by Claire Adams
“Maybe if you hadn’t been in such a rush to build a Super Bowl team and had been willing to give it a few years, this might not have played out the way it did,” Tony said with a controlled fury underlining every word. “And having that little Irish henchman of yours following me around needling me hasn’t helped either.”
“You’re fired, Butler,” I said without turning around, afraid that if I did, I’d go for his throat. It was one thing to talk shit about me, but quite another to drag Finn into it. “You’ll get the severance package in your contract and you’ll have to hold off on joining another team until the end of this season or I’ll sue your ass for violating your non-compete deal. Now get the fuck out.”
“You are going to regret this, you son-of-a-bitch,” he said angrily. He stood up and walked to the door, but stopped short of opening it. “Dax, you’re a smart guy who has been extraordinarily lucky in business, but you need to understand that a football team doesn’t operate on the same principles as your online business did, and you can’t play fast and loose the way you have in the past. There are so many things you are so woefully unprepared to deal with and I don’t envy the next sucker who takes this thankless job and tries to build a winning team out of the shit that you spew.”
“Get the fuck out,” I growled as I turned around and glared at him. “You are a loser who couldn’t do the job, so I’m not sure where you get off evaluating anyone else who might take it on.”
“Fine, but make sure you tell the next candidate that they’re here to fulfill the role of scapegoat for your useless ass,” he shot back. “And fuck you, too. I’ll be fighting the non-compete clause, so look for a letter from my lawyer.”
“You will not win,” I said narrowing my eyes as I realized what he was doing.
“The hell I won’t,” Tony said with an ugly grin. “I’ve got a damn good lawyer and he says there are holes in that contract a mile wide.”
“You son of a bitch,” I growled.
“Gotta do what I gotta do, Boss,” he shrugged now openly smirking at me.
“Do your worst. I dare you,” I said, hiding the rage I was feeling with a smile that did not reach my eyes. “But I guarantee that you are going to regret it.”
Tony smirked at me and then turned and walked out the door.
As soon as the door shut behind him, I grabbed a vase from the side table and turned it into a missile that hit the door and shattered scattering glass shards across the marble floor. I stood staring at the millions of tiny pieces until my secretary knocked on the door, cracked it open, and then closed it quickly. Fifteen minutes later, a cleaning crew silently opened the door and, without looking at me, swept up the mess, leaving behind no trace of what had transpired.
I picked up the phone and dialed Finn’s number. When he answered, I barked, “Meet me at Black Jack. Now.” I hung up before he could say anything.
I sat down at my desk and inhaled deeply, trying to calm the pounding rage I felt. It took a few minutes, but as soon as I was calm, I grabbed my jacket and headed out the door.
“Where are you going, Mr. Conner?” my secretary asked as I stalked past the desk.
“Out,” I said without elaborating. I needed a drink and somewhere to cool off.
#
When I arrived at the Black Jack Bar and Grill, I found Finn sitting at the bar sipping a glass of top shelf whiskey as he talked sports with the bartender.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” I said morosely as I slid onto the stool next to Finn and exhaled loudly.
“What’s up, man?” Finn asked as his fingers drummed the dark oak bar top. I shot him an annoyed look and he moved his hand down under the bar out of view. “Jeez, Dax, the fuck?”
“I fired Butler,” I said as the bartender brought me my drink. “The fucker is going to take me to court over his non-compete clause.”
“So? Who cares? He’s a shitty GM,” Finn replied. “Let him go fuck up someone else’s team.”
“It’s just one more bullshit detail I didn’t want to have to mess with,” I said picking up the glass and taking a sip before quickly tossing the contents back and swallowing.
“Easy, Dax,” Finn whistled. “That’s the good stuff, man.”
“I’m sick of this already, Finn,” I admitted. “I never wanted to run this damn team. I just wanted to see if I could land it and then build the stadium. I hope they win and all that, but I really don’t give a shit, you know?”
“I know, I know,” Finn nodded as he signaled for the bartender to bring us a second round.
Just then the front door was slammed against the wall with such force that the windows on either side of it shook. Everyone at the bar turned to see the lithe blonde who stomped her way to the bar and barked her order at the bartender. She was shiny in the way that the wealthy society women shopping on Michigan Avenue were, but something about her seemed familiar. I shrugged it off and turned my attention back to what Finn was saying.
“Look, you’re just bored, man,” he continued. “You need a new challenge, and now that you’ve told me you canned that pansy ass Butler, I’ve got an idea rolling around in my head.”
“What’s that?” I moped, feeling sorry for myself and angry about the fact that I now had this albatross of a business hanging around my proverbial neck.
“Let’s see if you can stir up some controversy with the team,” Finn said. I looked over at him and noticed his eyes were lit in the way that happened only when he was about to propose a new bet.
“Oh no, no you don’t,” I said shaking my head. “It’s one thing to build the team, it’s an entirely different thing to tear it down.”
“Oh, I’m not suggesting you tear it down,” Finn said sounding shocked, and a little offended, that I’d suggest such a thing. “I’m suggesting you stir things up, my friend, and I’ve got just the bet for you!”
“You’re off your rocker, O’Brien,” I said as the bartender replaced my empty glass with a full one.
“No, I’ve got an idea that I think will increase the profile of the team and maybe even make us some money in the process,” he said giving me a wicked grin. “Or at the very least, it’ll increase the media profile and make you a hot commodity.”
“Is this another one of your harebrained schemes?” I asked as I cast a glance down the bar at the attractive blonde trying to figure out where I knew her. She was animatedly talking to the bartender, but I couldn’t hear what she was saying.
“Dax, are you listening to me?” Finn said as he punched my shoulder.
“Yeah, yeah,” I said, knowing that I hadn’t been. “All right, lay it on me. What’s the bet?”
“You’re trying to figure out who the chick is, aren’t you?” he asked as he raised his hand, pointed to the tap and ordered a third round for us.
“Yeah, she looks familiar,” I nodded as I tossed back the last of my drink and turned back toward Finn. He had a big, goofy grin on his face and that worried me. “Who is she? Someone you slept with?”
“Good God, no!” he laughed loudly before lowering his voice as he filled in the details. “She’s the Halas granddaughter. She’s the only surviving heir of the third generation, and she’s a sports nut.”
“Well, duh,” I said rolling my eyes at him. “Of course she is; she’s got Bears blood coursing through her veins.”
“No, I mean she’s legit sports fanatic,” Finn said seriously. “Got a degree from Northwestern and she’s spent her time after graduation working for teams around the country. I think they’re grooming her to be the owner.”
“Oh, you think?” I said sarcastically. “Jesus, Finn, what the fuck do you think someone like that would do? Lie around on her chaise lounge, getting her nails done?”
“Well, you never know with these society chicks,” Finn shrugged. “Most of them are like pampered poodles. You know, constantly being maintained?”
My laugh was a little too loud and Finn shot me a side-eye look that told me I was perilously cl
ose to pissing him off.
“Okay, so what’s your bet?” I said turning the conversation back around to a subject that was bound to make him happier.
“Now we’re talking!” he smiled as the bartender slid two beers down the length of the bar and gave us a wave. “I was thinking…”
“What? What were you thinking?”
“Oh no, wait,” he said with a gleam in his eye that made me more than a little nervous. I knew this look. When Finn looked like this, he was taking the bet to the next level. This was the look he’d had when he’d bet me that I couldn’t get an NFL franchise team, and then again when he’d bet me that I couldn’t raise the capital to build the stadium. We were heading into dangerous territory.
“Finn, I don’t know what it is you’re cooking up,” I warned. “But this isn’t going to fly with me, my friend.”
“Dax, I’ve got a brilliant bet,” he grinned. “You’re going to love this one.”
“I have my doubts about that,” I muttered into my glass before taking a sip.
“I challenge you to date the Halas girl,” Finn said.
“What in the fuck is wrong with you?” I asked as I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “That would be like signing my death warrant in the league, and you know it! Besides, why the fuck would she date the owner of the team her mother so viciously hates?”
“I know, I know, but that’s the beauty of it!” he said gleefully pounding his hands on the bar. “Think of it, Dax! You date her, and then you kick the shit out of the Bears and take the Storm to the Super Bowl. Who wouldn’t love that story? Think of the press!”
“I am thinking of the press; they’re going to crucify me,” I said dryly. I turned back toward my drink and snuck a glance at the Halas girl. She seemed agitated and angry, but I was too far away to hear anything she was saying to the bartender.
“No, listen, you can’t lose with this one,” Finn said tugging my arm. “You date the Halas girl and you’re golden no matter how it turns out. The press will follow you and her everywhere, and you’ll have the eyes of the nation on you while you shape your next plan.”
“Which is?” I asked wondering where Finn was going with this.
“We sell the team and open a sports management firm that represents players from all of the various leagues,” he said. “You’ll have built up the brand name with the Storm and when they win the Super Bowl, you’ll have the prestige of having owned a winning team! We’ll attract athletes from all over and there’s way more money in brand and image management than there is in team ownership.”
“How do you know all of this?” I asked, looking at him skeptically. Finn was a hustler, so no matter how good the idea sounded; I always looked for the catch. It was always my name on the marquee of all the businesses we’d started and owned, and I knew that part of the reason was because Finn wanted to be free to work his game in the background without having the attention on the sometimes-less-than-honest means by which he did business. It always made me nervous, but I trusted that he’d never do anything to get me in trouble and if he did, would have my back. We were South Side boys to the core.
“Haven’t you ever watched Jerry fuckin’ Maguire?” he asked. “I mean, Jesus, Dax, any idiot knows that there’s so much more money in player management than any other arm of sports. Last year, CAA negotiated three point six billion dollars in player contracts, and netted themselves almost two billion in profits! Do you know what the Bears pull in during a good year?”
“No, but I have a feeling you’re about to tell me,” I said.
“Three hundred eighty-five million,” he said. “That’s in revenue, and when you take into consideration all the expenses of running the team, stadium maintenance and improvements, salaries, and everything else, they’re looking at relatively high income-to-expense ratio.”
“Yeah, but their team valuation is at two and a half billion,” I said. “They’ve got the brand recognition.”
“The difference is that they love it,” he said pointing out the obvious. “Their team is their family legacy; your team is the result of a bet we made and an attempt to make something out of nothing. You don’t love it.”
“True,” I nodded. “What’s the point of starting a management company if I don’t love sports?”
“You love the challenge, Dax,” he said pushing the buttons. “You love the idea of creating something out of nothing proving everyone who thinks you can’t do it wrong. Much like with women, you like the thrill of the chase, but once you’ve caught what you’re chasing, you get restless.”
“What the hell do we know about running a sports management company, Finn?” I said, irritated that he’d yet again found my weak spot.
“What the hell did we know about getting an NFL franchise team?” he shot back. “We learned. We’re smart guys who want to do things; create things that weren’t there before. And we always do it.”
I went silent as I thought about what he was proposing. It was true that I was already sick of dealing with the boring details of running the Storm. Finn was right: I liked the hunt, but once I’d caught the prey, I was itching for a new chase. As I thought about starting a new sports management company and elevating it to a position that would overtake CAA and dominate the industry, I felt my pulse begin to race. I could see the moves we’d need to make in order to put things in motion, and I loved the feeling that we were headed into unknown territory.
“Who is CAA’s next closest competitor?” I asked as I stared at the wall behind the bar.
“Boras Corporation,” Finn grinned. “Last year they held a little more than one and a half billion in contracts, but they only made a hundred and seventeen million in commissions.”
“We could easily beat them,” I murmured as I took another sip of my beer. I turned Finn’s plan over in my mind as I shifted my gaze so that I could see the Halas girl reflected in the mirror behind the bar. She was quite pretty, and if I had to, I’d be willing to bet that she was a wildcat in bed. A grin spread across my lips as I looked for a hole in the plan.
“What do you say, Dax?” Finn asked as he downed the last of his beer and slammed the glass on the bar.
“It’s a deal,” I said, holding out my hand to shake without turning to look at him. Finn grabbed my hand, shook it hard, and then let out a low whoop of victory. I added, “Usual stakes?”
“Yep, five bucks and bragging rights, it is!” he agreed as he pumped my hand one more time.
We’d started the tradition back in high school when we’d had no money and nothing but pride to wager. We’d kept the stakes as homage to our origins as we’d moved up the ladder and increased our incomes. Now that we had more money than we knew what to do with, the stakes were all about honor and bragging rights. We both knew it, but it still provided the motivation we needed to keep charging forward.
“Okay, I’ll get a date with the Halas girl,” I said.
“Not just a date,” Finn reminded me. “You need to make her fall for you, and keep it going.”
“Fuck, you drive a hard bargain,” I swore.
“Good luck, buddy,” he laughed, slapping me on the back as I got up and moved toward my next girlfriend.
Chapter Four
Payton
I stormed out of my mother’s office and headed down to the street in a mixture of rage and sadness and utter disappointment in my mother’s inability to see things from my perspective.
“Heartless bitch,” I muttered as I flagged down a cab and gave the driver an address that I hadn’t used in quite a long time. The driver wisely remained silent as I replayed the conversation between my mother and I in the back seat. I muttered, “Telling me to sit down and shut up? What a hypocrite! She’s a pampered, little socialite who has never had to work a day in her life. This is all a game to her. A power play that has no consequence outside of her enormous ego. What a bitch.”
Fifteen minutes later, the driver pulled up in front of a dive bar on the West Side and as he
turned to look at me through the Plexiglas barrier, he asked, “Are you sure you want to go in here, miss?”
“Positive,” I said as I tossed him a fifty and said, “Keep the change.”
I got out of the cab and stomped across the weed-infested pavement to the front door of Black Jack Bar and Grill. I yanked open the door and as I entered the dank world of Jack and his seedy band of brothers, I heard Jack yell, “Hey, Sweetness, long time no see!”
“Heya, Jack,” I smiled as the grizzled old bartender set a shot glass on the bar and filled it with my whisky of choice. I sunk down on a bar stool and tossed it back in one smooth movement before he could put a glass of tap beer in front of me.
“Uh oh, what’s the problem?” Jack said as he shoved a worn menu covered in who knows what toward me. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
“Jack, this whole day has been shit and I need to forget about it all for a while,” I said as he nodded and set up a second shot. I knocked it back in short order and sighed heavily as I sipped the beer in front of me.
“What’s she done now?” he said with a grin that showed he’d lost another tooth since I’d been gone. I was tempted to ask him what had happened, but decided that his question first deserved an answer.
“Jack, the wicked witch of the Midwest has issued an ultimatum,” I said, tipping my chin up to try and give at least the appearance of indignant strength. “I have to find a husband and start popping out rug rats or else I’m going to be disinherited.”
