Soon, The Connaught came into view—elegant, timeless, sitting like a palace at the edge of the city's heart. The driver pulled to a smooth stop.
Miranda stepped out first. Izan followed, adjusting his cufflink with a breath.
Time to talk.
Not just about football.
But what football was worth.
..........
Inside the Connaught, beneath soft lighting that spilled like honey across glass tabletops and leather-backed booths, the Nike reps sat in a private suite tucked away from the hum of the main restaurant.
Their voices were low but intense tones sharpened by anticipation and strategy.
"If we are able to close out this deal, you can say hello to promotion and a huge bonus at the end of this quarter," one of them said, a man in his mid-forties with a Rolex tucked under his cuff and a Nike pin on his lapel.
"He's that good a narrative. A marketable myth in the making. Adidas got in early, sure. But we can own what comes next."
