“Of course it’s okay. This is yourlifewe’re talking about. We brought you in for the long haul, not for a single season. We believe in you. And to that end,” he says, distracting me from getting too choked up. “Let’s talk about how we can put you to work. I’d like you to be my special assistant over scouting next year.”
“Scouting? You want me in the front office?”
“You’re too valuable to us not to squeeze a bit of extra work out of you.”
“I’ll do whatever you want.” I hate how eager I sound, but I can’t hide it. I’m known for my devil-may-care attitude, and I’m not playing a part as much as you’d think. You don’t know me? Don’t like me? I don’t care what you think.
But if I likeyou—if Irespectyou—I need your approval like Mason needs to know he’s on the Nice List.
Doug nods. “Good. I want you to focus hard on rehab. But this week, I need you at our staff retreat working with the analytics team to fix our roster. And you can’t be a punk about it.”
He grabs a heavy folder from the chair next to him and drops it between us like it’s punctuation. A period. A command.
“That’s the second time today I’ve been called a punk,” I say. “Am I in a John Hughes movie? Is thisThe Breakfast Club?”
“Who was the first person?”
“Some woman in the airport.”
Doug’s lips twitch, but he shakes his head. “She has your number, Coop. You’re the most passionate player on the field, day in, day out. Everyone who gets to see past the bravado likes you. The problem is most people don’t get to know you well enough to see past it. But I need you talking to coaches and front office staff who aren’t impressed by your on-base percentage because they’re too busy analyzing how much you’re costing the team.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m telling you like it is. You can’t pull crap like giving them your autograph or blowing a kiss if I pick a player you recommended over them.”
“I get it,” I say. “I won’t let you down.”
Doug smiles. “Good man. Now let me drive you back to the resort so you can study prospects.” We get up, and I take our dishes with me into the house. “You don’t need to do that. I’ll have my kids clean it up.”
“I don’t mind,” I say. I scrape down the dishes and load them in the chef’s kitchen as Doug watches me.
When I’m done, I follow him through the house and into the garage, where we climb into his Tesla. “You know, if peoplefound out that you clean a rich dude’s home, they’d have to change their minds about you. This would kill your reputation.”
“Easy, now. I’m a showboat, not a jerk.”
“You’re a better guy than most people will ever know.”
“As long as the right people know, I’m cool. Oh, and it’s okay if you know, too.”
Doug laughs under his breath. “Such a punk.”
CHAPTER FOUR
COOPER
You wanna know what’s fun?
How excited everyone is to work with me.
Wait, did I say fun?
I meantnotfun. Not even a little.
This morning’s opening session and strategy meeting were both fine. Some side-eyes, sure, but some smiles, too. Lunch with Marty Mercer, the Director of Scouting, was good. The guy’s gruff, but he seemed to respect me, and we saw eye-to-eye on a lot of the prospects in the Firebirds farm system. But now, the two of us are stepping into a breakout room in the resort’s conference center, and you could hear a pin drop. A dozen people look at me, a couple with surprise and excitement. A couple with contempt.
At the front of the room, a blonde woman is bent over her laptop, and given that there’s a light coming from the projector but it’s not sharing anything, I’d bet the muttering woman is having a hard time getting her laptop to connect.
I walk over to her, only because I promised Doug I’d be a team player. Not because she has a great figure, or anything.
