“You can certainly try.”
“Stew?” She says, with an elegant gesture of her hand, giving him the floor.
He straightens in his seat and grins at me, wide and proud. “What do you say to Vice President and General Manager of the Brooklyn Eagles?”
I didn’t see that one coming. Not in a million years.
“I’m sorry, isn’t that . . . that’s your job,” I sputter, and I’m half annoyed at him, because throwing me off my game has made Hannah Vinch smile.
“The doctor cleared me for work today, but I had a long talk with Rita and we decided it was time for me to take it easier, slow down a little, but, you know me, I couldn’t retire completely. I’ll be around as a senior advisor, for whatever you need, but let’s be honest with each other, Frankie, this has been your team since you got here. We’ll just be making it official. Whatever thosebastards uptown offered you, we’ll beat by a year and at least ten percent.”
I’m not sure I’ve ever been more stunned in my life and, given the last few weeks, that’s saying something.
“I have a question, if you don’t mind?” I ask, directing my words to Hannah. She nods. “When,exactly, did you rethink firing me?”
It’s a test and I wonder if she knows it. Will she be honest?
“When Kai Nakamura called and was effusive in his praise of your pitch. And then when he expressed his desire to sign here was no longer guaranteed if you weren’t at the helm.”
Honesty. Excellent.
“So, all of this was at the whim of a twenty-five-year-old kid with a lightning bolt for an arm.”
“That’s baseball,” she says, and smiles, shark-like, but it’s a familiar one. I’ve seen the same exact expression on my own face countless times before. Good. We understand each other.
“It is,” I agree, and stand from my seat. Something in the last handful of minutes must have shifted because, when I do, all of the others follow suit, except Stew, still lounging in his chair. “You’ve given me a lot to think about. When do you need my answer?”
“When you have one,” Stew says, interrupting whatever Hannah was going to say, probably to try to save some face before the meeting is over.
“You’ll hear from me soon,” I promise, as I turn on my heel and stride out of the boardroom. When the door clicks shut behind me, it literally vibrates with the level of grumbling that kicks up once they’re sure I’m gone.
“Well?” Nancy says, expectantly from her desk, like she wasn’t probably listening in anyway.
“We’ll see,” I say, “but you’ll hear it from me first.”
“I better,” she warns. “Gregory thinks he runs things around here, but I’m not dead yet.”
And I leave, thinking about how Gregory’s work nemesis is a woman old enough to be his grandmother and, honestly, watching that play out for the next few years adds a little pro to the Brooklyn Eagles column in the rapidly building pro/con list in my head.
Because now I have a choice.
A choice with no right or wrong answer, just a decision to make, one that will change my life entirely going forward, and there’s only one person in the world I want to help me make it.
He’s there waiting for me, chatting with the security guard at the main desk, who he says goodbye to quickly with a casual dap and I wave goodbye as well.
“How’d it go?” he asks, as we step out onto the sidewalk, the stadium looming high in the air at our backs.
“Did you know what Stew had planned?”
We walk slowly and I wave off Vlad, who tips his cap and drives away.
“He didn’t explicitly tell me, but I had a feeling he had something up his sleeve. Did he offer you his job?”
“He did,” I say, shaking my head, still in disbelief.
“What did you say?” he asks, his hand falling to the small of my back and I notice it this time as we wait at the corner for the light to change.
“I asked for some time to think about it.”
