Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Max
“GREAT GAME LAST WEEKEND.” THE pretty, twenty-something assistant smiled up at me as she led me into the Athletic Director’s office Wednesday afternoon.
She indicated I sit in a roomy leather armchair, her eyes brushing appreciatively over my frame as I settled in. “Dr. Carmen will see you in just a minute.”
“Great.” As usual, I hid my nervousness behind a cool smile.
As soon as Coach Williams had called me this morning and asked me to meet him here, I’d gotten clammy, my nerves itching at me and making me antsy. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out what the hell I’d done wrong. No one got called to the AD unless it was bad news.
I rolled my neck to relax, my gaze checking out the heavy wood furniture, dark blue velvet drapes, and expensive gold medallion wallpaper. I took in framed photos of Dr. Carmen with past players, NFL players, MLB players, and even President Obama. I grew tenser. The place reeked of money and power. It had nothing to do with football, yet it was the place where big decisions were made. This is the office that hired Coach.
The door opened and three people entered. One was Coach Williams, who sent me a stern eye—pretty much his standard I see you there, player, which he gave us at any given moment. A tough and burly fellow from Alabama, he’d been at Leland for ten years and hadn’t had a bad season—although he hadn’t had a National Championship either. In his fifties, he was completely bald and wore it like he didn’t give a shit. I respected him a lot.
In contrast, Dr. Carmen was a slim guy in a pricey suit and a pretty tie. Like most of the administrators here, he carried himself with poise and a ready smile. A politician. He reminded me of my father.
The one person I didn’t recognize was a middle-aged lady in a beige pantsuit. “Ah, there he is,” said Dr. Carmen as I rose up to greet them. I mumbled something about how it was nice to see him again, although I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually laid eyes on him unless it had been the spring athletic banquet. He didn’t mingle with the regular folk.
We shook hands and he turned to the woman. “I’d like to introduce you to Millicent Walton. She’s going to be your PR person for the next few weeks.”
My brow wrinkled. “Oh?”
He slapped me on the back and laughed. “Hey, don’t look so surprised. Everyone’s tapping you as a finalist for the Heisman—especially after that game against Whitman this past weekend—damn, son, you’re racking up the stats.”
We’d won all three games of the season so far. I nodded and said something about it being a team effort.
Millicent shook my hand with a firm grip. She was a petite thing with short blond hair, and when she spoke her voice was smooth as silk, her smile direct, and eyes warm.
“I’m honored to be working with you, Max. I’m an LU alumni myself.”
“Have a sit, have a sit,” Dr. Carmen said, waving his hands around, seeming anxious to get started.
“Okay.” I sat back down after making sure Millicent had found a seat.
Carmen reclined back in his fancy leather chair, steepled his hands on his desk, and considered us. “First of all, let me say that Leland is thrilled to have this kind of attention on the university. We’ve never had a Heisman winner, and it’s an incredible honor to even have it whispered. Of course, last year there was some brief talk of the award, but it never panned out.” He inhaled sharply. “But this year the hype is bigger, and Millicent is here to facilitate a smooth football season for you. She’ll be helping you with your image issues.”
“I don’t need a babysitter, sir.”
“I agree,” Coach said curtly. “He needs to focus on the game—not the reward. It’s a team sport—not just a Max Kent game.”
Dr. Carmen shrugged and grimaced. “This isn’t an option, gentlemen. This is coming from Dean Wood.”
Oh. The head honcho of the university.
He turned to Coach and tapped his finger on the desk, the hollow sound echoing in the room. “I know you want a championship. I do too. This—Kent—will get us there. I promise.” His eyes narrowed. “And it goes without saying that every play is crucial. Kent needs to rack up his stats. We’ll need your help with that.”
Coach’s jaw tightened and his face flushed.
I tensed. Shit. Dr. Carmen was mucking with his team.
“I need your support,” Dr. Carmen said again, his voice light as a feather, yet I sensed the tension in the room. “Do I have it, Coach?”
“You’re the boss,” Coach said, his eyes flat.
There was an entire undercurrent of politics going on here, and I was right in the middle of it.