Page 10 of The Wedding Deal
Lance snorted, and after exchanging some typical give-each-other-shit remarks and taking a minute or two to properly catch up, switched into business mode. “So, find anything out from your contacts? I could use some good news.”
“I poked around a little. Talked to Billy Mulroney and he was very interested. He’s the only one I’ve been able to talk to so far.”
“Billy Mulroney could be good.”
“Really?” Charlotte said, and at first he thought she might be mad because he’d answered the phone, but then she muttered, “Sure, if you want to keep on losing.”
He almost ignored it but decided he might as well give her the chance to speak her mind—not that he could stop her from voicing her opinions anyway. Might as well let her do it in a more official capacity. “Hey, I’m gonna put you on speaker. I’m in my office with my human resources manager, Charlotte James.” He clicked the speaker icon. “Charlotte, I’m talking to Kevin Foster. You know him?”
“Sure. Wide receiver, round three draft pick, over eight thousand receiving yards, sixty-four receiving touchdowns and counting. You two played really well together.”
Lance took a moment to pick his jaw off his desk. “You followed my career?”
“Slow down there, Mr. Ego. I follow football.”
Foster laughed, and Lance decided to charge on through. “Okay then, let’s hear your opinion on Mulroney. From the sounds of it, you don’t think he’s the coach we need.”
Charlotte shrugged. “He’s too cautious.”
“Cautious can be good. We want someone who makes smart calls.”
“Smart and cautious aren’t the same thing. Sometimes taking a risk is the smart move. He always plays it safe, and that means field goals when there could’ve been touchdowns. It means not making the big plays that catch the defense off guard. Don’t tell me that when you were playing and it was third and three or four that you didn’t think you could get the first down. Especially if you were behind and the clock was ticking faster and faster toward the end of the game.”
His eyes locked on to hers, and the challenge inside of them sent a heady thrumming through his veins. “I’d go for it. Hell, Foster and I’ve gone for it plenty of times.”
“Converted most of them, too,” Foster said.
Charlotte smiled at the phone on the desk between them, and Lance experienced a pinch of…he wasn’t sure what. He didn’t get smiles like that. Why did Foster’svoiceget one? “Exactly. It’s the perfect example of high risk, high reward. Everyone expects you to give it to your running back in those situations, and most of the time, it’s the right move. But when you switch it up, throw one of those amazing passes, and get an extra ten or twenty yards…? Those are the times the fans go extra crazy. That’s what fills the seats—which isn’t something we’ve done for a while, as our budget attests. If we’re going to restructure, let’s put together a team that’ll get fans in seats.” She glanced at him. “I mean, that’s what my vote would be. Not that I get a vote. I’m just saying.”
“I appreciate your input,” Lance said, and he meant it. He drummed his fingers on the desk. “Who else is out there?”
They threw out a few names, but most of the well-known coaches had been snatched up, and it’d take digging to find out whose contracts were up when.
Lance tapped the speaker icon, picked up the phone, and told Foster he’d circle back around, but if he could spread the word and let him know if there was any interest, he’d appreciate it. If his former teammate was a free agent, he’d push for him in an instant, but he also knew Foster was eyeing retirement. Maybe eventually he’d recruit him as a coach, but that didn’t help the here and now.
As he paced, he kept glancing at Charlotte. She typed away on her computer, occasionally pausing to readjust her glasses, and he couldn’t stop thinking about the way she’d rattled off those stats earlier. Her point about Coach Mulroney being too cautious.
When Lance hung up, he tossed out the name of one of the greatest running backs in NFL history, curious to see how extensive her knowledge truly was.
Charlotte rattled off his stats in one long stream, just like she’d done with Foster, and then asked, “What about him?”
He walked around the desk and glanced at her computer screen, sure she’d pulled up Google. But the only thing onscreen was one of those stupid termination forms she insisted he fill out for every single person he’d fired. “I…just…”
“Wanted to see how much I really know about football?”
“No,” he said, a hint defensively because it’d been part of it. So far he’d mostly seen how much she knew about HR, rules, and foods shaped like Texas.
“Let’s just go with a lot, and I’m crazy good with numbers, especially where stats are concerned.”
“There’s good with numbers and then there’s…whatever you are. You could make a killing in Vegas.”
Her face dropped. “I don’t gamble.” Tension crept into the room, and her shoulders lifted a bit higher.
He hadn’t meant to upset her. Even though he wasn’t sure how he’d managed to with such a simple statement, he softened his voice and worked to undo it. “It was more an observation and one of those things people say, not a suggestion.”
She nodded, her posture relaxing slightly. “Right. Of course.”
So they would stay away from Vegas, but he mentally patted himself on the back for keeping her around. The weight pressing against his shoulders even lightened a bit. He’d felt so responsible for every part of the team and rebuilding the staff and had wondered how he would possibly do it all. Sure, he knew the game and how to play, but there were so many moving parts, and there was always a mix of skill and luck involved in every game.
