“Hello, Sir. I’m Scott Fishman, director of the executive staff. This is my deputy, Damon Moss. Welcome to The New York Lions.”
My head moved between the two of them. “Good to meet you, both. What’s your role as director?”
Scott guided us down the corridor as he replied, while I tried to look for signs that he already knew who I actually was. “My team manages the office of Mr. Maypole. Anything he needs, any communications from his office, we put out all internal memos, manage his PAs, his schedule including travel, that sort of thing.”
“And does he always behave like that?” I nodded to where Maypole was storming ahead down the corridor, not bothering to wait for anyone else. I could tell my grandfather was none too happy about it from the way he was shaking his head while talking to Murray.
“Mr. Maypole has a busy schedule.”
Scott’s diplomatic response without shit-talking his current boss was all I needed to know about whether or not he was the type of guy I’d have leading my teams. This would soon be my office, and I wanted a guy like Scott to give me the low-down on how things had been running, and where it all needed improvement.
“Great, sounds like you got it covered,” I said as I gave him a friendly slap on his back.
We stopped outside a closed door, and Maypole turned to me. “Hope you can fight with the wolves, son. This lot will be out for your blood.”
My jaw clenched instinctively, my grandfather responding before I could.
“Don’t you worry about Penn, Maypole. He’s a Shepherd. He’ll be fine. You concentrate on not spending my money too quickly,” he snapped.
Maypole ignored him and pushed the door open with a scoff, all of us filing in behind him. We stepped in and I halted at the sight before me.
The wall directly ahead was a single plane of glass overlooking the field. Interspersed shades of green crossed over each other like tartan, surrounded by the magnificent brown earth fanning the bases and framed by bright white lines. Almost directly below us, groundsmen were freshening up the black and gold paint of The New York Lions, spelled out underneath the home plate in enormous letters above the official logo. I briefly wondered whether I ought to stop them seeing as it would change soon if Lowe had anything to do with it.
For the first time since this process began over three months ago, my heart skipped a beat of excitement.
This was mine. All mine.
I jolted when Murray walked into me from behind, knocking me from the spot I’d stood mesmerized on, which was when I noticed the boardroom table to the left of us filled with twenty to thirty of the executive team.
I’d been doing some homework this week, cramming information about my new employees. Just like when I’d been at college and thought I should probably do some reading the day before any test, I’d memorized most of the executive team, though I’d memorized their mug shots and not the haughty facesin front of me... every single one of which was screwed up in confusion.
“There are no women in here,” whispered Beulah, sidestepping Murray so she didn’t join the collision.
“You’re here now,” whispered back Murray. “You’ll have to change things up.”
She grunted quietly in response, but it was obvious she was less than impressed. I sent out a quick plea to whomever was listening that she’d be able to add Marnie to her list of female colleagues soon.
Maypole was now sitting at the head of the table while coffee was being poured out for him. My grandfather caught my eye and raised his brow, and I knew that was everything to do with the fact Maypole should not have sat his ass anywhere.
Everyone one else’s eyes were on the four of us, making it perfectly clear they had no idea why we were here. My grandfather also wasn’t used to being in a room with individuals who weren’t quite sure why the most successful businessman in America was standing in it too. Something he made known.
“Maypole, you gonna stand-up and introduce us?” he barked. “It’s what we’re here for, not a tea party.”
I glanced around, trying to figure out if they could tell what was about to happen and what was going on, but everyone still looked relatively blank and confused. I wondered if Trenton Furst had known. I also wondered if anyone in here knew he’d been fired.
We all watched Maypole finally get his ass out of my chair.
“Yes, yes. Just wanted a last cup of coffee.”
That announcement had everyone waking up. Heads were moving between Maypole and us, and like a Mexican Wave, the rest of the room caught on to something big happening. Suddenly a lot of noise erupted from the table.
“Why’s he acting like he doesn’t want this?” hissed Murray. “He couldn’t give zero shits about getting rid of this place.”
Silence fell on the room as Maypole raised his hand and stood.
“I’ll get to the point. It might come as a surprise to you that I’ve called this meeting, though it shouldn’t after that shitshow of a performance last night. The time has come for me to cut my losses. Over the summer, Lucian Shepherd came to me with an offer, and I accepted. The paperwork was finalized with the Commissioner’s Office, and Lucian Shepherd can add The Lions to his ever-growing smorgasbord of companies.”
My grandfather shot Maypole a look that I knew meant his patience was wearing thin and Maypole should watch his tone, while the rest of the room was now staring open mouthed, including me, Murray, and Beulah.
