Page 82 of The Thing About My Secret Billionaire
Or am I now in a permanent mindset of thinking it’s possible to have my cake and eat it too when the reality is that I can’t? Keep the player and still make the most of his talents when he has to retire. Buy the land and still have Frankie?
“We might have bought this club because we all love soccer.” Leo swings from side to side in his black high-backed chair and rolls a silver pen between his palms. “But it’s a business. Not a retirement home for has-been players.”
“Has-beenis a bit harsh,” Chase says. “He’s the most generous player on the field. Always happy to pass to someone in a better scoring position rather than try to claim the glory for himself.”
“Or is that because he doesn’t have what it takes to score anymore?” Leo asks.
“Oh, come on, Leo.” Oliver leans forward again, elbows resting on the knees of his ripped jeans. “He’s been a great mentor to the younger players. Ramon’s learned a lot from his solid, no fuss, clean-living attitude.”
“Ol’s right,” I say. “Every playerlooks up to Schumann. Respects him. I’ve never heard any of them say a single bad word about him. He’s like this solid rock at the head of the team. You can’t replace natural, organic leadership like that—you can’t teach it to someone.”
Leo lets out a reluctant sigh of agreement. “And I have to admit, his strategy is top notch.”
“Whoa.” Oliver holds up his hands in an exaggeratedcalm down, calm downaction. “The master business strategist can’t fault Schumann’s strategy? Did hell just freeze over? Or a member of my family say they’re happy with my life choices?” He dusts his hands together now. “Job done. Decision made.”
“I say it like I see it,” Leo says. “The way he worked the wall against Cincinnati at the end of this last season was the only thing that stopped their free kick from going in.”
“Are we agreed then?” I ask. “Or do we need more time?”
“Seriously?” Leo says. “Since when did you have trouble making a speedy business decision? Is all that fresh air messing with your mind?”
Something’s messing with it for sure. But I’m absolutely certain it’s not the fresh air.
“Whoa.” I jump at a bright flash outside the window.
“What in God’s name was that?” Oliver asks.
There’s a loud crack and rumble. “Thunder and lightning, I think.”
It’s immediately followed by rain lashing the windows. It doesn’t start with a slow pitter-patter and build up. It goes from no rain to nails being thrown against the glass.
“Shit,” I say. “We have a storm.”
“I can relate.” Chase looks over his shoulder. “I think alittle cloud drifted across the sun a minute ago. Boy, did it get chilly for a second.” He does an exaggerated shiver.
“But you moved out of LA for a reason, man.” Oliver is the only other one of us who understands paparazzi and press coverage. And his has always been considerably less glowing than Chase’s—in the UK, at least.
“I know, I know.” Chase smiles. “Only here for meetings. Fly back to New York tomorrow.”
All I can think about while they’re talking is what the hell the donkeys would do in a storm. Maybe they’ll just run into the stables by themselves. But who knows? Not me, that’s for sure.
“I gotta go, guys.” Concern simmers in my stomach. “I haven’t brought the donkeys in yet. Need to get them out of this weather.”
“Sorry, what?” Leo leans forward onto his desk. “You’re actuallyin charge ofthe donkeys?”
“Only for twenty-four hours. The owner went away yesterday. Last night went fine. And she’ll be back in a bit. Actually, there’s two owners.” Why do I even feel the need to explain this? “But the old guy is in a rehab unit recovering from a double knee replacement. It’s his granddaughter who’s here taking care of the place, but she had to go back to Chicago for a meeting.”
“Ah,” Leo and Chase say in unison as if two pennies dropped at the same time.
“Thegranddaughter,” Leo adds with a knowing smirk.
Oliver, who already knows the story, and Chase smile and nod.
“Oh, all of you, fuck off.” I reach for the laptop lid to shut it. “You can hear the storm. The donkeys need to be broughtin. I have to go.”
“Me too,” Leo says. “But for more sensible reasons. Quick vote. Who’s in favor of selling Schumann?”
He raises his own hand.
