Chapter 3
“And the training facilities,” Skyline Ladies’ left-back added. “I get that the women’s game doesn’t generate enough money from ticket sales to justify a load of top-of-the-line machines, but some of the stuff we get isn’t just secondhand, it’s straight-up broken. I don’t know the numbers, but it seems like we must be spending so much on maintenance, wouldn’t it be cheaper to buy new?”
Erin nodded and glanced at Prinisha, who briskly tapped notes on her tablet.
“Thank you.” Erin acknowledged the left-back, then swept her gaze over the room. The full complement of Skyline’s women’s team sat in various postures around King Stadium’s boardroom table, their expressions distributed between eager, expectant, and skeptical.
“I hugely appreciate you all meeting with us and the honesty with which you’ve shared your concerns.” Erin folded her hands on the table. “As a former pro myself, I hope you know that I’ve experienced most, if not all, of what you’re unhappy about. Much of what I’m hearing, though—low salaries, substandard equipment, and facilities, a poor scouting network, limited scholarships—can be traced back to the same thing. Money.”
She shifted in her seat. “The ugly fact is that women’s soccer generates less revenue through ticket sales than men’s. It becomes a vicious cycle. With fewer people in the stadiums, fewer channels are willing to televise games, and fewer companies are willing to sponsor teams.”
“So fewer people know about the sport, and even fewer people buy tickets,” one of the wingers volunteered.
Erin nodded. “Exactly. Butts in seats, ladies. That’s what it all comes down to. So the first step in my plan for next season is to increase visibility. Not just more publicity for the women’s league, but better, smarter exposure. And I want all of you to be part of it.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Skyline is one of the best teams in the league in the men’s and the women’s game. We have Roland to thank for that—he has invested more funds into improving the women’s team than any other manager in the league. That makes Skyline the best place to test new marketing ideas.”
She glanced at Prinisha, who tapped her tablet to pull up a graphic showing four different campaigns on the wall-mounted screen behind them.
“These are some of the ideas we’ll try next year. It’s important to target young girl fans, but I want us to reach farther, too,” Erin explained. “We’re going to launch Dads and Daughters Day, to get more dads active in bringing their kids to games. We’re also going to offer group ticket discounts to schools, as part of an overall rethink around pricing strategy. Right now all of the tickets are relatively inexpensive compared to the men’s game, but I think we can do more nuanced incentives to increase match attendance.”
A chorus of approving murmurs rang around the table. Erin smiled but hesitated to give herself too much credit. She’d have no trouble selling these women on her ideas. The other teams and their sponsors—that was a different story.
Simone Adeolu, Skyline’s champion striker, raised her hand. “I guess you’ve already spoken to Roland about this?”
“Of course. Although he’s not technically the women’s team manager, that person does report to him so it was important I had his buy-in.”
“And he’s fine with it?”
Erin grinned, recalling the Swede’s earnest insistence that Skyline would commit wholeheartedly to whatever she recommended. “More than fine.”
Simone looked hesitant, and Erin gestured for her to say what was on her mind.
“I have a lot of friends at other clubs,” the young striker ventured. “I hear what they go through compared to us. I think this is a great plan and I don’t want to be Debbie Downer, but what’s the likelihood the other teams will get behind this enough to make a difference?”
“That’s a totally fair question, Simone. Actually, I’m glad you asked.”
Erin took in the attentive faces turned her way as she considered how to phrase her answer. What would she have wanted to hear when she was in their seats?
The truth, probably.
“I’m not going to lie,” she stated. “This is an uphill battle. I’m expecting resistance. I’m also expecting to be pretty unpopular for a while. We all know how much teams love the league barging in and telling them what to do and how to do it, so I don’t expect a red-carpet reception when I start informing managers they need to spend more on promoting their women’s teams.”
The players exchanged knowing glances across the table as she continued. “I didn’t take this job with the CSL to sit in front of TV cameras looking pretty and toeing the party line. I took it because, like all of you, I’ve been told ‘no’ my whole life. Now I’m finally in a position to start saying ‘yes,’ and I’m going to make sure others do too.”
She caught Simone’s intake of breath and held up her hands. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s not always about the will—sometimes it’s about the way. Thanks to Roland, Skyline will be getting the best of the best when it comes to executing these campaigns. Glossiest marketing material, most expensive promo slots. But we’ve developed three tiers for each campaign, depending on how much each club is capable of allocating. The third-tier version is so stripped down, there’s no team in this country that can make a case not to afford it.”
Simone raised her hand again. “Can I make a suggestion?”
“Please do.”
“Again, going off what I know from my friends, have you thought about visiting each team in person? Not that I’m saying they would, but… I wouldn’t like to see any of these nice campaign materials stuffed into a trash can because no one understood the big picture.”
Erin narrowed her eyes, her mind working. “That’s not a bad idea. A prelaunch road show.”
“Winning hearts and minds,” the goalkeeper chipped in.
Erin glanced at Prinisha, whose expression suggested she was already outlining a travel schedule.
“If we have these meetings before next year, it also gives us a chance to tweak or customize the campaigns,” Prinisha mused.
“A face-to-face meeting is always more palatable than a phone call,” Erin agreed. “Fantastic thought, Simone.” She turned to the rest of the players with a grin. “Keep ‘em coming, ladies. What else have you got?”
* * * *
Erin knocked briskly on Randall Morenski’s half-open door. His reply was muffled, so she pushed inside on the assumption he’d said, “Come in.”
She flashed her most practiced, winning smile, trying to ignore the vastness of his corner office. The walls were busy with photos of Randall posing with famous people, punctuated by a row of degrees. “Can I interrupt you for a minute?”
He turned from his computer and focused on her, seemingly taking a couple of seconds to remember who she was. Then he smiled and motioned for her to take a seat. “By all means.”
“I wanted to talk about next year’s marketing program for the women’s game. I was with Skyline Ladies this morning and they had some great ideas. In particular, I want—”
“Slow down.” He raised a palm, giving her one of those self-deprecating smiles that men in positions of power deployed when they were about to be incredibly patronizing. “My memory’s not quite as young as yours. Remind me—what marketing program?”
Erin took a calming breath. No problem, let me just sum up my hour-long presentation in thirty seconds since you clearly weren’t listening.
“The three-tiered publicity campaigns to increase attendance at women’s games nationwide next season. I presented it to the Board last week.”
He snapped his fingers in recognition. “I remember. I signed off your budget proposal on Monday. You’re all funded for next year. Unless you didn’t get the email? You may need to remind Lizzie to add your address to the loop.”
“I got the email,” she assured him. “I wanted to talk to you about—”
“Now that I think about it, Lizzie never put in our rolling meeting about the gambling task force.” He scribbled a note on a Post-It, then looked up at her hopefully. “Unless that’s what you want to discuss now?”
Her smile faltered, then recovered. She may have dragged her feet in giving Lizzie availability. “I think Lizzie sent me some dates. I’ll make sure we get that on the schedule.”
“Okay.” He folded his hands on his desk. “Shoot.”
She sat up straighter, recapturing the courage she’d walked in with. “I know I have budget approval for next year, which I’m looking forward to putting to use. After meeting with Skyline Ladies this morning, though, I’d like to make a case for a small travel budget for this year.”
He arched a gray brow. “It’s already August. The season ends in October.”
“That’s why it’s important for me to get on the road as soon as possible.”
She watched the amiability draining from his expression like water circling a drain. “The road to where?”
“I’d like to do some in-person outreach to the clubs with women’s teams. Lay some diplomatic groundwork. Help them understand the value of the campaign while they still have time to get to grips with it, so it’s more of a collaboration than a command.”
His eyes narrowed behind his wire-framed glasses. “There are ten women’s teams in the league. Are you saying you want a budget to cover flights and hotels to visit all of them?”
“Nine. As I said, I met with Skyline this morning.” She tried a cheeky, charming grin.
He exhaled. “That’s a lot of travel at short notice, particularly approaching year-end. Money is tight this quarter now that we’ve parted ways with our airline partner.”
The airline that decided to distance itself from the league after three of its flight attendants made sexual harassment claims against a CSL player. Yeah, cry me a river.
“Don’t worry, I don’t expect business class and five-star accommodation.”
He snorted. “Somehow I doubt that.”
She opened her mouth to protest but he continued, “I know we’re waiting for an official meeting, but since you’re here, has there been any progress on the gambling task force?”
Her posture stiffened as she recalled her meeting with Brendan. “Some.”
“Any breakthroughs? Or is Brendan Young still our number-one offender?”
“I can’t give you a conclusive answer at this point,” she replied tightly.
He dropped his gaze to the surface of his desk, and when he raised it to hers again his expression was all business.
“The task force is important to me. The success of the women’s game is important to you. I’m sure there’s a way we can ensure both are given equal priority.”
“That was always my intention,” she responded evenly.
“Let’s not over-commit to your women’s-game initiative before we’ve ascertained whether or not pervasive gambling is a bigger issue in the league. I’ll approve each trip on a case-by-case basis, in parallel with updates on the task force. If the investigation is progressing well, I’m sure I’ll have no problem signing off on funds for you to travel for meetings with women’s team coaches.” He smiled. “Will that work?”
It wasn’t a question—it was a condition. She gave him the gambling busts he wanted, she got money to travel.
She had no choice but to nod her agreement.
“I’ll ask Lizzie to find time for us to meet on Monday. I’ll bring a provisional travel schedule and our first formal update on the task force.”
“Fantastic,” he proclaimed. “I look forward to it.”
“Thanks for letting me interrupt.”
“Any time.” He actually winked as she stood to leave, and if she hadn’t spent years practicing her unflappable smile she probably would have gagged.
She stormed back to her office, anger building with every step. She managed to shut the door with enough civility not to attract attention, then slammed her fist into her palm as she flopped into her chair and swiveled to face the windows.
Randall’s tit for tat was annoying, but nothing new. Every rung she’d mounted on the professional ladder had required some measure of compromise. In college she agreed to participate in a bachelorette auction for the campus newspaper on the condition they dedicated an entire sports page to the women’s team. At New York Empire she repeatedly butted heads with the manager about including the Empire Ladies in publicity events until he said, fine—she could appear in a bikini in the men’s team’s topless calendar.
Moving to the corporate side of sports made the exchanges more subtle but even more frequent. Swiftly ascertaining that the squeaky wheel tended to get fired, she worked twice as hard as her male peers yet shared equal credit and kept her mouth shut when their promotions came more quickly than hers. She trusted that patience and diplomacy were the best routes to the top, bit her tongue so often she couldn’t believe it wasn’t severed and delivered what her superiors wanted while stockpiling favors.
She’d only been at the league a couple of weeks, though, and her well of loyalty and goodwill was empty. That shouldn’t have been a problem—in principle she had no issue with Randall’s request and would’ve eagerly dumped some hapless gambler in his lap to secure her travel budget.
But the only candidate she had was Brendan Young. Who also happened to be the only person in the world with the ammunition to destroy her hard-won career.
She gritted her teeth as for the millionth time she regretted shoving that stupid credit card bill in her purse. She’d flown to Vegas from New Jersey after Christmas at her parents’ house. Her mom presented her with a stack of unopened mail as she was leaving for the airport, and after seeing the first bill she’d panicked—she thought she’d switched to paperless statements and had no idea evidence of her compulsive gambling was being delivered to her parents’ doorstep on a monthly basis. She’d stuffed the bill in her purse, then paced in front of the boarding gate as she argued with a customer service rep who insisted her paper statements had been canceled and couldn’t explain why they were still being mailed.
An uneasy mixture of guilt and relief trailed her all the way to Las Vegas. On one hand, she knew the best way to avoid a repeat of this situation was to finally pull herself together, delete the slot-machine apps from her phone, and begin paying off her credit card debt. On the other, she was triumphant with the heady elation of getting away with it yet again—of keeping her secret and making another narrow escape.
Clearly, that thrill made her careless. She pressed her palm over her eyes and groaned as she imagined Brendan’s reaction when he found it. She’d like to think he hadn’t cared at that point, particularly after everything they shared that night. But the fact that he’d kept it all this time—waiting, quietly holding on to it, securing himself against some future betrayal—assured her there had never been anything between them except mistrust, foolishness, and a dash of lust.
She exhaled. What was done was done. The fact remained: Brendan was both lock and key to the future of her career.
Now she had to find a way around it.
Around him.
She stared at her magnificent view for ten minutes, not seeing an inch of it as she weighed, measured, and discarded idea after idea.
Erin had to fight fire with fire, she decided, dismissing once and for all the potential for this to be resolved amicably. She tried to be nice and keep their friendship intact. He responded with hostility, so now she would do the same.
She crossed her arms, thinking about their night in Vegas. She kept trying to persuade him to stick money on roulette spins but he resisted, drifting back to the poker and blackjack tables, his easy smile belied by his ferocious skill at both and the towering stack of chips he took away.
It made sense, she supposed—goalkeepers were trained to read the game more deeply than any other player, and to predict their opponents’ movements before they made them. If he could read the intentions of a world-class striker, reading an amateur poker player should be a no-brainer.
Not that it did her any good—casino gambling was perfectly within the league’s ethics code. Only sports betting was off-limits.
If the articles were to be believed, the sums of money he’d won on SportBetNet were staggering. How did he do it?
More importantly, what was the likelihood he’d actually stopped?
That’s where she could get him. He’d paid for his past transgressions, but anything new she dug up would be the weapon she needed to rebalance the scale.
She smiled. She knew just where to start looking.
Erin swept up her tablet from her desk and typed “Brendan Young house” into a search engine. Immediately a gossipy article in one of the local papers popped up—a feature on the grandiose abodes of Skyline’s players. Five paragraphs in was a photograph of a handsome, beige-clad house with a generous front porch, accompanied by a description of goalkeeper Brendan Young’s Craftsman-style home in the affluent neighborhood of Virginia Highland.
Another few taps on the screen and she found the real estate listing. Six bedrooms, five bathrooms, high ceilings, close to all local amenities.
“One-point-five million,” she read aloud.
Nice work if you can get it.
She picked up her cell phone and dialed the number on the listing. A woman answered in two rings.
“Hi, I’ve just seen a house on your website, a Craftsman-style in Virginia Highland? I’d like to make an appointment for a viewing.”