I laugh. “Are you trying to get me fired up?” I ask. It’s his turn to chuckle, and I can picture what color his eyes are now.
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he says.
“I can reach out to a couple of my guys to see, and we can go from there,” I say. “I know of two who would love to get traded but—”
“From where?” he asks, and without telling him who, I name the team. It doesn’t really matter because I have at least one client on each team.
“Tampa and Detroit,” I say. “Let me make a few calls and then you do the rest. But you have to know that I have no say in any of these. I deal with the contracts, not the trading.”
“I know the GM for both those teams, and we are on good terms, so you never know. You just get me the names of the players who are interested in trading, and I’ll do the rest from here.”
“Okay,” I say. “Give me a couple of hours.” I disconnect from him and call Graham, who plays for Detroit.
“Hey,” he says, answering right away. “What’s up?”
“Not much.” I play it cool. “You know me, just calling to check in. How is everything?”
“Meh,” he says. “My game is stuck at a standstill when I’m playing on the fourth line.” He starts to complain, and this is what I need.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “I can talk to Martin," I mention the team general manager, “and see what he says.”
“I don’t want him to get pissed at me and send me down to the farm team,” he says, and I shake my head.
“If he wants to send a five-million-dollar player down to the farm team when his team is going on a six-game losing streak …” I laugh. “I’ll call you back.” I pick up the phone and call Martin, who answers after four rings.
“Hello?” he says, and I almost roll my eyes. I know damn fucking well he has my number stored in his phone. Last year, he wanted one of my players, a free agent, and he called me nonstop for two months.
“Martin”—I tap my nail on the desk—“it’s Becca.”
“Hey, Becca, what can I do for you?” he asks.
“Well, I’m calling to ask you a couple of things,” I say. “I was just talking to Graham, and we were wondering where you think it’s going.”
He huffs out, and I don’t give him a chance to speak. “I’m just asking. He’s going to be a free agent at the end of the year, and if you keep him on the fourth line, chances are his numbers are going to go down.”
“You telling me how to run my team?” he says with a tone I don’t care for. It’s the tone all men use for I have a bigger penis than everyone. It’s also a tone that I know means I’m right.
“I’m just worried about my client,” I say. “At the end of the day, I don’t care if you play your goalie as a forward.” I sit up. “I care that if you aren’t going to play him, then why don’t we look at getting him on another team, and you can both be winner?”
“What the fuck does that mean?” he says.
“Martin, his contract is for five million a year,” I say, something he already knows. “When he becomes a free agent, I’m going for more. I mean, that isn’t a surprise. His numbers have always been good. He’s always been the top scorer even when he was with Pittsburgh.” Something else he already knows. “But if you are looking for a fourth-line player, you can get two players for the price of that one contract.”
“You have brass balls, Becca,” he says, and I smirk, knowing that I have him right where I want him.
“I heard some talk out of Dallas that they would like him,” I say, cutting to the chase.
“Have Nico call me,” he says. I throw my hands in the air and smirk, but he disconnects before I have a chance to thank him. I couldn't care less how hurt his ego is.
I dial Nico, who answers right away. “It’s been less than an hour.”
I smile when I hear his voice and ignore all my feelings at the moment. This is business. This is what I’m made for. “Well, what can I say? I’m good at what I do.”
“What do you have for me?” he asks.
“Graham Burns,” I say. “His contract is five million. He’s a free agent at the end of the year. His numbers are good, not great because he’s playing the fourth line,” I say what I told Martin. “I’m going for more when his contract expires.”
“Well, thanks for the heads-up,” he says. “I know of him. I’ll give Martin a call.”
“I might have suggested that he can get two players for one of Graham,” I say. “Just in case.”
“I’ll let you know,” he says, and I call Graham back.
“Hey,” I say when he answers the phone. “I wanted to give you a heads-up that Nico is going to talk to Martin about you.”
“Dallas,” he says, and then I hear his voice go low. “They are doing okay except for last night they got killed in Buffalo.”
“Yeah, well, we all have off games,” I say. My other line rings, and I see it’s Nico.
“I’ll call you back,” I say. “But I think it’s safe to say you should pack your bags,” I say, going to the other line. “Hello?”
“He’s mine. I’m going to get him,” he says. “I’m in New York, so I’m going to hop over to Detroit.”
“What are the terms?” I ask.
“I’m buying the contract from him,” he says. “His cap space is at the top, and he can bring up some players from the farm team.”
“Then I guess we both win,” I say, and he laughs.
“I owe you, Becca,” he says, and his voice goes soft. “And it’s going to be a debt I want to pay off. I’ll call you when I’m back in town.” He hangs up without giving me a chance to say anything. I don’t even know what I would have said. He stunned me with the way his voice went soft when he said my name, and then dropped to almost a whisper.
I put my phone down on the desk, and my eyes don’t move from it. It buzzes, and I look down to see it’s from Graham.
Graham: I’m coming to Dallas. He promised me second line.
Me: Once he sees how you play, he’ll bump you up to the first line.
Graham: Fingers crossed. I’ll see you soon. I play New York tomorrow.
Me: I’ll be watching.
He sends me back a smiling emoji. My phone beeps again, and this time when I look down, my eyes blink more times than needed.
Nico: Keep Saturday free.
Chapter 8
Nico
Manning: Meeting at six. Hope you can make it.
Me: Send me the address, and I’ll be there.
The last text is from one of my oldest friends, Laurene. The two of us both come from wealthy families, so we would always hang out at forced gatherings.
Laurene: Hey, long time, no talk. Give me a shout.
I put my phone down and call for Lizzie. “You rang,” she says, coming into my home office. I look up at her. “If you called me in here to make you coffee, I’m going to …” We got home this morning and just decided to head home.