Wednesday, August 28th, 2022

Puma European Headquarters, Milan

5:03 PM

The Puma building was smaller than Nike or Adidas but carried the same polish, and the reception area displayed photos of Neymar, Griezmann, and other athletes who wore the leaping cat logo.

Two executives met them in the lobby.

"Marco Benetti? Demien Walter?" The older man extended his hand. "I'm Stefan Müller, Head of European Partnerships. This is my colleague, Francesca Rossi."

The handshakes were professional but lacked the warmth Adidas had shown.

They were led to a conference room on the third floor, and the space felt corporate and efficient with minimal decoration beyond the Puma branding on one wall.

Stefan opened a folder and slid a summary across the table without preamble.

"We'll keep this straightforward," he said. "Puma is prepared to offer you a three-year deal. Base salary of sixty-five thousand euros annually. Performance bonus of thirty-five thousand tied to appearances, goals, and brand engagement metrics."

Demien's eyes scanned the numbers.

They were identical to Nike's original offer.

The one he'd negotiated up before walking away.

Marco leaned forward slightly. "We appreciate the offer, but we've had discussions with other brands today. The market rate for a player of Demien's caliber and potential is higher than this."

Stefan's expression didn't change. "What figure are you suggesting?"

"One hundred fifteen thousand base," Marco said evenly. "Twenty thousand signing bonus. Performance structure with specific triggers. Creative input on product development. Injury protection clause."

Francesca shook her head before Stefan could respond. "That's outside our budget range for this tier of athlete."

"Demien has already started in Serie A," Marco replied. "Played seventy-five minutes at San Siro against the defending champions. His social media following has grown to over three hundred fifty thousand in two weeks. He's not a prospect anymore, he's a professional competing at the highest level."

Stefan glanced at Francesca, and some silent communication passed between them.

"We can adjust to seventy-five thousand base," Stefan offered. "But the rest of the structure remains as proposed. That's our final position."

The room fell quiet.

Marco looked at Demien, and the message in his eyes was clear: not good enough.

Demien nodded once.

Marco stood and extended his hand. "Thank you for your time. We'll pass on this opportunity."

Stefan's eyebrows raised slightly. "You're walking away?"

"The numbers don't work," Marco said simply. "But we appreciate you meeting with us."

Francesca started to say something, but Stefan raised a hand to stop her.

"If you change your mind," he said while standing, "the offer stands through Friday."

"Understood," Marco replied.

The handshakes were brief, and within three minutes they were back in the elevator heading down.

Neither spoke until they reached the parking garage.

"That was fast," Demien said.

"No point wasting time when the gap's that big." Marco unlocked the Mercedes. "Puma wanted you cheap. Adidas wants you as a partner. Easy choice."

They climbed into the car, and Marco started the engine.

The drive back through Milan's evening traffic was quiet, and Demien watched the city lights begin flickering on as the sun dipped below the buildings.

When they pulled up outside Demien's apartment building, Marco put the car in park and turned to him.

"Take care of yourself, alright?" His tone was casual but carried weight.

"Yeah," Demien said. "Thanks for today."

Marco nodded once, and before Demien could say anything else, he pulled away from the curb and merged back into traffic.

Demien stood on the sidewalk for a moment watching the taillights disappear, and exhaustion settled into his bones as the adrenaline from three meetings finally drained away.

He walked into the building and climbed the stairs to his apartment.

Demien's Apartment

6:47 PM

The apartment was quiet when he entered, and Luca's bedroom door was closed which meant he was either out or already asleep.

Demien dropped his bag by the door and walked to his room.

He sat on the edge of his bed and pulled out his phone, and his thumb hovered over Sophia's contact before he pressed the video call button.

It rang twice before her face appeared on screen.

She was in her hotel room with her hair pulled back and wearing a simple white t-shirt, and when she saw him on screen she said, "Hey. How did it go?"

"Long day," Demien replied while leaning back against his headboard. "Three meetings. Nike, Adidas, Puma."

"And?" Sophia's tone carried curiosity mixed with something else he couldn't quite read.

"Nike went well at first," Demien said carefully. "Good numbers, creative input after negotiation. Then I saw someone in the hallway when we were leaving."

"Who?"

"Adriano."

Sophia's expression shifted immediately, and she said, "Your friend from Fiorentina?"

"Ex-friend," Demien corrected while his jaw tightened at the memory. "He's a Nike athlete. I didn't know that going in."

"So what happened?" Sophia asked, and her voice had gone quieter.

"I walked away from Nike," Demien said simply. "Told Marco to take them off the list."

Sophia was quiet for a moment before asking, "Just because of Adriano?"

"It's not just that," Demien said, and he chose his words carefully because this was the part that mattered. "It's a conflict of interest if we both work together. It would ruin my image and yours."

Sophia frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're launching Sophia Athletics with Nike," Demien explained while meeting her eyes through the screen. "If I sign with Nike too, and we're together? People will say I only got the deal because of you. That I'm riding your connections. It undermines both of us."

Sophia frowned. "What do you mean?"

"You're launching Sophia Athletics with Nike," Demien said. "If I sign with Nike too, and we're together? People will say I only got the deal because of you. That I'm riding your connections. It undermines both of us."

"That's not true," Sophia said, and her voice carried frustration. "You earned that Nike offer before they even knew we were close. Your debut performance, your stats, your potential—none of that has anything to do with me."

"Doesn't matter what's true," Demien replied. "Matters what people think. And if we're both Nike athletes and dating? The narrative writes itself."

"So you're walking away from a major brand deal because you're worried about optics?"

"I'm walking away because it's the smart move," Demien said, and his jaw tightened. "Adidas gave me better terms anyway. This isn't about you."

"It sounds like it is," Sophia shot back. "You're making decisions based on how our relationship looks instead of what's actually best for your career."

"Adidas is what's best for my career," Demien insisted. "Better money, better creative control, better partnership structure. Nike was good until I saw Adriano. Then Adidas became the obvious choice."

Sophia looked away from the camera, and her expression was unreadable before she said after a moment, "I need to go."

"Sophia—"

"I'll talk to you later."

The call ended, and Demien stared at his phone screen for three seconds before the reality hit him that she'd just hung up on him without explanation.

He opened their text thread and typed quickly.

Demien: I didn't mean it like that

Demien: The Adidas deal is better regardless

Demien: Can we talk?

The messages showed as delivered but not read, and he waited two minutes while staring at the screen before calling her directly.

The phone rang once before declining.

She'd rejected the call.

A/N

Sophia is 24

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