Double Daddy Trouble

“There’s no way. I have only met a few of them today. And on top of that, I don't want to get married. My grandfather just died. It wouldn’t be appropriate.” I waved my hands in the air, I knew I was acting as erratic as Steve, but it felt like the world was spinning out of control. “I'm not getting married. It's not going to happen.”

“We can spin this several ways. Think about all the support you need in your time of grief. Falling for someone during that time would make sense to the fans.”

I shook my head. “I’m not getting married.”

“Listen, you don't have to actually marry anyone. You only have to be engaged for the season. We need the publicity. And there's nothing better for publicity than a love story,” he assured me.

“Your love story will change the entire perception of the team. You can turn everything around for the Warriors. It’s your job to protect this corporation. Isn't that what you want?”

My eyes flashed to his. “Of course that's what I want. I don't want the team to fall apart. But what you are suggesting is a lie. You want us to trick the fans and mislead them. I can't do that.”

/> Steve looked agitated. He pressed his palms into the front of my grandfather's desk. The desk that was now mine. I noticed how worn his fingernails were. He was the nervous type. The kind that chewed his nails to the quick when he didn't know what else to do. It was a gross habit. I was starting to dislike him more and more.

“Vanessa, I have come to you with the perfect solution. This will get the team on your side. This will get the press on your good side. I’d rather roll out a plan for positive press than try to deal with the fallout of a scandal.

“Think about it this way. Staying in the headlines will lead to the higher paying stations wanting a better schedule for their lineups. Imagine Sunday Night Football. Monday Night Football. They call that money. And money equals higher paid players. Do you see where I'm going with this? It's all connected. The more money you bring in, the more you pay the guys. The more negotiating power you have to find better coaches and trainers. It just keeps getting better, and everyone is happy.” He folded his arms across his chest, remaining still for the first time since I had met him.

There was something to his argument. As insane and ludicrous as it sounded, I saw where he was going. If the Warriors really were somewhere on this confusing list of spreadsheets and graphs labeled as the most unpopular team in America, I had to do something to get them back on top. I knew that much.

I might not have wanted to inherit the team, but I did. They were my responsibility now.

I inhaled. “And if I did go along with this PR stunt, who do you think is going to volunteer to be my fiancé?” I folded my arms to match his. There was no way this would work.

He grinned. “Why don't we get the team involved? I think they might enjoy it. It could bring a real sense of unity to everyone right now.”

“I thought you might already have someone in mind. A candidate for fake fiancé status?” I questioned him. “Someone the public would accept immediately.”

He cocked his head to the side. “I think involving the guys will bring a sense of team togetherness they haven’t had in a long time. Could be exactly what they need.”

I felt my mouth go dry. Was he seriously suggesting that the team decide who was going to play the role of my fiancé?

“The guys will love a little competition. You'll see. Let me handle the details for you. It's going to work out. It's a brilliant plan.” I watched as he collected the scattered graphs he had strewn next to my lunch.

“Competition? No way. Absolutely not. I don’t want that,” I argued. I already regretted my decision. Had I actually agreed to go along with this idea?

“It’s going to work. Let me talk to the guys. It’s going to be fine. I’ll handle everything from here on out.” His words were meant to reassure me, but instead they made me feel sick. I didn't want the future of the team in his hands. What was worse was that I knew my future rested in those grimy palms too.

Eight

Isaac

I looked sideways at Dylan. I didn’t know why Steve Drucker had called a team meeting. Hell, I didn't know he had the power to call a team meeting. I looked around the room. There were no coaches. There were no trainers or staff members. There were only offensive players. And when I looked at the offense, I realized Sam wasn't here and neither was Ben or Luke. Where was our damn quarter back?

I shoved Dylan in the ribs with my elbow.

What do you think is going on here? Where’s Luke?” I asked.

“Hell if I know,” he responded. “But this is some weird shit.”

Steve walked to the head of the table and sat. He looked like a dwarf in this room, surrounded by professional athletes. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, and stared out at us. He cleared his throat.

“Thanks for coming guys. I have something I need to run by you.”

I wondered if he was sent in instead of human resources to talk about the ways the team might be cut. How staffing might change. How we could lose some of our trainers, or even more of our equipment. But we were down to the bare-bones. I didn’t see how we could become any more of a skeleton then we already were.

This was fucked up. We’d had a rough practice. The sun was killer this time of year. If they thought we would sweat and bleed on the field and then come in here to get the crap kicked out of us, I was going to say something.

“Here's the deal,” Steve started. “We have a unique situation since Mr. McCade passed away and left the Warriors to his granddaughter Vanessa. Some of you may have met her today. It was her first day in the office. A big day for her. A historic day for the team, certainly.” He looked at each one of us.