“Please come in, Mr. Sulla,” General Manager Arthur Gallagher said. “Sit.”

Ben nodded calmly to his boss and sat at the indicated sofa. 

“I have brandy or gin here,” Arthur offered. “Or maybe you like the harder stuff? We have them here as well.” 

Ben waive his hand. “I don’t drink sir, but thank you.” He said simply.

Arthur raised his eyebrows. The general manager used to be a star player in his college days. He got drafted in the NBA and played for six years until a serious knee injury sidelined him. Family connection and with knowledge of the inner workings of the NBA, he become part of the expansion in the early  21st century and now he owns one of the NBA franchise. His 52 years old and as hard as a rock. He always wore a three-piece suit, his jacket now hanging in a drawer somewhere and his vest is immaculate. His blings are subtle but just as loud as any rappers, a gold chain hanging from his neck and a Rolex watch in his wrist. 

“You keep surprising me, Mr. Sulla,” Arthur continued. “Just like the game last night. Tell me, Mr. Sulla, do you think you can repeat that same hook shot again? … or was that a fluke?”

Ben can feel the man’s eye on him and he didn’t look away. “Well it depends , sir,” Ben answered carefully. 

“Whether or not you are being guarded?”

“Whether or not I’m being guarded in the same lousy manner.”

Arthur laughed. “I like you Mr. Sulla and I too believe that that hook shot is not a fluke. What would you say to an extension of your contract?”

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Ben blink, then smiled. He wasn’t expecting this.“I would have to say: where do I sign? And who should I kill?”

Arthur laughed again. This guy laughs a lot. “Nothing drastic like that, and please, stop with the sir crap. Call me Arthur!”

“Only if you call me Ben as well. My mom called our third dog ‘Mr. Sulla’”

Arthur blink. “Seriously?!”

Ben nodded. “Dad is called “Ubbah” in our village. It’s an ancient title meaning … well, it’s his title. So any outsider who call him Mr. Sulla automatically insults him since unknown to the visitor, they just compared him to a dog. So my dad had all the diplomatic excuses to kill any outsider he doesn’t like.”

“I … I see,” Arthur said, not sure if ben is making a joke or not. He cleared his throat and smiled again. “Well, I am offering you a flat one million dollars for you to continue playing for us in this upcoming playoffs. If you and the team passed the second round, then you will get a bonus of a hundred thousand dollars per game after that.”

“Like I said, where do I sign?” Ben said happily.

The general Manager offered his hand and they shake on it. “I have a feeling that this is the start of a wonderful partnership,” He said. 

Arthur invited Ben over for dinner and they a lot to talk about: how ben feels about the coaching staff and the other players and about training. The night ended without any other incident.