and it’s getting worse,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you think we’re not working on the Danny Smith issue? That your thoughtless accusations aren’t making it worse? That we don’t have the corporation on our backs?”
“The owners are getting involved?” Cass said incredulously. It was a well-known fact that the Rebels had been bought by an obscure megacorporation that very few people had ever heard of, despite the fact it owned everything from gas stations to high-rise hotels, and pulled in a few hundred billion a year. What most people didn’t know was that the company had simply seen the football franchise as another investment opportunity. They treated it like any other business. They put people in charge of the different operations—coach, president, marketing—and they walked away. They’d given the team ten years to turn a profit. They had eight of those years left. Down here in the trenches, they almost never heard from the corporate office except at tax time. Mike had nearly had another heart attack when he’d gotten a call from the president of the board of directors this morning.
Marian knew her time was running out. She’d have to come clean and beg Danny to come to Birmingham. Then people would ask questions. They’d want to know how she knew him, and then the lies would start. She was so tired of lying about what had happened.
“I have to get back to my office,” she said, shaking off Cass’s attempt to stop her again. “I don’t have time for this, or you, right now.” She turned and walked away before he could see how truly upset she was, because she meant what she’d said. She and Cass, and wherever Beau fit into that, or them—she didn’t have time for it. And she definitely didn’t have the nerve to go after it again.
Chapter 7
Cass took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was pacing in the back of the conference room. They were five minutes away from a conference call with Danny Smith. The coaching staff had had to jump through hoops to get this much out of the asshole. Cass shook his head. Not asshole. Player. He was just a player having issues. Cass ran his hands through his hair and wished he could keep his cowboy hat on inside. He felt damn near naked without it. He rubbed the top of his head. And he might be losing his hair. Too many years in a football helmet. And when had he turned into some vain man-candy kind of guy?
He glanced over at Beau, who was sitting on the couch in the corner flipping through last year’s
Sports Illustrated
NFL Preview. The Rebels had earned two paragraphs.
Two.
He took another deep breath. Marian didn’t understand what this meant to him. He had a huge stake in the Rebels’ success. He’d walked away from a nice fat contract with the Raiders to come to Birmingham based on promises of a high-level front-office position when he retired in a few years. He was aiming for general manager eventually. It was on his advice they’d signed Smith. If he didn’t show, Cass’s future with the Rebels was at stake.
He stole a look at the table. Head coach Shannon Ludwig was scrolling through something on his tablet, a frown on his face. Who the hell knew what he’d found on there. Marian was sitting on his left, leafing through a file. God knew what she had in there. Hopefully they’d both found some dirt on Smith to blackmail him into coming.
Marian had been avoiding him since yesterday morning. Beau kept sneaking glances at her over the top of his
Sports Illustrated,
but she was avoiding him, too. Which was making Beau sad, which made Cass feel even worse for taking his anger at Smith out on Marian. She was probably one of the few people on earth who would yell back at him when he was mad. She looked up and caught him smiling at her and she frowned back before looking away.
Mike Richards hustled in. “Okay, everyone ready? Marian, make the call.”
“I’ll dial. Shannon, you talk,” she said. “I don’t think
“The owners are getting involved?” Cass said incredulously. It was a well-known fact that the Rebels had been bought by an obscure megacorporation that very few people had ever heard of, despite the fact it owned everything from gas stations to high-rise hotels, and pulled in a few hundred billion a year. What most people didn’t know was that the company had simply seen the football franchise as another investment opportunity. They treated it like any other business. They put people in charge of the different operations—coach, president, marketing—and they walked away. They’d given the team ten years to turn a profit. They had eight of those years left. Down here in the trenches, they almost never heard from the corporate office except at tax time. Mike had nearly had another heart attack when he’d gotten a call from the president of the board of directors this morning.
Marian knew her time was running out. She’d have to come clean and beg Danny to come to Birmingham. Then people would ask questions. They’d want to know how she knew him, and then the lies would start. She was so tired of lying about what had happened.
“I have to get back to my office,” she said, shaking off Cass’s attempt to stop her again. “I don’t have time for this, or you, right now.” She turned and walked away before he could see how truly upset she was, because she meant what she’d said. She and Cass, and wherever Beau fit into that, or them—she didn’t have time for it. And she definitely didn’t have the nerve to go after it again.
Chapter 7
Cass took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was pacing in the back of the conference room. They were five minutes away from a conference call with Danny Smith. The coaching staff had had to jump through hoops to get this much out of the asshole. Cass shook his head. Not asshole. Player. He was just a player having issues. Cass ran his hands through his hair and wished he could keep his cowboy hat on inside. He felt damn near naked without it. He rubbed the top of his head. And he might be losing his hair. Too many years in a football helmet. And when had he turned into some vain man-candy kind of guy?
He glanced over at Beau, who was sitting on the couch in the corner flipping through last year’s
Sports Illustrated
NFL Preview. The Rebels had earned two paragraphs.
Two.
He took another deep breath. Marian didn’t understand what this meant to him. He had a huge stake in the Rebels’ success. He’d walked away from a nice fat contract with the Raiders to come to Birmingham based on promises of a high-level front-office position when he retired in a few years. He was aiming for general manager eventually. It was on his advice they’d signed Smith. If he didn’t show, Cass’s future with the Rebels was at stake.
He stole a look at the table. Head coach Shannon Ludwig was scrolling through something on his tablet, a frown on his face. Who the hell knew what he’d found on there. Marian was sitting on his left, leafing through a file. God knew what she had in there. Hopefully they’d both found some dirt on Smith to blackmail him into coming.
Marian had been avoiding him since yesterday morning. Beau kept sneaking glances at her over the top of his
Sports Illustrated,
but she was avoiding him, too. Which was making Beau sad, which made Cass feel even worse for taking his anger at Smith out on Marian. She was probably one of the few people on earth who would yell back at him when he was mad. She looked up and caught him smiling at her and she frowned back before looking away.
Mike Richards hustled in. “Okay, everyone ready? Marian, make the call.”
“I’ll dial. Shannon, you talk,” she said. “I don’t think
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