Page 2 of Shot on Goal at a Second Chance
The first thing that makes my skin crawl is the desk that came straight from the seventies. In fact, most of theoffice looks like the disco era dropped in for a visit and decided to stay.
For a long time.
“Good grief. Did the man invest in this place at all?” I mutter to myself as I drop my box on the bare yet faded desk. The worn chair behind it gives further testimony to the sad state of the furnishings alone. I can feel my bank account groan as I take in the full scope of what’s supposed to be my new office. The word ‘new’ being used loosely here, of course.
“That would be a big fat no.”
I spin around. A young woman, maybe early twenties at best, stares back at me with doe eyes and a tentative smile.
Hand out, she takes a step forward. “I’m Harper.”
Smiling, I shake her hand. “Rebecca Piedmont.”
“Our new owner.” Her grin widens. “I’m so jazzed to finally meet you.”
I skirt the desk and pull out a drawer. A swarm of ants writhes over some kind of candy that’s no longer identifiable.
“Eww.” I slap the drawer closed.
Harper walks over and dares to take a peek. “Mr. Burns loved his candy.” She pushes the drawer shut again. “I think we have some ant killer in the supply closet. I’ll take care of it for you.”
“Harper.” I call her back before she reaches the doorway. “What exactly do you do here?”
She leans against the doorjamb. “Everything and anything. Whatever’s needed.”
“Including pest control?”
She points at the drawer. “Today I do.”
“Noted.” I say this more to myself than her, which becomes evident by her confused expression. “Thank you for taking care of the pest problem.”
“I’m on it.” She turns to leave.
“Harper?”
“Yes, ma’am?” Harper turns around again, legs twisted like a pretzel, reminding me of my ten-year-old niece.
And ma’am? “Rebecca, please.”
Brushing back her near-black hair, she nods.
“Who was Mr. Burns’ secretary or assistant?”
She raises her hand, fingers waggling. “That would be me.”
“Which one?”
“Which one, what?”
“Assistant or secretary?”
Her smile falters, replaced by a mix of doubt and confusion. “Both?”
“I see.” When I purchased the team, I was told the staff was minimal due to cuts. Gambling the team’s profits put a massive dent in the budget. Not to mention the state of the arena. Obviously, the previous owner was more of a hands-off kind of guy in light of what his coach got away with. I knew that. Just not the extent.
“Jack says the more hats I wear, the more valuable I’ll be. He’s my uncle, by the way.”
Now I really see. “How nice. Let’s have a discussion later about your responsibilities, okay?”
