!" one woman said immediately, her tone a blend of hope he might accept right away.
Another leaned in. "My niece just finished her MBA at Stanford. Beautiful, driven, and—well—perhaps too career-minded. A dashing young man such as yourself might balance her out."
"Ladies," Elena interjected before things spiralled further, her smile warm but warning. "Let the boy breathe. He just got off a flight."
"But he looks so put together for a red-eye!" came a teasing protest. "And those shoulders—Lord, Elena, if I were fifty years younger—"
"Eliza!"
The entire room erupted in laughter. Even Xavier couldn't help it; the atmosphere was too absurdly wholesome to resist. He raised his hands in mock surrender. "I promise, if I ever find myself in need of a matchmaker, I'll know exactly who to call."
.
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To Be Continued...