Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55760 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“On behalf of the entire Sea Snappers organization, we’d like to thank you for your dedication to the team. You’ve been a tremendous asset during your tenure and we’re confident you’ll continue to inspire. However, effective immediately, we’ve opted to terminate your contract.”
Holy fuck.
I got cut.
I pushed aside the nasty-looking pumpkin spice latte my agent set in front of me, slouching in my chair as I scrubbed my hand over my scruffy jaw. “Did this really happen? Is this legal? They can’t cut me. Can they?”
“Afraid so,” Jeff replied evenly.
He checked his watch, then sipped his orange-tinged seasonal coffee and shot me a sympathetic glance that didn’t quite hit his eyes.
Par for the course. Jeff Taylor was a slick middle-aged dude who rocked Brooks Brothers suits with sneakers and wore red-framed glasses. I used to think his hipster wardrobe choices were cool and edgy, but it eventually occurred to me that he was pandering to his clientele. Suits for managers, sneakers for coaches and players, and quirky eyewear to tie it all together as proof that while he might be pushing fifty, he was still cool with a capital C.
Honestly, Jeff was too cool. I couldn’t relate to him at all, which hadn’t mattered in the past. I didn’t need a buddy. I needed a fucking job.
“What do you mean? This isn’t—this can’t be—” I swallowed hard and gazed out the window at the tourists and students meandering along King Street. “It’s like they fired me.”
“They did fire you.”
“I’ve never been fired. I’ve never been asked to clean out my locker at the start of the fucking season. This is…unreal.”
“Court, my man. C’mon, relax. It’s gonna be okay. You still had two years on your contract. They’re paying you everything up front, so in a way, it’s like you won the lottery.” Jeff held a hand up when I skewered him with a sharp stare. “All right, I’m sorry. That was insensitive. I’m just trying to point out that this isn’t a desperate situation. I’ll try to find you something new.”
“When and where? I bought a fucking condo in Charleston when you told me this was my final home base.”
“To be fair, maybe I wasn’t exactly wrong,” he said gently.
I snapped my head in his direction. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“They’re giving you the same salary you’d have earned till you were thirty-six…the year you were planning to retire.”
“But I don’t want to retire. I want to play hockey,” I hissed.
“I know.” He glanced at his watch again and scooted to the edge of his chair. “Look, I have to get going soon. I’ll put my feelers out and see what’s available.”
“That’s it?” I huffed incredulously.
“Court, I’m not a magician. I don’t know what you want me to do.” He frowned, clearly exasperated.
“Your job. I want you to do your job and fix my job because as you know…that’s how I pay you.”
Jeff sighed. “Yeah, well…let me be straight with you, Henderson. Most professional minor league teams aren’t in the market for someone your age.”
“Ouch.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s true. They want young talent they can mold. You haven’t had any major injuries recently, so you have that going for you.”
“But…” I rolled my wrist in an impatient gesture for him to keep talking and ideally, not look at his watch again as if this was all very fucking boring. “What are you not saying?”
“All right, fine. You haven’t been playing well, Court. You’ve been more of a liability than an asset and I know the season has just begun, but last season wasn’t great for you either.” Jeff patted my forearm as he pushed away from the table. “Good news is I’m going to do everything I can for you. I need you to be realistic, though. This may take time. Which…I’m officially out of.”
I furrowed my brow when he stood. “Whoa. Where’re you going?”
“I’m meeting a client and his parents for brunch at the Bennett. He’s eighteen and I gotta tell you, I think he’s going to the AHL or even, God willing, the NHL.” Jeff gave my shoulder a patronizing squeeze and rearranged his features to something more solemn, adding, “My advice to you—relax. I’ll do what I can, but in the meantime, take a few weeks and regroup.”
“A few weeks?” I gulped audibly. “It’s the beginning of November.”
“Maybe go on a trip for the holidays or something.”
“A trip,” I repeated dully.
“Could be good for you.”
I wanted to scream that travel was the last thing on my mind, but my head was pounding and I didn’t have the energy to argue. I shoved my sunglasses on and followed him outside, dodging a gaggle of sorority girls. I had no idea why a posse of twentysomethings was the detail that shook a few cobwebs loose, but it suddenly occurred to me that it was kind of weird that Jeff happened to be in town at all.