Page 8 of Her New Billionaire Bosshole

“Let me see your phone,” he says. “You need some help, Elliot.”

Hesitantly, I hand my phone over to him, watching as he goes to the app store and downloads a radio app. A moment later, he turns it to a local station and hands it back to me.

“You got earbuds?”

I nod, digging in my pocket, then I have an earbud in, the announcer’s voice in my head, narrating the game as it happens. Words fly past me, terms I don’t understand: offside trap, tiki-taka, false nine, rabona, bicycle kick.

The announcer is a woman, her voice low and quick, the syllables snapping out. I wonder if she was a coach or player before moving to announcing.

“…this team really has a lot of belief in themselves as they come into the game, but we have to wonder if that belief is enough. Dallas is missing Athens, that strong central presence in their lineup. As we can see, Kendall has adjusted to the loss, but there’s only so much strategy can do.”

A different announcer, voice a bit higher, answers, “Dallas needs to get more comfortable playing around and over the Washington press — they need more attacking production here.”

As the game goes on and Washington pulls ahead, I listen intently.

I’ve invested in many industries over the years. There are a lot of investors that might leave their trust to the experts, show up with the money and not care what else happens.

Most sports owners have nothing to do with their teams, but that won’t be me. The reason I’ve been so successful is my attention to detail, my intimate understanding of where my money is going and how I can double it.

Chanting and singing ring up around me, the entire stadium sounding like the inside of a drum, booing and cheering alternating from our side of the stands.

I’m not going to be another clueless money man. I jot down notes, marking the things I don’t understand, determined to know everything I can.

As I do, I tell myself that it has everything to do with the money, and nothing to do with the energy, the cheering and chanting, the intoxicating sense of loyalty and freedom that sings through this stadium.

CHAPTER 4

SOPHIE

By the time the final whistle blows, we’re down two goals, and we’ve lost the game.

Of course, this isn’t the first time I’ve lost a game. Obviously, I’ve lost plenty as a player on the field, and I’ve lost plenty as a coach. But this one has a particular sting to it, the knowledge that a lot more was riding on this than just the team’s record.

I didn’t even manage to win thefirstgame after making that deal with Elliot Altman. I picture him in a fancy hotel room, his feet up on a leather footrest, popping a bottle of champagne to celebrate this loss.

He’s probably rejoicing, already making calls to start firing our people left and right.

I keep my face neutral as our players come back to the sidelines, knowing the cameras are swiveling around to take me in, get a close-up of my expression. As the coach, it’s my job to represent the team. And Dallas stays composed in the face of defeat — even when it’s more bitter than normal.

To my left, Lena growls and whips her warm-up onto the ground, stepping over it and barely missing stomping it with her sneakers. She’s not dressed to play today, wearing a pair of jeans with her jersey, her hair loose instead of pushed back into its normal game-day headband.

“Fuck,” she hisses, thrusting her hands into her short hair and stalking over to me. If we’d won, she might be okay. But I know she’s carrying the weight of this loss, taking it personally. Thinking, maybe with too much ego, that if she’d been in the game, things would have gone differently.

“You need to let me play again,” she says, getting a little too close to my face. I put my hand up, pinning her with a look I hope communicates that she should step back.

She does, but her scowl stays firmly in place.

“You’re not ready.”

“Iam,” she insists, her expression caught between pain and frustration. “If you had let me on the field tonight, we wouldn’t have lost.”

It’s pointless to argue with her about this, especially in this moment. I could tell her that statement is insulting to her teammates. I could point out, again, that I’m not risking her future to play a single game. But if she’s not ready to hear it in my office, she’s definitely not ready to hear it here and now, angry after losing a game we could have won.

“Lena,” I say under my breath, hoping none of the cameras are focused on us right now. “Now is not the time.”

She huffs, turns on her heel, and stalks away as the rest of the women come over, huddling around me, their eyes on me. Thisis one of the most challenging parts of being a coach — finding the balance between accountability and understanding when we lose.

There’s no point in ripping into them right now, talking about how the defense was loose, our press wasn’t urgent enough, the communication on the field is clearly lacking. Right now, if I start telling them each thing they did wrong, they’re only going to deflate under the pressure of it.