Oh, there were worse things.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he muttered. “What are you still doing here, Cravitz?”
“I never leave until you’re gone, sir,” the redhead replied, embarrassed. “In case you need anything.”
Oh man. The guy must not get much sleep. Maybe it was time for a raise. Cravitz had been the general manager’s assistant, but after Gareth had lost three assistants in a week – all with the silly excuse that his standards were too high, the hours unreasonable, and that Gareth was generally unbearable – Thomas Lyle had lost it and given him Freddie Cravitz because he wouldn’t be so easily scared off.
“That’s not necessary,” Gareth said, absentmindedly smoothing out the article with his fingers. “Really, Cravitz, go home.”
“No, no!” He waved a hand. “We still have to discuss your appointments for the next few days and…” He paused when his gaze fell on the paper in Gareth’s hands. “Oh. You really shouldn’t read that article…there are some nasty things in there.”
Gareth snorted in amusement and clasped his hands behind his neck. “Freddie, if I only read things that said good things about me, I wouldn’t be able to read at all.”
His assistant’s face turned red faster than a traffic light on Sunset Boulevard. “Smith was just angry to be traded. He shouldn’t have called you an asshole.”
“So you don’t think I’m an asshole?”
Genuinely interested in his answer, Gareth raised his eyebrows. Apart from his sister Penny, whose heart was beyondgood, everyone always agreed on that point, which didn’t bother Gareth in the slightest. Personally, he saw it as a good thing. At least his reputation made his job easier.
“I…well, I…no,” Freddie stammered, hastily entering the office and sitting on the chair in front of the desk. “I think people would take advantage of you if you were too friendly.”
Hmm. Gareth inclined his head. A surprisingly far-sighted truth, even if he wouldn’t comment on it further. That would be getting too friendly. “Okay. You wanted to go over the schedule for the next few days?”
Cravitz nodded energetically and pulled an iPad out of his briefcase. “Tomorrow is Madison James and winger Matthew Payne’s wedding. You should stay at the reception for at least two hours so as not to be rude. You have Sunday off, as usual.”
Yes, and as usual, he would still work.
“The press conference on this year’s team will take place at eight a.m. Monday, and then you have an appointment with your father at nine, although he didn’t give a reason.”
Oh, his father would criticize his every business decision. Gareth didn’t need anything on his calendar to know that.
“The meeting with Leon Alvarez’s agent was scheduled for ten-thirty, but he asked if we could postpone the meeting by half an hour…”
Gareth raised an eyebrow.
Freddie cleared his throat and made a note on his iPad. “I’ll tell him that’s impossible,” he corrected himself hastily. “You have a lunch meeting with the marketing team at twelve, and at two, your sister would like to discuss new investment opportunities with various charities…”
Gareth nodded, listening with one ear and simultaneously typing a message into the group chat with his two best friends, the ones he hadn’t been able to get rid of after Harvard.
Do we have a wedding present for Matt and Maddie?
He didn’t remember ordering one, let alone getting one himself.
“Also, Coach Gray would like a meeting to discuss the snack machines in the new team common room,” Freddie continued.
Blinking, Gareth looked up. “What about them?”
“Some players have complained that they no longer have Snickers. It’s been replaced by Milky Way.”
“And that’s my problem because…?”
“Your sister says she doesn’t care about snack machines. The statistical probability of being crushed by one is incredibly high. She also claims the Milky Way thing is your fault to begin with?”
He frowned. That was correct. Still, he didn’t have time for such nonsense. “Objectively, Milky Way is better than Snickers,” he explained matter-of-factly. “There’s less risk of choking. Put that in a group email and then it’ll be over.”
“Um, I don’t think the players…”
“Freddie, is that it?” he asked impatiently, gesturing at his screen. “I’m still busy.”
