Page 6 of Roughing the Player
He’s upset. I get it. Instead of giving him the starting spot, which he totally deserves, San Diego traded him. So, of course, his pride demands more money. Unfortunately, that’s not how things work. I can’t get into an in-depth discussion out here in the open. But given his level of anger, I have to give him some answer before he explodes. “You’re right, Brock. You’re totally worth more money. But you’re under the same contract terms you had at San Diego.”
“That’s bullshit.” His voice booms loud and clear over the myriad of conversations and heads turn.
If he got noticed before, it’s nothing to what’s happening now. If somebody snaps his photo and posts it on social media, the Outlaws’ management is bound to get pissed. I have to manage him before he deep-sixes his career with the Outlaws before it even starts.
Last thing I want to do is touch him. I know what that will do to me. But from experience I know it will calm him down. I brush my hand across that massive bicep of his. “Brock. You don’t want to start a scene in the middle of the airport. Wait until we get to the car. We’ll discuss it then.” The drive will give us enough time to talk.
His gaze lingers on my fingers, but he doesn’t object to my suggestion nor my touch.
A minute later, his bags show up, and he grabs them. He remains silent on the way to my car while I struggle to keep up with his long strides. Once we make it out of the airport, I tell him what he doesn’t want to know. “Chicago is only required to pay you the same amount of money San Diego did.”
“Why?”
“You know why, Brock.” He’s been around long enough to know the NFL rules, but I’m not about to rub salt in his wounds. “Next year when you’re a free agent, we can renegotiate if you wish to stay here. If you don’t, we can shop around for a new team.”
“We? I thought Marty was my agent.”
“He is. But like I said—I’m part of his group. I perform background research, drum up endorsement deals, and meet with players when Marty’s unable to do so, like I’m doing now.”
The way he juts out his jaw reminds me of the tutoring session when I told him he needed to read the annotations to Macbeth, that reading the text was not enough. He’d resented it then, much as he’s doing now.
“I want a new football team.”
I briefly glance at him. “You know that already?”
“Chicago has Ty Mathews. They’ll never give me the starting position as long as he’s around.”
“Okay. I’ll pass on that information to Marty. We can’t entertain any offers until next year, but in the meantime, we can keep our ear to the ground.”
It takes him a while to stop grinding his teeth. “Guess that’s the best I can hope for.” He stretches his massive left arm over my backrest, pushes his long, powerful legs to the floor of the car, all in an attempt to get comfortable.
Darn it. My mid-size car’s too small for him. I should have leased an SUV. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“The small car.”
“I’ll live.” He squirms some more before turning to me. “I thought you would become a doctor. How did you end up a sports agent, Ellie?”
Ellie, I haven’t been called that in forever. Prior to mom’s marriage to Steve, she and I had moved in with my aunt who was also an Ellie. So to avoid confusion, I’d been rebranded with my Christian name, Eleanor. It’d stuck through high school, college, and law school as well. Although I’d initially resented it, now I’m glad it did. Eleanor is much more professional than Ellie.
“Medical school would have been too expensive. So I passed on that and focused on pre-law. Shortly before graduated from college, I applied to Duke Law. They offered me a partial scholarship and off I went.”
“Ellie, the brain. That’s what they used to call you in high school,” he says with a grin. “So what happened then?”
“I loved law school, but litigation did not appeal to me. So I explored other options. When I attended a sports agency seminar, everything seemed to click. I’d always loved sports.”
“Yeah, I remember. You used to sit on the bleachers and watch us play.”
“Yes.” Can’t very well tell him I was watching him and his mighty finegluteus maximusmore than anything else. “Anyway, after the seminar ended, the lecturer invited a few students to coffee at the school cafeteria. I dazzled him with my knowledge of sports, and he offered me an internship that summer. When I graduated from Duke Law, I went to work for him.”
“But Duke’s in North Carolina. How did you end up in Chicago?”
His questions unsettle me. I don’t want things to get too personal between us. But he’s a client, and we have thirty minutes to go before we get to training camp. Surely, I can deal with his curiosity that long.
“I met Marty at a meeting of sports agents. He saw something in me and made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Not only was it for a higher salary, but he promised me a junior partnership in three years’ time. Even though I’d hated to leave the South, I snapped it up. My law school debt wasn’t going to pay for itself. “So I pulled up roots and moved to Chicago.”
“You never married?”
