The House of Wolves (House of Wolves #1)(17)

I thought something might have changed in his eyes. But only briefly.

“What makes you say that?”

“Because there’s always another angle with guys like you.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I can’t imagine why in the world you would.”

“You need to give this up,” he said. “It will save you the embarrassment of not getting approved by my other owners.”

My other owners.

I wanted to tell the little jerk, You’re the dedicated concierge.

“I don’t have to be approved,” I said. “The team is staying in the family. Nobody had to approve John Mara with the Giants when his father died or Steve Tisch when his father died. We both know the list of children inheriting teams is longer than that.”

He gave me a smug look.

“They told me you think you know everything about everything,” he said. “But your father must have neglected to inform you that we added some language to the bylaws about inherited teams a few years ago. It was after the software guy bought the Saints. Remember that? His idiot son inherited the team, hired all his frat buddies, then thought it would be cute to let fans call plays over the internet.”

The kid in New Orleans ended up selling the team, under what I recalled was rather massive pressure from the league. Keegan something. He’d still made a couple of billion dollars from the sale.

“Now it doesn’t matter whether it’s a son or daughter or widow,” Abrams continued. “If the person inheriting the team hasn’t had any previous role in the football operation, he or she has to be approved the way an outside owner would. By a three-quarters vote.”

He looked so pleased with himself that I felt as if I should give him a treat.

“Maybe your father was drunk the day the ownership committee changed the rules,” Abrams said. “Or was off bad-mouthing me to somebody from ESPN.”

“I’m not quitting.”

“You don’t have to quit. You can keep some kind of title. Just step aside, for the good of the team and the city and the league.”

It sounded as if he’d been practicing that part.

I shook my head.

“I’ll take my chances with the other owners. I’m a lawyer, I’m a teacher, I’m even a coach. And I’m a woman, Commissioner. Hear me roar. And take your best shot.”

It was as if he hadn’t heard me.

“You don’t even have to call a press conference,” he said. “All you have to do is issue a statement that this is what’s best for all concerned. We can even write it for you, if you’d rather.”

“My father always told me how often you forgot that you worked for him and not the other way around.”

“He earned the right to think that way, honey.”

I tilted my head just slightly and smiled. “Honey?”

“Oh, don’t start with that MeToo shit,” he said. “Are you really going to fight me on this?”

“I thought we were getting to know each other. But you already seem to have made up your mind about me.”

“Like father, like daughter.”

He slammed his glass down on the table.

“You have to know that if you fight me on this, I will crush you.”

“You sound an awful lot like my brother.”

“The league meetings are in a month or so in Los Angeles,” he said. “That gives you plenty of time to change your mind and get on the right side of this.”

We sat there in silence for what felt like a long time, until I finally said, “You know what? You’re the one who’s right.”

I got up then, walked down to the liquor cart, saw that it held a bottle of Grey Goose. Joe Wolf’s drink of choice. I put some ice cubes in the glass, poured just enough vodka, walked back down to him, and said, “I just thought about it.”

I touched my glass with his.

“Here’s to the National Football League,” I said, and drank.

So did he.

“So we’re good,” the commissioner said.

I laughed.

“Of course not.”





Eighteen



DANNY SAT ACROSS THE desk from John Gallo in Gallo’s office, on the top floor of the Salesforce Tower. Joel Abrams sat next to him.

“I don’t care how stubborn she is,” Abrams was saying now. “I don’t care if she’s more stubborn than Joe was. There is no way she can get the votes.”

“I was told the Democrats couldn’t win Georgia that time,” Gallo said, “after I spent a vulgar amount of money on the other side.”

Danny started to say something. Gallo silenced him with a finger to his lips.

“You both told me it would never even make it this far,” Gallo said. He looked at Danny. “First you told me it would be handled.” He turned to Abrams. “And then you told me the same damn thing.”

“I thought I had handled it when I went to her house that night. How did I know she was lying to me?”

“Perhaps because she’s a Wolf.”

“We could go through the list of owners,” Abrams said. “One by one. I can predict how they’re going to vote right now.”