Tilson shared one of his rare smiles. “You watch the game—really watch.”
“I’m going to continue to do so from the sideline. When I’m there, the game is all-encompassing. There are too many distractions in the suite. After home games, I try to rewatch it on television. I want to hear what the announcers are saying.”
He chuckled. “Mostly talking shit.”
“I appreciate other perspectives.”
“Vee, I’m being honest. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t worried about the Coopers’ future if you take over.”
The small hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention. “I am the owner, Don. There’s no if.”
Don pressed his lips together and nodded. “I wasn’t finished.” He bobbed his head. “May I?”
“Please, go on.”
“Young lady…”
I saw red while at the same time I was doing my best to keep my resting-bitch face at bay.
He continued, “I believe you could prove me and others wrong. Your daddy thought you could hang the moon and the stars.” His rare smile returned. “For now, I’m going to trust Reid’s decision, and I’ll talk to others about doing the same.”
Relief came in a wave, releasing my growing resentment of the unbridled misogyny that abounded within this organization. While I passed this test, I had no illusion that Don Tilson, Royce Beasley, or even Uncle Darin would ever fully believe in me.
I’d take this as one battle won.
The war had yet to fully begin.
Smiling a closed-lip smile, I stood. “Don, thank you for this meeting.” I offered him my hand and we shook. “Please get those tapes and names to me before noon. I’d like to move fast on approaching the league for official reviews. Also, I need the names on our current injury report before they go to the press. And I’ll see you next Monday morning?”
“We have a bye.”
“I’m sure we can find things to chat about. I’ll bring the coffee.”
“I’ll be here, Ms. Hubbard.”
“Vee is acceptable. Have a nice day.”
I waited until Don was gone and the door shut before letting out a long breath. The meeting had been a small victory, hopefully enough to sustain me through this morning’s executive meeting.
Taking Don’s black coffee into my attached bathroom, I wrinkled my nose, poured it down the sink, and went to the front office.
“Good morning?” Jen said. “I was surprised to see Coach Tilson leave. I didn’t know you were in yet.” She looked at her watch. “It’s early.”
“It is. For the next twelve weeks I have a standing meeting with Coach Tilson every Monday morning at seven.” I looked around, smelling a delicious brew. “You haven’t by chance started making coffee, have you?”
Jen smiled. “Coming right up.”
“I’ll be happy to get it myself.” I walked toward the decadent aroma and poured a cup, complete with cream from the refrigerator. I stopped at Jen’s desk with my fingers wrapped around the warm mug. “Would you please make a call to Rachel Marsh’s assistant and ask if Rachel can come speak to me once she’s in. I’d like to talk before the meeting.”
“Right away.”
Carrying my coffee back to my office, I set it on the desk. Next to my landline phone was a manilla folder I didn’t remember seeing before and hadn’t noticed earlier. Opening it, I found lists of names, phone numbers, and email addresses. These included the NFL commissioner and other NFL owners. My forehead wrinkled as I carried it out to Jen.
“Where did this folder come from?”
“Bre Stanton brought it to you late Friday. You were gone.”
“Did she tell you anything about it?”
