Page 130 of Thrown for a Loop
“Text me! Tell me what happens!” he calls after me as I head for the door.
“You’ll be the first to know.”
When I walk into the offices ten minutes later, Darcy’s desk is empty and her computer is switched off. In the middle of a workday. I stop and stare.
“Coach Carson,” comes a stern voice from inside the GM’s office.
“Hello. Sorry. I was just wondering where Darcy was? Is she sick?”
“I gave her the day off.”
“Really?” I squeak.
He sighs. “Yes, really. It’s been a trying time around here. Now close the door and have a seat, Miss Carson. We have some things to discuss.”
“Coach Carson,” I correct him as I take the chair opposite his desk.
“That’s more like it.” He smiles. “And I would like to offer my sincere apologies for the abuse you suffered in your role here with the Legends. I want you to know that I had absolutely no idea. And I am deeply embarrassed by Aiden’s behavior.”
Not bad.“Mr. Sharp, you and I may have our differences, but I know it’s not your style to sneak notes into lockers. If you don’t like someone, you save time and just shout in their face.”
I see a flicker of amusement cross his stony eyes. “You have such a high opinion of me, Coach Carson. And you probably believe I should broaden my viewpoint and concede that there may be more than one way to get through to the people who work for me. Butthe reason I yell is so other people don’t have to. Coach Fairweather never yells, because his players know without question that he is deserving of respect. And if anyone forgets, even for half a second, there’s always me to do the ranting later.”
Hmm. “So you’re the screamy cop? And he’s the nice guy?”
“That’s oversimplifying. But sure.”
I can almost see his logic, but that’s not what I’m here to discuss. “Aiden’s behavior has no excuse,” I say calmly. “Can I assume that he won’t be back?”
“You assume correctly,” he says with a grunt, his eyes dipping to the desk blotter.
For a second I feel actually bad for him. He’s going to have some difficult nights wandering around whatever mansion he lives in, wondering where he went wrong as a parent—like my mother probably does, but with a hundred dollars’ worth of single-malt scotch and better lighting.
“The shame of it,” he says quietly, “is that I’ve seen how hard you’ve worked to improve your coaching. Your latest scouting reports were top-notch.”
I feel a glow behind my breastbone when he says this. I can’t help it.
“Even more remarkably, you’ve got the attention of maybe three-quarters of the team, who are eager to show up and work with you. And I’d lay odds that you can lasso the rest of them given a little bit more time.”
It really sounds like abutis coming here, and I brace myself.
“So it’s just a damn shame that you’ve had to deal with these headwinds. The team’s counsel is not unsympathetic, but they wanted me to give you a document to sign, stating that you don’t intend to bring legal action against the team for creating a hostile work environment.”
Here we go.
“But I told them I won’t do that. It’s too ass-covering even for me.”
I blink.
“So there is nothing I need from you at all, except your patience. The HR department is obviously aware of this terrible breach. And should you require counseling or any other remedy from this experience, we are ready to offer it to you.”
It’s funny, but as I listen to him prostrate himself on this issue, it occurs to me that this is just the same baseline bullshit that women get all the time at work—but usually from people who are less afraid of being sued.
“I think I’m doing fine, sir,” I say carefully. “But I’ll let you know if that changes.”
He chuckles. “You don’t scare easy, Zoe. I gotta admit that I didn’t have you figured out like I thought I did.”
My smile is hard to hold back, but I manage. “Interesting, sir. Whatever gave you the impression that I’d scare easily?”
