Page 99 of Her Player

I let myself smile, just a small one. “He's the best coach we've ever had.”

“I've heard.”

“You've heard right.” I let that sit for a half-second longer than was comfortable. “He runs that locker room like it's a family. After what he came through to get to us, the rest of us would walk through walls for him. Just for context.”

Hargrove's smile didn't move. Something behind his eyes registered, but that smile did not goddamn move. That was the tell I'd been waiting for.

“I appreciate the loyalty,” he said. “Speaks well of you and the team.”

“Speaks well of the coach, mostly.”

“Mm.”

The cluster around us had gone quieter than it had been thirty seconds ago. The youngest guy was looking back and forth between Hargrove and me like he was watching a slow tennis match and didn't know who was winning.

“Mr. Hargrove,” I said. “Can I ask you something.”

He spread his hands. “By all means.”

“I read the term sheet.”

He waited.

“Or, I should say, I read the rumor of the term sheet, because nothing's been formally circulated. But the operational oversight clause stood out to me.”

A small pause. He nodded carefully. “That's a standard clause in our group's deals.”

“That's what I found when I looked.” I kept my voice easy. “Couldn't help noticing your group's historically used it to push for staffing changes at the executive and coaching level. It's a pattern. Every franchise you've bought into in the last fifteen years. Sometimes for good reasons. Sometimes not.”

The cluster had quietly stepped half a foot back. The way men did when they realized they were going to want plausible deniability about whichever conversation was about to happen.

Hargrove and I looked at each other.

“I'm not sure I follow what you're—” he started.

“Whatever happens with this deal,” I said, “I'd encourage you to think about what kind of team you're trying to be part of.”

I didn't raise my voice. I didn't change my expression. The string quartet kept going. Someone laughed somewhere behind me. A waiter passed by with a tray of small plates of something on toast.

“The one I captain,” I said, “isn't a team where coaching decisions get made in a room our coach isn't standing in. He earned that bench. He earned it twice. He's not in the conversation when his job comes up, and the people in that conversation answer to the owner of this franchise. Who, for the record, has been deciding who coaches this team for fourteen years, and has been right every damn time.”

Hargrove looked at me for a long moment.

“If that's not the kind of investor partnership your group is interested in,” I said, “this is going to be a long couple of months for everyone. And the deal probably isn't going to close.” I tilted my head slightly. “I'd rather we both know that now than find out in legal.”

The silence stretched.

Then Hargrove said, mildly: “I appreciate the candor.”

“I appreciate you hearing me out.”

He nodded. He looked, for the first time in the conversation, like a man who was rapidly rerunning his evening's plans in his head. The cluster around us had not made eye contact with each other once in the last ninety seconds.

“Enjoy the rest of your evening, Mr. Calloway,” he said.

“You too, Mr. Hargrove.”

I shook his hand again. His grip was the same firmness it had been the first time, which told me what I needed to know about the kind of man he was. The kind who didn't show you that you'd just spent ten damn minutes losing.