Chapter Twenty Four: Willow

“It’s preposterous!” Benjamin Harris, our team’s GM, announces and slams the outline of my plans down on the conference table.

I’ve been back in Fort Myers less than twenty-four hours and already I’m back to public enemy number one in the organization. So much for not making waves at spring training like they’d asked.

Tucked away in their cozy high-rise offices in New York, every member of the all male executive board nods in agreement on the screen in front of us. Next to me, I don’t miss the smug smile plastered on Vaughn’s face. It had been his idea to have this meeting as soon as I got back from Miami. I had every intention of waiting to present my plans until closer to the gala when the board would be present in person. I should’ve questioned Vaughn’s insistence on being helpful, but I’d been too excited to get the ball rolling.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared for some backlash. There isn’t a world in which I thought this meeting was going to go smoothly, but I didn’t expect an all-out mutiny.

Nikki offers me a soft smile from across the large conference room. She might agree with my plans, but she doesn’t dare speak up against the boys’ club who would have her replaced as public relations manager faster than one of Carson’s pitches.

I press my lips together, silently wishing Graham was here to back me up, but he’s in the clubhouse preparing with the team to travel the few hours to their game in Tampa against the Raleigh Aviators.

Inhaling a steadying breath, I tamp back the urge to yell and force my voice to be steady. “I understand it’s unprecedented?—”

“That’s an understatement, Ms. York. You are proposing restructuring the entire financial plan for the year,” VP of Finance Justin Baker interjects, “and if I’m honest, it’s quite the misappropriation of funds. The budget has been set for months.”

“And was approved by my father. Who is no longer the owner of this team,” I point out even though everything I’ve said so far has fallen on deaf ears.

Benjamin lets out an exaggerated scoff. “That doesn’t mean you can barge in and change it on a whim. You agreed to this two months ago when we planned the draft.”

I understand their frustration. They expected me to sit and roll over. Instead, I pulled the pin from a grenade and said catch. But I believe in what I’m trying to do. These plans will make not only our team better, but it will set our organization apart from every other club in the league. We’ll set a standard, one built on putting our fans and community first instead of only our players and finances, like my father did. I want to build on what he did, and this is the next step.

We’ve gone round and round for the better part of an hour. Which is why I say for the tenth time, “I’m allowed to change my mind. If you’ll take a look, it”s been meticulously thought-out and distributed over the next ten years and includes sizable donations from my personal funds.”

“If the club lasts that long.” Someone snorts softly from the left corner of the screen, and though it shouldn’t bother me, it gives light to my biggest fears.

“I’m willing to make changes and find a solution that satisfies the board, but as the acting owner, I have the final say, and this is the direction I am taking the team.”

“Your father would be ashamed.” Todd Gibson, our VP of Operations and golfing buddy of Vaughn and Ben, delivers the punch, compounding my growing anxiety.

Burning pricks the back of my eyes, and my nose tingles with the onslaught of tears. I blink them away and swallow hard to avoid letting them see me falter. I don’t want to be the babbling, irrational woman they think I am, but I can’t help the deep-seated emotion that comes with anything related to the team. I might be able to fake it till I make it most days, but it hasn’t been long enough since the crash to make me completely impervious to the grief and fear of failing at the one thing my father left for me.

“I disagree,” I declare, though my voice has lost some of its confidence. “My father wanted this organization to be a family, and while he created that within our staff and players, I want to grow that family to include our fans, new and old. Upping our social media presence, adding incentives for our season ticket holders, increasing our giveaway days and options, and creating a space where our fans can gather before and after games are ways we can do that.”

“And upping our player salary cap? The sponsored hotel you want to build at the edge of our property using team”s funds? That’s going to also create a family? How about putting feelers out behind our back to bring a player back into the fold that was ousted from the league for sexual harassment and rape?”

I wince internally. This was the part of my plan I’d been most hesitant about. Hell, I’m still not sure it’s a good idea to begin with, but something in my gut is telling me to take a chance on Mercer Cohen.

“He was cleared of those charges and is a phenomenal player. He doesn’t deserve to live in exile because he was wrongfully accused. Yes, Mr. Harris and Vaughn usually handle any and all roster changes, but this is something I feel strongly about, so I reached out to see if it was even an option.”

“It’s a legal nightmare,” the head of our legal department, Mr. Fios chimes in, pushing the glasses that are too small for his face up the bridge of his nose.

“What? That he likes kinky sex?” I blurt out. If they ever found out about the bag of toys I keep nestled away in my apartment or the fact I’ve never come harder than when Bishop tightens his hand around my throat, I’d be ousted faster than I could count to five.

Vaughn’s face twists in disgust. “He was accused of rape.”

I pin a narrowed glare in his direction, challenging his allegation. “And it was found that the woman making the accusations staged the whole thing to extort him. Should he be punished for that? His livelihood taken away? All because one woman thought to take advantage of him? Should Bishop then also be banned from the league because his ex accused him of knocking her up and deserting her, even though a paternity test confirmed it wasn’t his child?”

“It’s entirely different.” Vaughn huffs.

“Maybe, but we aren’t here to judge what happens behind closed doors. We’re here to build a team, and I want that team to be a legacy. I want champions both on the field and in the stands. I believe both those men are part of that vision.”

“Bishop we can stand behind,” Benjamin sneers, folding his arms across his chest like his word is law, “but no one will stand behind Mercer Cohen.”

“So, you’re saying you can get behind the rest but Cohen is a hard no.” It’s a stretch but if I can get them to agree to everything else, I can work on getting an exemption for Cohen through the league in the coming years.

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Benjamin continues at the same time, Mr. Fios and Mr. Baker chime in, “It’s franchise suicide” and “this is insane”.

“Enough,” Patrick Kincade bellows from the center of the screen, and immediately the entire room, both present and not, goes quiet.

A man nearly triple my age with white hair and receding hairline, he’s a member of the executive board filling an advisor role. He’s been with the Renegades since before my father took over and practically wrote the book for our business model. In this franchise, he’s the sort of man that people listen to when he speaks, and unfortunately for me, he’s got nothing but archaic ways of thinking to share.

“Ms. York,” Patrick begins, his tone patronizing, “in one meeting you have managed to turn this entire organization into a shit show.”

I grimace but keep my shoulders back despite wanting to crumble under his scrutinizing observation.

“Your youthful approach, while refreshing, is not the way business is conducted. I’m not saying you don’t have the start of some good ideas, but this team has a legacy of its own to protect, and right now, you are its biggest threat. You’ve run a successful philanthropy, which is to be commended, but this is not a frat party or whatever you are trying to turn it into.”

I open my mouth to argue, but he gives me a slicing gaze as he throws his hand up, wagging a silencing pointer fingerat me. It’s reminiscent of the way my mother used to muzzle me with one pointed look when I would argue I wasn’t her doll to control.

Then and now, I’m reduced to feeling like nothing more than a child to be disciplined, and as a result, fail to do more than comply.

“This is a prestigious team,” Patrick continues. “One that was on its way to a pennant run before tragedy struck. We are willing to entertain your ideas and even concede on some of them, if you are willing to meet us halfway and agree to some of the requests you’ve avoided. But understand this. You will not have the support of this board or your upper management if you continue on the road you’re on. I suggest you think long and hard about your whimsical ideals and come to the right conclusion.”

The audacity of this man.

And the worst part is, I have no doubt every single person—save for Nikki—agrees. This boys’ club will never give any of my ideas a chance. They’ll agree to the smallest bullet points and demand I fall in line.

If I was a man, they’d pat me on the back and meet me in the middle. They’d praise me as an entrepreneur, but all they see when they look at me is the same thing that Vaughn does—I’m nothing but a pampered princess who couldn’t possibly know anything.

I chew the inside of my lower lip to stop it from trembling. The urge to argue wars with the instinct to back down and live to fight another day. I want to be the one who makes a difference and inspires change. But I’m only one person, and given the outrage from Patrick and the board, I don’t know if it’s enough.

An uncomfortable silence washes over the room as heads slowly shift to see my reaction. I don’t want to let them win, but what can I do? I could fire them all and start new, but that will only shatter my standing with the league, and I don’t exactly have friends in the industry who are willing to rush to my side and help pick up the pieces with only the hope of creating something great.

These plans were always a risk and maybe I bit off more than I can chew, but I believe in what I’m trying to do here. I just need more time to get the board to agree and somehow avoid becoming their glorified puppet.

“What do you want from me?” I ask genuinely, even though I know they are going to demand more than I can give.

Patrick once again speaks for the group, and a spike of jealousy rips through me. It must be nice to know everyone will fall in line behind you. “I agree. We need to step up our social media and marketing and bring the team into the modern age. The giveaways and fan space are a good goal to look into, but taking funds to expand our portfolio to hotels and event spaces out of the stadium is out of the question, as is bringing in a controversial player we can’t afford. Our focus needs to be on maintaining what we have and who we are. That means embracing the tragedy of the crash and using that to our advantage. You have already railroaded us once by adjusting the gala to not include the children of the victims of the crash.”

I protest, “But they?—”

“That being said, I have spoken to members of this board, and we believe the best way to move forward is to livestream the gala and require the entire team to attend instead of just our top players. Doing so will set us apart from other teams in the league. In addition, during the gala, we have organized a concurrent press event in which you and Bishop Lawson will sit down for an interview with Tanner Phillips of The Foul Line and ensure that everyone knows we are a team and one to be reckoned with.”

I fist my hands against the wood of the table and shake my head. “Bishop will never go for that.”

Nor am I going to let them use him like that. He is finally beginning to see the new guys as his team. In just the week I’ve been gone, he’s taken Carson to The Guardian, and he’s making the effort to talk to the other players and get to know them. I’ve seen a change in him I never expected. He’s letting people in. Me included. I refuse to let the board take advantage of him like this. He might be the only surviving member of the team we lost standing on the field, but he’s not a pawn to be sacrificed.

“You’ll make him,” Patrick states, as if the answer is simple. “From what I hear, you have the best rapport with him.”

“And if I don’t agree to this?” The weight of his stare is enough to let me know he’s not asking. Shit, he reminds me so much of my mother it’s scary.

“I don’t make idle threats, Ms. York. You are a small fish in a big pond. One in which you know nothing about. We are here to guide you, but don’t mistake that as you being in charge. This organization has worked as a well-oiled machine, and even if you were to let every single one of us go, we know the skeletons hidden in every closet from here back to New York.”

He’s careful not to say he’d ruin this team, but that’s exactly what he’s threatening. It”s exactly what I was worried about and why I haven’t proposed any major staffing changes to the executive board. Still, I can’t help but wonder what skeletons he’s referring to and if any of them are just waiting to bite me in the ass.

I look out the windows of the conference room to the empty practice field, defeat weighing on my shoulders. My father wouldn’t have wanted this. I can’t say for certain he would have loved my plans, but there’s no way he would agree with this. He believed this team was family. And while the Yorks might have had a fucked up version of what that looked like, he always made sure the Renegades were solid.

But it’s just me now.

“I’ll do the interview,” I murmur, turning back to face the firing squad that is my board of executives, “but I can’t speak for Bishop.”

Patrick’s jaw tightens, and for a moment I think he’s about to lose his composure, but then he takes a breath and calmly states. “That’s not good enough. He’s the only survivor on the field. People want his story. I suggest you find a way to persuade him if you don’t want us to overrule your changes for the gala and go with our original plan.”

Stuck between a rock and a hard place. I’m not sure he can actually do that, but I’m not about to find out. Unfortunately, saving the children means placing Bishop at my side when the guns go off.

My gut twists, and I hate myself for doing it, but I mutter a monotone “understood”, sealing our fate.

“Then this meeting is over.”