Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Because I love football.
And responsibility.
And I really like more money.
Stephen exhales, as if relieved I said yes. I mean, how the hell was I going to say no to that?
Fine, the Mercenaries are a bit of a poster-child team for bad boys, but I won’t be managing the players or their hard-partying reps. That’s for the press department and the GM, frankly, or should be.
“When can I start?”
“Today,” he says.
I sit up straighter. “I’m ready.”
“Great. As part of your new responsibilities, we want you to review all the press releases and statements for both teams, especially with the heat the Mercenaries have been under due to the, how shall we say, player fuckups in the last year.”
And I guess I will be helping manage the bad reps after all. But in a hands-off way.
“Of course. It’ll be wise to have legal eyes on those,” I say.
“You’re my best eyes, Holland,” he says, using my last name. “Tonight at the charity event, I’ll introduce you to the players you’ll be working with.”
I fasten on a smile. “I’ll be ready.”
This takes the sting out of a guy ghosting me before our second date.
I didn’t get the promotion. I got an even better job.
I spend the rest of the day getting up to speed on the Mercenaries, but I’m pretty dialed in already as a fan. Also, as someone who works for the parent company, it’d be hard to miss any of the notorious scandals the team has been involved in.
The sports gossip sites had a field day with the Mercenaries last season. The team served up a buffet of juicy news all year long. Spin the roster like a lazy Susan and grab a drug or sex scandal when it stops.
A defensive back totaled his Ferrari while coked up. The nose guard trashed a hotel room doing speed. The tight end, Chuck Romano, became a baby daddy for the fourth time and with a fourth woman—a nineteen-year-old cheerleader for the Mercenaries.
That whole situation was a nightmare for the press office.
Managing their reputation will be a doozy, so it’s smart the team is battening down the hatches on that regard. Ever since they foolishly traded away Beck Cafferty to lead the San Francisco Renegades, the Mercenaries have been a pothole of problems.
But the GM—KP Loraine—has zero patience for shenanigans of any sort. In the last few months, she’s let go of the defensive back and the nose guard. She dumped Romano from the roster too, when his contract came due at the end of the season. Probably not the toughest decision since he was coming off a terrible year on the field.
Still, she cleaned house with a no-bullshit broom, and then made some sharp trades, like nabbing wide receiver Gabe Clements. He’s an NFL veteran, and won a SuperBowl. Plus, in college, Gabe played with Sanders, the Mercenaries QB, so those two guys should be a solid pair leading the team in the huddle.
I’m nearly finished reading articles and scouting reports that afternoon when Stephen raps on the door and strides into my office.
“So…something came up,” he says in that unreadable voice. “With the whole…player thing.”
Well, that could be anything.
Could be something about the situation he mentioned, could be news that the new receiver is leading a cock-fighting ring.
I brace myself but put on an I can handle anything face. “What’s the news, boss? I’ll handle it.”
He sighs. “This one.” He shakes his head. “Man…”
Spit it out.
“It’s Sanders,” he continues.
My stomach drops. Dear God, I hope he didn’t become the next player to land in hot water. “What happened with him?”
Stephen mimes slicing a knife over his own shoulder. “Labral tear in the shoulder. Needs surgery. Out of commission for twelve weeks.”
“Ouch,” I say, wincing in sympathy for the pain Sanders must be going through. “That’s terrible. What’s next? The backup is decent enough.”
“He is, but the GM made a trade a few days ago. Looks like Loraine just wrapped it up this afternoon, so we wanted you to take a look at the two press releases before we head to the event. The new player should be making his debut there.”
“Sounds good. I’ll get on it now,” I reply. Because there’s clearly no time to lose.
“Great. I just emailed you the statements. Back in ten?”
“Of course,” I swivel my chair toward the computer and toggle over to my inbox. This should be an easy-in, easy-out scenario. I seriously doubt the injury statement will require any lawyering, but when you need to fix a bad rep, you can’t cut corners, even on something as simple as a statement about a quarterback requiring surgery.
Carefully, I read it all. Everything looks good, but one line needs a minor tweak. I make an edit, then flip to the next release.
The first paragraph makes me blink.
The words rise up from the page, beating like they’re alive.