Page 9 of The Wedding Deal
“Nice try,” she said, shaking her head as she walked past him. Typical male, wanting to act brashly and leave someone else to deal with the consequences.
That was probably unfair. But she was a stats girl, and when it came to the males who’d been in and out of her life, the figures backed her up.
…
“Okay, and reason for termination.” Charlotte’s fingers paused their tapping on her laptop keyboard as she peered over the screen at him. She’d slid on a pair of pale pink, cat-eye glasses, and the lenses reflected part of the never-ending questions in front of her.
Lance dragged a hand down his face, beyond done with this process already, regardless of only being halfway finished with the first of many termination forms. “Head lodged too far up his own ass to see reason.”
Her mouth flattened into a tight line. “I can’t put that.”
“Why not? It’s true and seems like a valid reason to fire a coach to me.”
She gave him a sharp smile. Her foot went to bouncing again, the black stiletto adding an air of extra impatience. He’d thought they were kind of sexy before he worried she might use the spiky end on him.
“Did you go to college to learn what paperwork and forms are necessary when terminating an employee, as well as all the labor laws?”
He knew better than to answer that. Not that he really had to.
“I’m trying to cover your ass, and you’ve already had complaints lodged against you for derogatory remarks.” The tightness in her voice made it clear she was running out of patience as fast as he was. “Best not prove the point in a document he could use against you.”
“Just tell anyone who questions my motives to watch any game last season—that should be explanation enough.”
She sighed. “It’s called due diligence, which is especially important for a billion-dollar company. Why must you make it so difficult?”
“Here I thoughtyouwere making it difficult. Who even looks through the paperwork?”
“I do! And if a lawyer needs it—and ours is definitely going to—they will. Which means a judge might also see it. I’m not going to do a crappy job because you want to impulsively fire everyone and not have to deal with the consequences.”
“Trust me, if I knew this was going to be part of the consequences, I might’ve just decided to forgo a shot at winning a game ever again.”
Her eyebrows lowered, those full lips pursing in the way they too often did. As frustrating as she was with all her dotted i’s and crossed t’s, he kept getting caught up staring at her pretty features. Her big green eyes practically glowed, and right now it was with irritation aimed at him.
And he found himself experiencing a clashing mix of annoyance and attraction.
Those damned black pantyhose with the dark line up the back that occasionally flashed when she crossed her legs certainly weren’t helping matters. They, along with her shoes, were the only things about her that didn’t scream sensible, and his brain kept getting snagged on them when it should be focusing on everything else. About her,andabout the massive amount of work they had to do.
“Section seven of the handbook states that the termination procedure typically starts with the employee’s supervisor or manager—you—who discusses the matter with human resources—that’d be me. Once they determine if termination is necessary, they schedule a meeting with the employee and explain why ending the employment relationship is the best solution for all parties.”
He simply stared. Partly because an intelligent response refused to come to mind, and partly because she’d just rattled off another set of rules he’d gotten lost in. It pretty much boiled down to him not having a leg to stand on, he got that much.
“But you didn’t do any of that,” Charlotte continued, an admonishing pinch to her expression. “So I need you to help me out so I can help you. Help me help you.”
“Just put down incompetence.”
“Great.” The aggressiveclickof her keyboard filled the room. “I’ll also look through his contract later and reference any pertinent sections to further justify letting him go.”
Damn politics and rules and never-ending piles of paperwork. No wonder the team sucks. Everyone spends too much time tiptoeing around, trying not to hurt delicate feelings.
Well, Charlotte could get as mad as she wanted to, but he wasn’t tiptoeing around. Football wasn’t about preserving feelings. It was about teamwork and taking hits and pulling off insane plays as you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into every workout. Every game.
He wanted his staff to be willing to lay it all on the line so he could ask the players to do the same. He wanted to get to the fun part, where the team was gelling and finding their groove and grinding it out on the field. That needed to happen as soon as possible, because this year, the Mustangs were going to make the playoffs for the first time in over a decade. A lofty goal like that meant he wasn’t going to slow down or mince words until they’d put together a team that could make that happen.
He picked the top résumé off the stack, but his phone rang, interrupting before any of the information he’d read sunk in. It’d rung nonstop, but when he saw one of his former teammates’ name flash across the display, he quickly answered—finally, someone hewantedto talk to.
“Foster, how the hell are you?”
“Still handsome and as talented as ever,” Foster said, because humility was never his cross to bear.
