Page 61 of Her Game Plan

Except, it had started to feel like maybe it wasn’t.

“I’m fine,” I lie, as I grab my computer bag and make my way inside. “I’ll see you this evening. Though if you finish early and need to head home, don’t worry about me. I can always catch a rideshare.” I should probably start driving my own car, anyway. Don’t want to become too reliant on this man.

“I’ll wait,” Callan insists.

I force a smile. “If you want to. Thanks.” I make my way to my office in the team headquarters portion of the campus as Callan heads into the training facility.

“Charlotte, you’ve got a meeting in five,” Chris’ assistant says as I walk in.

“I do?”

“Your father and Hugo called a few minutes ago and requested your first availability.” Whitney doesn’t quite meet my eye.

Requested.

I huff out a quiet breath. “You mean they demanded eight a.m. and told you to shuffle anything else I might’ve had?”

She gives me an apologetic smile. “Something like that.”

“That’s fine.” I nod once. “I’d rather get whatever it is out of the way this morning. Thank you for shuffling my calendar for me.” Of course they did. It’s the exact power move my dad loves to pull. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it with me. Old habits die hard, and what not.

I walk into my office and take a deep breath. The room still smells faintly like Chris’ cologne—clean, expensive, and definitely not mine. I’m not planning on being here for long, so I haven’t changed anything from when Chris used it. He told me he’s left my office as is as well. Luckily, I’ve been so caught up in trying to understand a very complex industry that I haven’t had time to think about how Parent Trap-y it is that we kind of swapped lives.

I drop into the chair as the door opens.

“Charlotte.” Dad steps into the room as if he belongs here. Hugo follows, already buttoning his jacket like he’s preparing to give a formal presentation.

I stand, offering Dad a hug before gesturing to the two seats in front of my desk. “What can I do for you both?”

Hugo doesn’t sit right away. He studies me before finally lowering himself into the seat, almost like he’s humoring me. “There’s a situation we need to address,” he says. “Roster decisions.”

“Okay,” I reply evenly. This is early for roster discussions, I know that much, at least.

He exchanges a glance with my dad that isn’t even remotely subtle, and my stomach clenches. “We’re exploring trade options for Callan.”

The words hit me like a sledgehammer to the chest, but I don’t let it show.

“Exploring?” I ask. “Or have you already decided?”

“Exploring,” my father confirms.

“It’s what’s best for the team,” Hugo declares, not quite contradicting my father, but making it clear that he, at least, has already decided. “We need the room in our cap, and Callan isn’t what we need going forward. I don’t think he can get us to the championship, so we need to start building if we’re going to have the best chance of winning it all next year.”

I fold my hands on the desk to keep them still. “And you’ve run the numbers? Taking into consideration how much he’s loved by both the fans and the players?”

Hugo’s mouth tightens. “We have.”

“Great. Send them my way, and I’ll take a look. When will you make your final recommendation?” I emphasize the last word, reminding Hugo that, while he might have to approve every decision I make, I am still the acting owner. He can’t make these decisions unilaterally, either. Especially not when it comes to a player like Callan.

My dad clears his throat. “Charlotte—”

“If we had the sponsorship dollars we need, this could be a different discussion,” Hugo cuts in. “But as it seems you’ve made no progress on that front…” He trails off, the implication that this is my fault hanging heavily in the air.

“I didn’t—”

“No need to get emotional,” Hugo cuts me off from defending myself or telling them I’m working on a solution.

“I’m not emotional,” I state calmly. “I’d simply like to see the numbers.”