“By the way, has Noah pinned down the scouting visits we discussed yesterday? I think we’re on tap for the ACC schools last. Are Coach Green and his staff are all set?”
I make a mental note to review all the prospects with Leo Green this afternoon.
“Yes, sir. Duke, Georgia Tech, and Florida State. It’s all in the email he sent this morning. Didn’t you get it?”
Shit. I’m normally on top of everything going on in my organization. My head has been through the blender this morning and I seem to have left it in the parking lot with Harper.
I do a quick search of my Inbox and, sure enough, the email Glen is referring to from Noah Stringfield, our VP of Scouting, came in right around the time I ran into Harper Conrad.
No wonder I didn’t see it.
“Okay, yeah, I found it.” I scan through the email, doing a quick check of my calendar for any scheduling conflicts. “Looks like we’ll be on the road until the G League Elite Camp and then Combine?”
My calendar appears to have already been blocked off and color-coded by my assistant, Vivian, along with hotel confirmations and travel arrangements for that two-week period. On the heels of our visits, there’s the G League Elite Camp for a week, and then the weekend of the NBA Combine in Chicago.
This time of year is always busy as fuck, but I love it. I live for this shit. It’s exciting to get firsthand visibility into the fresh talent ready to join the pros. I’d liken it to the exhilaration of meeting a woman on a first date and slowly falling in love with her. The first inklings of love that shake your heart like it’s in a glass jar.
Not that I would know what that feels like anymore.
Glen responds to my question. “Yes. Once we return, we’ll have that month to confer in preparation for the draft. And just to warn you, I have several press conferences scheduled immediately following.”
I groan. He laughs.
“Sorry, Marek. I know your love-hate relationship with the press.”
“You mean I love to hate them?”
“At least we’ll have a great draft number this year. We should get exactly who we want and that will be cause for celebration. The press will eat it up and you’ll be their hero.”
The draft. It’s the most stressful aspect of my job every year. The moves are carefully calculated, strategic, and premediated to ensure this billion-dollar franchise investment continues to grow and win with each new acquisition.
It takes every ounce of my concentration to build a winning roster and create synergy within the team. We spend months evaluating each player’s skills and talents, making final preparations to then watch it all unfold in our war room during draft day.
If I’m not prepared and my staff hasn’t done our due diligence, it could cripple our team’s future performance.
As I finish up my call and plans for the upcoming weeks with Glen, he summarizes a few of the press releases that will be going out on behalf of the team this week. And then he mentions the one topic I wish every goddamn reporter and journalist would just magically stop bringing up.
“Marek, I have one last matter to discuss with you. It’s a rather delicate one and I need to know how you’d like me to respond to it.”
Something in my gut bottoms up with the way his voice softens. I can already tell it’s going to be bad news.
I swivel in my office chair and stare out my third-story window overlooking the Puget Sound, the Space Needle off to the right of our building. The blue water and snow-capped mountains on the horizon making the most beautiful and serene views of any place I’ve ever lived. Aside from my divorce, this city has been good for me.
“Okay,” I say slowly. “What’s that?”
Shifting in my chair, the movement bunches my shirt, and something sharp in my front pocket pokes me in the chest. I glance down at the dress shirt’s front pocket and notice the corner of a white business card sticking crookedly over the top of the seam. Plucking it out with my finger and thumb, I read the name on the card.
Harper Conrad, Sports, Weather, News
KXEM, Spokane
I let out a huff of laughter, tapping the card in my palm. Harper sure knows how to make a lasting impression.
“It’s Jasmine. She’s been popping up all over social media, making headlines about a tell-all book she’s purportedly received a contract for and is planning to write and publish later this summer.”
My mouth goes dry. “What kind of tell-all book?”
Glen is silent for a moment and then clears his throat.