Coach Welter hides a smile. “His family’s big in dog food. They run the BigRuff brand.”
I nod, having heard of it, the relevance slowly dawning. “He wants to be involved?”
“Hell, yeah, he wants to be. You’ve got an appointment set up for dinner next week. A fancy soiree at his private home. If he likes you, I’d recommend getting a lawyer well versed in sporting contracts on your side. You can never trust a wealthy man as far as you can throw them, but he could be good for you.”
“What level of financing are we talking about?”
Coach grunts. “More than your clothes and equipment. Hit the right markers and put your charm to good use on the press, and you might be talking upwards of five figures.”
“Per year?”
“Per game.”
I grip the arms of the chair so tightly, the joins squeak. “You’re serious?”
“I never joke about money, kid. Not with players like you who don’t have it.” A small smile blooms. “Yet.”
The last word sets a twinkle in my eye. Like I’m a dragon being shown to the dark cave where he can start piling his hoard. “What do I need to know?”
“Be polite. Laugh at his jokes. If he invites you toanything, you go. Asks you to do anything, you do it. Get that contract in your hand, get it to a lawyer, and let him screw the man for everything he’s got.”
Coach leans forward, resting his elbows on his desk.
“This could be a lucrative partnership. After your time at Kingswood is done, he could fast track you into a good club, get you in front of the super rugby selectors. In three, four years’ time, if you keep your form, you could be scouted for the national team. For alotof national teams.”
I can hardly catch my breath. This kind of opportunity doesn’t happen, not for boys like me.
Except it is happening. I pinch the side of my knee, hard enough to make my eyes water.
Yep. Really happening.
“So, can I tell him you’re interested?”
I mimic his response. “Hell, yeah.”
He smiles and inclines his head. “I’ll let him know, then send you the details for the meeting. Wear a good suit. Rent one if you don’t have it yet, I’ll send you a link to a good store. Be professional; at its heart, this is a business deal. Don’t drink too much. Don’t for the love of God do any drugs. If he asks you to indulge, it’ll be a trap.”
“Don’t worry. I’m stone cold sober.”
His gaze warms by about one degree. “Good. Keep it that way and you could have a long future in front of you. Young men getting off their faces and doing stupid shit are a blight on this game. Not being one of them is an advantage.”
I walk out of his office buzzing from head to toe. Money. Real money. I could start sending chunks of cash home, helping Mum so she doesn’t have to work as hard. Hell, a half-dozen games at that price point, and she can safely retire.
“Yo, wait up,” Gareth calls out behind me as the first bell for class goes. “You’re on a scholarship, right?” He pulls a face. “Wouldn’t mind a brainiac sitting beside me for my next class.”
“Wrong scholarship, numb nuts,” I tell him with a smile, feeling extra generous. “My athletic prowess is in equal balance with my inadequacy in class.”
“Then sit beside me because you’re useless and it’ll make me look good.” He tries and utterly fails to get me in a headlock, a fit of activity that soon has us both shaking with laughter.
Calculus does both our heads in and by the end of the lesson, I’m thinking I won’t need Coach’s suggestion to be held back a year. I can get that done all by myself.
“We’re over there.” Gareth points out an area near the tuck shop. “You’re welcome to join.”
“Sounds good.”
On the way there, a large blond guy shoulder-checks me and I’m ready to throttle him, fists clenching, muscles tensing. I restrain myself because I don’t yet know enough about the dynamics of this place. With my luck, he’s probably the son of the principal.
From his expression, he’s spoiling for a fight… which makes two of us.
