Saving Hearts

by Rebecca Crowley

  “A favor?” he repeated in disbelief. He shoved his hand through his hair, trying to tie down the heaving fury that threatened to cut loose. “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  “The Code of Ethics says—”

  “The Code of Ethics prohibits match-fixing.”

  “And it’s been amended to say—”

  “Amended after the data breach,” he pointed out, leaning forward. “Why is the league so fixated on this gambling thing? They allow online betting sites to sponsor teams, so why is it so terrible that I won some money on European fixtures?”

  “You didn’t just win ‘some money,’ Brendan. You won thousands of dollars a week. I’m amazed the site didn’t cut you off.”

  Actually, he had a system of rounds so he never withdrew too much from any single site to avoid account closures, but never mind. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

  She sighed, exasperated, signaling she didn’t know the answers either. “I’m trying to help you. We’re on the same side. As your friend, I want—”

  He laughed, and it sounded as cynical and harsh as he felt. “Really. Now we’re friends.”

  The steel in her expression cracked for a split second before firming right back up. “We don’t have to be. It’s up to you.”

  “So what happened in Vegas—”

  “Stays in Vegas,” she confirmed coldly.

  He regarded her steadily, trying to come to terms with this new, adversarial dimension in their relationship. He couldn’t decide whether this was a professional veneer or really who she was now: an unquestioning enforcer of decisions she knew were wrong.

  It didn’t matter either way. She’d chosen her position. He had to protect himself.

  “I’m disappointed that it’s come to this,” he told her quietly. “I’ve paid my dues to the league and don’t deserve to be scapegoated further. But if the Board wants more—if you want more—I guess I have no choice but to participate.”

  Her posture eased with relief. “Thank you. I don’t know the details yet—maybe it’ll be some kind of community service project we can photograph or an event. I wanted to get you on board first, but now that you are I’ll think about how we can illustrate a journey of redemption. I want you to retire with the legacy you deserve,” she said earnestly. “I’ll make sure that whatever ends up in the report doesn’t compromise that.”

  “Thanks,” he said mildly. “It’s good to know I have a friend at the league.”

  “Of course you do.” She smiled, maybe more warmly. “Any progress on the move? Is your house still for sale?”

  “The first showings are this week.” He stood up. “Do you need anything else from me?”

  She shook her head, also rising to her feet. “Thanks for coming in. Let me walk you—”

  “I know where I’m going.”

  He got all the way to the door before he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. He’d hoped he wouldn’t have to do this. In fact, he’d hoped he’d be proven totally paranoid about this meeting, and that she’d called him here for a lingering cup of coffee, a few traded memories, maybe even a dinner invitation. He’d hoped he’d been wrong to arrive suspicious and prepared.

  He cringed as he withdrew the triple-folded piece of paper from his pocket. Sometimes being right sucked.

  “I know you want what happened in Vegas to stay there,” he began, pivoting to face her. “But there is something that came back with us.”

  He recrossed the room, unfolded the page and smoothed it open on her desk.

  “I found this on the floor when I was checking out,” he explained. “It must’ve fallen out of your purse. If you want your Gamblers Anonymous cover story to hold water you should probably switch to paperless statements. Or at least leave them at home when you travel.”

  Erin’s eyes widened and her cheeks flushed as she saw what he’d put in front of her: a credit card statement showing ten thousand dollars of debt, most of it generated from a slot-machine app.

  To her credit, when she met his gaze and spoke again her voice was calm and even. “Let’s be clear. Are you blackmailing me?”

  “Absolutely not. Just letting you know what I know.”

  “And?”

  “That’s it.”

  She tilted her head. “That’s not it.”

  He raised his hands in innocence. “I promise. I’ll trust you to do right by me with the league, and you’ll trust me to keep this between us.”

  She propped her elbows on her desk, her eyes never leaving him. “I thought you were one of the nicest guys I knew. I had no idea you were such an asshole.”

  “The feeling’s mutual.” He nodded to the credit card bill. “You can keep that. It’s a copy. I’ll show myself out.”

  He turned and stalked out of her office without a backward glance. He rounded the open-plan desks, giving each person he saw a mental middle finger.

  And fuck you, and fuck you, and fuck you…

  The receptionist barely acknowledged him as he crossed the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator. When it arrived he stepped aside to let two people out—and fuck you both, whoever you are—then punched the button for the ground floor.

  As soon as the doors slid shut he raised both middle fingers in a vehement salute. Four years ago the Championship League had coaxed him home from Europe, showering him with praise and money and promising his career would fly just as high in the States as in Spain. That he’d be a big fish in a small pond, and that even as a late-career player he’d get as many games as the young up-and-comers.

  Now they wanted to make him the poster boy for players behaving badly. Slap him on the wrist so hard his arm broke. Shatter what was left of his career and mark his retirement not by remembering his achievements but by slamming him for his mistakes.

  They could go fuck themselves. He was done bending over. If they insisted on shoving him down, then so help him he’d take their pretty new Ethics Director with him.

  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 harassm
ent 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.