“No, sir,” I said, shrinking in my seat.
“In the playoffs, gate revenue is doubled. So I makethreemillion dollars per game.”
The friendly smile he wore began to fade, replaced by a piercing intensity in his eyes.
“Now, Dakota, I understand you’re not good at math because you play a child’s game for a living. But do you have any idea how much money a playoff series is worth to a guy like me on gate revenue alone?”
I didn’t want to let him paint me as some jock idiot in front of Ottavia, even if that isexactly what I am. So I did the quick math in my head: in a given playoff series, a team played either two, three, or four games at home, depending on how long the best-of-seven series went.
“You make a minimum of six million dollars for each playoff round,” I said. “Depending on how long the series lasted, and how many home games you played, you could make up to twelve million dollars.”
Mr. Capuano laughed and caught his daughter’s eye. “Hey! Hecando math.” But his amusement was snuffed out in a hurry when he turned back to me. “Now, tell me—how much am I paying you?”
“Five million, sir,” I said.
“So I pay you five million. But your antics get us eliminated in Round One, which means you cost me aminimumof six million dollars, and a maximum oftwelvemillion dollars, in Round Two. Does that sound like good economics to you?”
I hung my head. “No, sir.”
“I don’t think so, either. Mind you, those figures are just for oneround. If we’d made it to the third round of the playoffs? That’s yet another six to twelve million dollars. If we’d made it to the fourth and final round, when ticket prices double again?” He shook his head. “Altogether, we’re talking about a potential loss of revenue in excess of fifty million dollars. On gate revenuealone.And why? Why, Dakota?”
My heart pounded against my rib cage as the weight of his words sank in. I couldn’t bring myself to answer.
“Becauseyouhadto go out and party the night before Game Seven,” he snarled.
I drew a deep breath. “I apologize, sir. I know I made a mistake, but—”
“What were you hoping to accomplish by meeting me tonight?” he asked.
I stammered. “Well, sir, I wanted to reassure you that I’m committed this off-season to my training, and—”
“So you fuck me and my team, but I’m supposed to care that you’re suddenly taking your off-season seriously? Becauseyou’re actually going to hit the weight room instead of partying and jerking yourself off in your bedroom all summer long?” His voice reached a crescendo as he bellowed out, “Newsflash, kid: THAT’S WHAT THE FIVE MILLION IS FOR. You’reexpectedto be doing all of that already.”
He stared me down, his jaw grinding back and forth.
“You embarrassed yourself. Your team. Your city. You cost me millions.Thenyou thought you could lie to me about being settled down. And I thought all that was bad enough! But now?” He paused, his question leaving a trail of tension in its wake. “Now I find out you’re lying to mydaughter,too?”
Holy shit I’m so fucked,I thought, panicked. Yet I couldn’t help but admire the billionaire’s skill as he masterfully crafted the narrative against me. It was as if he were meticulously constructing the train that would inevitably run me over, and all I could do was lay there and watch as he tied me to the tracks.
He turned to Ottavia. “Have you seen it, sweetheart? The video of this joker on the mechanical bull?” He pointed at me with his pinky finger, as if I were an insignificant nothing and unworthy to sit at their table.
She demurred. “I don’t see the point. Dakota told me about it, and that’s enough for me.”
“You should see it. He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he? Don’t you want to know what he’s up to when he’s away from home?” Mr. Capuano pulled out his cell phone and passed it to her. “Here. Watch.”
Ottavia reluctantly watched the mechanical bull video. When it ended, she passed the phone back to her dad and perfectly nailed the tone of the concerned, but ultimately trusting, girlfriend. “Well, I don’t exactly love it. But it’s exactly as Dakota described it. And he said nothing happened between them. I trust him.”
“Wow. Hear that, Dakota? She trusts you.” Mr. Capuano’s ear-to-ear smile made my skin crawl. “She must really like you, huh? Yeah, she sounds serious about you.”
He was winding up for something, and I didn’t like it.
“So, Dakota, I need to ask: are you serious about my daughter?”
What do I say?!Scrambling, I looked to Ottavia for help.
“Don’t look at her. Look at me.” His voice grew more urgent as he repeated the question, “Are you serious about my daughter?”
“Yes?” I croaked.
