Page 25 of Violent Little Thing

And watching these two competitive teams made me feel wholly inadequate.

Court and I had pretty much been through a trial by fire when it came to the whole owning a team thing.

I’d been a complete non-participant since I’d gotten a percentage of the team. When the board voted, I ignored the emails. When the teams won, I didn’t care.

Now, I not only was forced to go to board meetings, but I was also forced to care whether they won or lost.

The Cowgirls were winning.

The Condors were not, and hadn’t since 1990, according to the boring ass board meeting I was sitting in on today.

According to the news stations, which I now also unfortunately had to pay attention to, the Condors were giving the Cowboys a run for their money with the most unsuccessful seasons.

They were neck and neck, with no end in sight for either team.

Despite the losing, the Condors were still a beloved team.

We had players who inspired hope and excitement, but their skill level was circumspect.

That was the gist of today’s meeting—talking about the Condors’ future and future players.

Though that wasn’t the only thing that Court planned on discussing today.

Beau sat silently on Court’s other side, steepling his fingers in front of his face while he listened to his sister talk about the Condors and what they could do to make them actually win. As if she had any idea about sports. All of her ideas were about things to do off the field, and it had nothing to do with conditioning or eating. It had everything to do with proposed ads from possible donors, charity galas that focused on the rich, and attending mandatory classes on how to interact with the media.

None of that focused on the overinflated budget, drawing poor draft choices, and poor scouting.

Though the only reason that I knew any of that other stuff was because Court and Beau had talked about it on the way here.

Honey. Benedict signed, though the interpreter at every board meeting for Benedict also spoke the words aloud. That’s all very important, but none of it addresses the talent issues that we’re having.

Seraphina frowned. “But regardless, it’s something we need to address.”

“I think what dear ol’ dad is trying to say is that you’re focusing on bullshit,” Beau offered up.

My lips twitched, and I barely caught the snort from escaping in time.

Seraphina narrowed her eyes. “Why are you even here if you’re not an owner anymore?”

Before Beau could answer, it was Court who said, “Because I asked him to be. I want to be up to date on everything that’s happening. That way I can plan on what’s to happen next.”

The board shifted in their seats, not sure that they liked the direction the team had gone with the new owner, but too smart to say it outright.

The five on the board had held their tongues, though I could tell that they were hesitant. Each time Court spoke, they looked around to gauge whether the others were agreeing or not.

And the funny thing was, I could tell they all agreed. They just didn’t want to. They also knew that, if they opposed too much, then Court, who was now the majority owner, would get rid of them.

There was no reason to have them anymore, seeing as the reason they were elected in the first place was because the family couldn’t agree on shit. Oh, and I hadn’t cared.

Lysander, Olive, and Beau had given up their shares to Court. Now, between Court and me, we owned eighty percent of the company.

Benedict and Seraphina only held ten percent each, and unfortunately for them, that wasn’t enough.

Nothing they wanted to get approved would be.

We’d made it virtually impossible for them to accomplish a damn thing. If Court and I wanted to get rid of the board, we could.

But for now, they served a purpose.