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"But, Ron…"
"I only got the job as assistant GM because my father and Bert were good friends. Your father was never impressed with me, and he would have fired me after six months if Carl Pogue hadn't gone to bat for me."
She sank into a chair. "At least someone was behind you."
"I loved working for Carl. We complemented each other perfectly, which was why Carl didn't want Bert to fire me."
"What do you mean?"
"Carl has good football instincts and he's a strong leader, but he's not exceptionally intelligent. I had the qualities he lacked—organizational ability, a head for business—but I'm a total failure as a leader. Carl and I had worked it out so that I'd do the planning and strategy work and he'd carry it through."
"Are you saying you're the one who was running the team?"
"Oh, no. Carl was in charge."
"Implementing your ideas."
"That's true."
She rubbed her forehead. "This is terrible."
"If it's any consolation, firing me was the proper decision. If a GM in the pros is going to be effective, everyone who works for him—from the o
ffice staff right up to the coaches—needs to fear him at least a little bit. The men don't even respect me, let alone fear me. I've got the brains to do the job, but I don't seem to have the personality. Or maybe I just don't have the guts."
"I do." She straightened in her chair, as surprised as Ron that she had spoken aloud the words she had merely been thinking.
"I beg your pardon."
Her mind raced. Bert had wanted her to be a figurehead. He had expected her to spend her days sitting in his old office, obediently signing the papers that were put in front of her and doing what she was told. It would never have occurred to him that she might try to learn something about the job.
She had vowed she wasn't going to play her father's game, and now she saw a way to fulfill the terms of the will but keep her self-respect. "I have the guts," she repeated. "I just don't have the knowledge."
"What are you saying?"
"So far, the only thing I know about football is how much I hate it. If my father had suspected that Carl Pogue would quit, he would never have let me anywhere near the Stars, not even for a few months. I was trapped into doing this, first by Bert and then by Dan Calebow, but that doesn't mean I have to do everything their way."
"I still don't understand—"
"I need to learn something about running a football team. Even if I'm only going to be in charge for a few months, I want to make my own decisions. But I can't do that without having a person I trust to advise me." She gestured toward the papers she still held in her hand. "I don't know anything about these men."
"The candidates for the GM job?"
She nodded.
"I'm certain you can trust Dan and Steve to have picked the best qualified."
"How do I know that?"
"Perhaps your cousin Reed could advise—"
"No!" She forced herself to speak calmly. "Reed and I never got along. I won't go to him under any circumstances. I need you."
"I can't tell you how much your confidence means to me."
She slumped in the chair. "Unfortunately, I promised Dan I'd get rid of you."
"His request wasn't unreasonable. I've been doing a dismal job."
