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She shakes her head. “No, sorry. I think I have one of those faces. People think they know me but they don’t.” She shrugs.
“Do you know anything about hockey.”
She takes a deep breath. “Not much,” she admits.
It’s not the face. It’s the eyes. I feel like I’ve seen them before. And it’s annoying me now.
But it’s past six and I have two matches to watch at home tonight.
“Well then, welcome to the Mavericks,” I say. “You’ve picked an interesting time to come and mix things up. I assume you’ll be concentrating on the business side of things.”
“That’s why I’m here.” She nods. “But I need to understand the whole business, including how the team works. The first thing we need to do is cut down on expenditures. I’ll be undertaking a full audit of every payment we make. Including the team.”
“Our salaries are negotiated in advance. We can’t cut those.”
“I understand that. But we can freeze them. Look at bonuses.”
I shift in my seat. “My players aren’t in the NHL. They’re not highly paid. Any cut including bonuses will affect them badly. Most of them are living alone for the first time. Paying their own bills.”
“The team folding would affect them worse,” she says. “You have the IRS breathing down your necks. Nothing is going to be sacred until there’s money to pay them.”
“But you can’t do anything without Wayne’s agreement, right?” And I know for a fact that Wayne would never agree to anything that put the team at a disadvantage. Hockey is everything to him. Winning is paramount. You could sell every bit of furniture in the offices and he wouldn’t give a damn. But touch his team?
You’re dead meat.
“I have authorization to make any changes needed.”
“From who?”
She doesn’t blink. “The Gauthier family.”
“Greg?” I ask.
“I said the family, didn’t I?”
Her attitude is annoying me.
“Look,” I say, trying to keep my voice reasonable. “I get it. You’re a businesswoman. You know how to run regular businesses. But this isn’t a regular business, it’s a sport. You’ve already said you don’t know much about hockey. So all I’m asking is please don’t interfere in the way I run my team.” I let out a sigh. “Or at least run it by me before you do.”
Her frown deepens. Something I said was wrong but I have no idea what. I don’t think I insulted her. Almost the opposite. Any other coach would be screaming right now.
“Okay. I’ll do that.”
“Thank you.”
“Have you met with Wayne yet?” I ask her, because I’m certain he’s not going to be as laid back as I am about this.
She opens her mouth then shuts it again. Those two tiny lines appear above her eyes. “I’m actually meeting with him tonight at his house.”
She’s so closed off she should have a red and white sign flashing in front of her. And yet I kind of like it. For the past fifteen years, I’ve had my fair share of relationships and had to bat off a lot of female interest. And unlike some of the guys on my team, I wasn’t stupid enough to think that interest was for me as a person.
It was for me the NHL player. It attracts people. We’re not gods but we’re different, and different is interesting.
“Give him my best,” I tell her.
“I will.”
“And ice that cheek before you leave. Twenty minutes.”
