Page 32 of Hot Stuff
“That’s slated for two weeks from today.”
“Oh. So, the buzz about my retirement should have dulled by then.”
“Maybe.”
I could see her thinking but don’t get to question her because my phone rings for what feels like the hundredth time since we sat down to breakfast.
“You should probably answer that.”
I don’t want to but I know she’s right. Drake has been calling all morning and I didn’t even bother sending him a message to let him know I’d get back to him after I ate.
Pushing back my chair, I head for the ringing device and sure enough, Drake’s name is on the screen.
“Finally,” Drake all but yells in my ear. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Sleeping.” I glance at Oakley, a smile tugging at my mouth. “What’s going on?”
“I got a call from Cantrell a couple hours ago.”
“Okay.”
“He wanted to let me know the team’s lawyers were working on your paperwork, but we didn’t need to wait for it to make your retirement announcement.”
“Okay.”
“Yesterday I was a little taken aback by the fact he didn’t want the Knights organization to be involved in crafting your retirement announcement but I was willing to let him do things the way he saw fit—it’s his team after all. Except…”
“Except what?”
“I had an itch. Today it got worse. You know, the one I get on the back of my neck? The one that’s never steered me wrong.”
“Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.” And I did—years ago, when I’d first been offered a contract, Drake had been there.
Young, and no really big clients to his name, I’d trusted his instincts because we’d been friends from my first day in college. A few years older than me, Drake had been leaning toward representing professional athletes instead of pushing to be one himself. He’d had talent, but in his words, not enough to get far, not as far as he could help someone else get.
“What did you do?” I ask even though I know he’ll tell me anyway.
“I had our lawyers pull your latest contract. Got them to comb over that fucker from first word to last.”
“And?” There is an edge to my voice because I know he’s found something with the number of calls and texts I’ve missed from him this morning.
“And that motherfucker is trying to get you to breach your contract.”
“How?”
“There’s a clause about termination; I won’t bore you with the legalese but basically, you can’t make an announcement of any kind, including the current status of your injury—only the team can. If you do, you’re in breach, and he can sue the ass off you.”
“Isn’t there some sort of clause about me suing the team over my career-ending injury?”
“No. There’s a clause that gives you a mass payout if you’re unable to continue playing due to injury caused while performing your job but that too would be void if we put out a press release about your retirement.”
“So what does this mean?” I hate that Cantrell has us over a barrel.
“Well, until we get the paperwork from the Knights org, our hands are tied, and we have to zip our lips.”
“And how long with that take?” I glance at Oakley again. I want to move forward with the Rogues, but I can’t do that until I end things with the Knights.
Drake sighs. “I’ve got a feeling that fucker is going to drag this out.”
