Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“So, you love fashion, but you own a football team?”
“I also own a tech start-up and a podcast, and I back several other endeavors. I’m an entrepreneur, Drew. I guess that’s the one thing I got from my father that’s done me any good. I know people assume that Rome does all the work in his fancy office in downtown Seattle, and don’t get me wrong, he does do a lot of work. I choose to keep my main office at the training facility so I can oversee everything that I need to while also working on all the other things that need my attention.
“The team itself is a lot of work. I’m constantly in meetings with the attorneys and the sales team because we rent out the stadium for concerts, shows, and other sporting events. Even private citizens sometimes rent out the stadium.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” I reply, feeling ashamed that I ever thought this intelligent, driven woman was simply playing at being the CEO of a professional sports team. She’s not playing at anything.
She’s slaying.
“I cram as much work as I can into the six hours or so that I’m in the office, then I get Caleb from school and take him to practices, rehearsals, and play dates. I always have my laptop on me so I can work while he’s otherwise occupied.”
“London.” I step forward, to the opposite side of the island, and lean my elbows on the marble. “Are you telling me all of this because you think that you have something to prove to me?”
“I used to see the way you looked at me,” she admits. “The way pretty much everyone looked at me when we took over the team and I moved into the owner’s office. Like I was a joke, like I was no better than that piece of shit we bought the team from.”
She holds up her hand when I’m about to speak.
“And I get it. I’m young, and all I wanted to talk about was uniforms. Do you know why?”
I shake my head.
“Because the current uniforms were chosen by her, by that woman who disrespected this organization and bet against it. I don’t want my team to wear something that she chose for them. According to the league’s rules, we can change uniforms at the beginning of the next season, and that’s what I’m doing. I’m switching up the color patterns, and while they’ll still be recognizable as Seattle jerseys, they won’t be the same as what she chose at all. I’m also adding a throwback uniform.”
“I’m sorry that I didn’t take it more seriously. I really am, London.”
She inhales deeply and then shakes her head. “It’s okay. I got approval, and those old jerseys are out of there. The new ones can’t get here fast enough. Anyway, yeah, I guess I do feel like I have something to prove. If I were a man, no matter my age, it wouldn’t be so hard. If Rome and I reversed roles, I wouldn’t have received so many snickers. I really respected Lucy for the way she insisted on getting her job because I’ve felt that same way myself.”
“You two are going to do well together.”
“Oh, I can already feel it. She’s stepped in seamlessly and revamped my calendar, she brings me coffee and my favorite scone every morning, and she already knows everyone’s name on our floor. I think she even has some of the numbers I ask her to call memorized already.”
“She’s smart,” I reply simply, proud of Lucy. “She was the valedictorian of her class in both high school and college. She’s the nerd of the family. We’re proud of her.”
“And what are you?” she asks.
“I’m the jock.” I shrug and offer her a grin. “It worked for me.”
“I bet it did. I think I veered off the topic of my closet.”
“What’s your favorite thing in here?”
“I have categories of favorite things,” she informs me as she gazes around. “But my most prized possession? Hmm.”
She taps her lips and then reaches for a simple, obviously old jacket.
“Not what I expected,” I admit.
“It belonged to Coco Chanel,” she says and does a little happy dance. “She wore this in the 1960s. She was a little thing, wasn’t she?”
“Have you ever worn it?”
“Hell no. Do you know what I paid for this?”
“I have no idea.”
“It was a lot. Like, a lot a lot.”
“I’ll take your word for it. What else do you have in here?”
She stows the jacket away and then reaches for a handbag. “This isn’t vintage. It’s a Hermes Birkin 30, crocodile leather, with diamond-encrusted hardware.”
“Looks like a black bag to me.”
She pets the side of it. “It was a quarter of a million dollars.”
I about swallow my tongue as I stare at the bag in her hands. “Holy fuck, London.”