If I was younger I might have cried, but I’ve learned to save my tears for people who deserve them.
“I never wanted to go to business school. I don’t want to work in marketing,” I say evenly. Unlike my mother, I don’t react well to being pushed.
“What you need is a career, Fred. I’d like to circle back to what you said earlier about how I don’t want to sell at a discount. I have an idea that could inflate the team’s value, something where your expertise would come in handy.”
Inflate.Something tells me he wouldn’t use that word in his little talks with the feds.
“I don’t think I have any relevant expertise.”
“I want to make a documentary about the season. There’s outside interest in the team, but only if we make it appetizing. I’ll be hiring some consultants to make some changes around here, but nothing beats good publicity. I’m willing to offer you a cut of the pie when we sell if you can help us get there. I’m thinking five percent.”
Unfortunately, that gets my attention. Five percent of an NHL franchise’s value is alotof money, even for a team like the Monarchs. Enough to start my own production company and direct my own films, bypassing the family trust entirely. I could be my own person with that kind of money. I’d never have to ask them for anything again.
“The job will come with certain expectations and conditions, of course.”
“Like?” I say, dread curling around my insides.
“I know you’ve been sleeping on couches, Freddie. Your mother told me. I shouldn’t have to say this, but you’re not a teenager anymore. It’s not appropriate. We want you to move home,” he replies with a stern look.
“I’m not sleeping on a couch, Dad. I rent a room from Grace,” I reply evenly.
“Is your name on the lease?”
My cheeks flame, and I hesitate, but ultimately shake my head. He already knows.
“That’s what I thought. You wanna be treated like a professional, you need to act like one. You think studios are gonna wanna do business with you when you don’t even have a real address? You don’t need me to tell you this is ludicrous. Move home, Freddie. That’s my number one stipulation.”
My jaw clenches, and it takes everything in me to remain composed. I loathe the idea of moving home, especially when he’s conveniently left out the fact that he’s the reason I moved out in the first place. I suspect that’s what this is all about, anyway. His wounded ego and desire to brush things between us under the rug, shucking all responsibility for the way he treated me.
“How about this: you move home, use this gig to get back on your feet, and I’ll even help you find a place of your own. Someplace you deserve. Teddy knows all the realtors in the city, he can find you something nice. We can get into details later, but think about it. In the meantime, I believe we have a lunch appointment with Darius,” he says, checking his watch.
I assume he means Darius Marshall, the Monarchs’ head coach. I haven’t seen him since I was younger, but he was always nice to me. The prospect of spending another minute in my father’s company practically gives me hives, but given my abysmally empty inbox and glaring lack of job leads, I agree and follow him out.
Chapter 7
Mattias
I’m in the middle of a cold shower after my workout with Poirier when Coach accosts me in the locker room. Hearing him call my name, I shut the water off and quickly wrap my towel around my waist as he turns the corner.
“There you are, Falkenberg. Make some room in your schedule. Hearst wants to get lunch.”
I feel what little color I have drain from my face. “Isn’t he in prison by now?” I’m not sure how the American criminal justice system works, but I know it usually involves prison.
“Not Teddy. Hugh. Get dressed. He’s waiting for us.” If Coach looked stressed before, he looks borderline panicked now. He’s sweating like he’s just spent twenty minutes in a proper Finnish sauna.
“Us?” I echo.
I can’t fathom what Hugh Hearst would want with any of us, let alone with me, but I’m sure it can’t be good. I’ve never spoken to him once, even when I was made Captain.
“He wants to discuss upcoming changes and expectations. I said it’d be best if you tagged along and he agreed. Thought you should hear itall from the horse’s mouth, so I don’t have to keep playing goddamn telephone.” Coach wipes his brow with the back of his sleeve.
Helvete. I haven’t prepared for this. I don’t know what value I can add, but Coach is looking at me like he needs a lifeline, so I grit my teeth. Maybe I’ll even have some questions answered. Not likely, though. These suits love keeping their mouths shut about anything that might hurt their pockets.
I towel-dry my hair, then change into the clean joggers and tee I’ve brought in my gym bag. They’re both black, identical to the set I was wearing this morning. I like to keep things simple and clean.
Coach is waiting for me outside the locker room. I run a hand through my wet hair, not looking as presentable as I’d like, but I attempt to finger-comb it, then follow him to the parking lot with my gym bag slung over my shoulder. It’s bright as Midsommar day outside, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Once they do, my attention falls on a sharply dressed man I recognize as Hugh Hearst, before shifting to the woman next to him.
I do a double-take, not believing what I see.
