Coach Madolora glanced up from his tablet as he approached. “I know some key details. Why?”
“What do you know about locker room camera access?”
“I think it’s max two at any one time.”
Bennett’s shoulders tensed. “Two? I thought it was none.”
“We tried for none,” Madolora said unapologetically. “But Lynne—our head of media relations—pushed for us to allow at least one, otherwise there wouldn’t be any point to agreeing to this series.”
Bennett owed Lynne a gift basket. All the gift baskets. She’d been instrumental during the contract negotiation process, but he hadn’t realized just how instrumental until now.
Madolora handed Bennett his tablet, where he’d pulled up a copy of the contract, with one section highlighted.
The Trailblazers agree to allow two (2) camera people and thus two cameras into home and visiting locker rooms: Bennett Jackson and a second person of his choosing. The locker room shall remain accessible to Bennett Jackson and his plus-one at any time of day, including but not limited to: before, after, and during games; and before, during, and after practices.
“The fuck?” Bennett muttered before his mask of stoic professionalism could slip into place.
He had unrestricted access? Since when?
Handing the tablet back, he dug his phone out of his coat pocket and opened the contract David had emailed him before production had started. He scrolled to the same section and . . . there.
Explicitly no cameras allowed in:
The locker room
There were more bullets listed, but they were unimportant for the purposes of this conversation. Confused now, instinct had him checking the version of his own contract—V12—against the version of Coach Madolora’s—V14_Final.
Realization settled onto his chest, heavy with combined disappointment and fury. “My executive producer forwarded me the wrong version of the contract.”
“I did wonder why your camera crew wasn’t coming into the locker room,” Dabbs said. “I mean, I figured you probably didn’t care about the pre-season, but once the regular season started, I was surprised your people still didn’t come in.”
“Now that that’s settled . . .” Madolora handed the tablet to Friedle. “Should we expect you in the locker room today?”
Mind racing, Bennett shook his head. “I don’t have the right equipment.” He could use his phone, but he needed to strategize.
And call David.
Once Dabbs, Madolora, and Friedle disappeared into the locker room, Bennett stabbed David’s number on his phone.
“Ben,” David answered, using the shortened version of his name even though Bennett had told him more than once that it was Bennett. “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. What’s up?”
Gritting his teeth, Bennett said, “I need you to forward me the contract we have with the Trailblazers for this docuseries.”
“Didn’t I do that already?”
“You sent me the wrong version.”
“I doubt that.”
Had David purposefully tried to sabotage him? But no. David had money riding on this; he wouldn’t try to limit Bennett’s activities.
“You did,” Bennett insisted, because while he might be agreeable, he wasn’t a doormat. “You sent me V12, which states no cameras in the locker room, but the final version—which does allow access—is V14. So send me V14—now. I need to know what parameters and restrictions I’m allowed to work within.”
“Shit,” David said, sounding—for once—genuinely contrite. “Sorry, Ben. I’ll have my assistant send it now.”
“Thank you.”
Bennett hung up, his free hand fisting at his side.
