Page 35 of Worth the Scandal
The sound of the ball hitting the rubber starts to drown out as the boys all slowly storm the sheds one by one ready for a pregame training session.
My mind is still focused on my next move, and my invisible plan when a big slap hits me on the back.
“Get out of your head Ash, we’ll have you to thank for the crackin’ season we are about to have,” Collins says roughing my hair up on the way through.
“You’ve got this mate.”
Chapter Thirteen - Scarlett
The stands are almost full—it’s just a pre-season trial game—but the energy crackling through the stadium says otherwise. PR reps, and management firms are scattered across the rows like vultures with their devices, eyes hungry for blood—or a fresh brand deal. The media’s all sitting pretty sending out the live coverage to all the footy fans. Footy season is back. I sit near the halfway line, iPad in my lap, Maroon Management lanyard clipped over a tailored black blazer. Shell’s watching from the box, perks of being the Coaches PA, not perks of me being his daughter because I want to do this on my own without the name Walker behind me. Which means I’m just sat with all the other media and management in the lower stands. I like the view from here anyway if I’m being honest, makes you feel like you’re a part of the action. Today’s agenda is clear, I’m here to keep eyes on Collins and Jace, (the latter being the reason Shell insists on watching the games too even though coach gives her the games off). Two of our rising profiles. But I can’t pretend I’m not also… watching someone else. Asher’s on the bench. I’m still waiting for him to give me his answer; about the offer I made to get him on the Maroon Management books. I have a full view of him. Arms crossed, nerves at bay, jaw tight as Caleb takes the field inhis position. A part of the rivalry between the two of them, I’m sure. It can’t all be aboutme.
Caleb, who’s barking orders like he’s already captain. Caleb, who’s been making noise about being “the future” of the Ridgebacks. He’s a little more self absorbed then the Caleb I knew when we were ten. I guess people change when they get into the spotlight too though. Anyone who plays rugby league at this level is a celebrity here, so can’t blame them for changing—comes with the job description.
Ted stands up from his seat in the box, and I can see him muttering something into his earpiece down to the bench. He’s tense, jaw clenched, and arms folded like a steel beam. He hasn’t given anything away all game, the man could wipe out a table in a round of Texas Hold ‘em with that poker face. But you can feel the tension radiating off him. He is watching, assessing, picking weak points and plays. This is his office, his domain, the stats from today will determine his rankings and project the season they’ll have. He concentrates hard with the occasional throat clear and tap of the Ridgeback’s cap brim he’s sporting, otherwise he is unreadable, it’ll be the only time all season he’s not showing his emotion front and centre. Too much focus, too much at stake making sure the right players are getting their shot.
By half time, it’s clear,
They’re losing.
Bad.
Caleb’s passes are sloppy, mistimed. One sails completely over Collins’ head, it’s slow, lazy for his level and the pass is intercepted straight into the arms of the opposing team. May as well have been gift wrapped for them. He blames Collins, waving his arms and barking at his teammate like it was a route issue, and he should have leapt into the air like a gazelle. But it wasn’t.
I glance down, jot a note on my iPad. My mouth is tight. I’m taking notes for me, and Maroon but I’ll also weigh in on dad’s notes later too, give him some clearer insight into what he’s dealing with here.
From a few seats over, a woman in a stiff grey pantsuit leans toward me. Her name tag reads Cobbs and Hayes Agency—one of the biggest sports agencies in the country, their players are numbers and dollar signs. Everything built from the culture I’m not trying to create here at Maroon.
She smirks. “Maroon, huh? Cute little passion project you’ve got going.”
Okay bitch, I hear you.
I turn my head slowly. I swear I hear ACDC’s Highway to Hell play somewhere in the distance—fitting because I am about to act like my father’s daughter.
“Excuse me?”
She nods toward the field. “You’re Scarlett Walker, right? Former intern? PR darling turned CEO. Good for you. We need more female-led ventures.” Okay she’s back pedalling, as she should. “Even if they’re… temporary.” She places a huge emphasis on the ‘Walker’ motioning to Ted in the coach’s box.
Oh, you bitch, I blink hard. “Temporary?” Making it very obvious that I’m looking her up and down in her uptight designer suit, that I wouldn’t be caught dead in. Just because something has a designer label in the collar doesn’t make it flattering or aesthetic—clearly something they never taught little Miss uptight at Uni.
She shrugs. “Startups come and go, sweetheart. Especially in this industry. Real athletes don’t just want media training and something pretty to look at—they want strategy, legacy. Your agency’s what—not even two years old? You’ll burn out. They always do.”
I smile, tight and sharp. “That’s funny,” I say, flipping my iPad cover closed. “Because the athletes I work with are too busy winning and making those big bucks thanks to me to give a damn about who’s in the stands.” She opens her mouth to no doubt fire off another back handed insult, I cut her off “me being hot is just a bonus I guess.” I tuck my hair behind my ear, do the most over exaggerated eye lash flutter, and give her a wink. I’ve got huge names in three sports so she can choke on her fucking pen lid for all I care. This confirms what I already know though, people are talking about me, and any publicity is good publicity right?Wrong. Athletes need to know I’m the real deal not here to take a quick win and ride on the coat tails or the back of the boots of Ted “tear you down” Walker. I want to earn my name in this space, and Iam.
Out on the field, the second half starts.
And Ted? He’s on the big screen now, and he is pissed. I can only imagine the spray the boys copped from him at half time and truthfully the way they were playing they deserve every last bit of it.
It’s mere minutes into the second half and Ted loses it. There goes that trial game composure we were practicing, and he was passing like an A+ student. The fans love seeing his passion though, the players wouldn’t call it “passion” I can tell you that much.
After Caleb throws another botched pass—this one nearly knocked on—Ted yanks aggressively at his earpiece finger pushed hard to his ear and rips off his Ridgebacks cap, hurling it at the glass window of the box. I told you he was deeply passionate about his job.
“ENOUGH!” he screams. “Bench him!” I’ve lip read this man’s rage enough to know exactly the tone and the decibels he’s screamed that at too. I’d hate to be in that box and the sideline receiving end of these instructions.
The sideline jumps into action.
Moments later, the stadium speaker crackles.
“Substitution at fullback. Number 16—Kingston.”
