Page 10
“No pressure for me, then,” I mutter, flipping open Elias Novak’s folder.
Mid-20s, dark-haired, sharp-jawed, with an expression that screams trouble. Beneath the photo, his stats jump off the page. His skill level is undeniable—speed, precision, and the ability to read the game like a savant. But alongside the glowing performance metrics are several concerning notes: disciplinary actions, fines, and media scandals.
“Tell me about Novak,” I say to Brady, already sensing this will be a headache.
“He’s our most talented player, no question,” Brady begins, but his tone is wary. “When he’s on the field and focused, he’s a game-changer. The problem is keeping him focused.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Off the field?”
Brady exhales heavily and sits on the edge of the desk. “Let’s just say Novak doesn’t exactly embrace the quiet life. Late-night parties, tabloid appearances, a few too many bar brawls. He’s got a temper, and he doesn’t know how to pick his battles. It spills over onto the field sometimes—cheap shots, unnecessary penalties.”
“So he’s a liability,” I say flatly.
“He’s a double-edged sword,” Brady counters. “He’s also a fan favorite. The guy sells tickets, jerseys, and headlines. People come to see him play, even if it’s a gamble on which Novak shows up that day.”
I close the folder and lean back in my chair. “Why hasn’t he been benched for his behavior?”
Brady’s lips press into a thin line. “Because when he’s on, he’s the best chance we’ve got. And because no one’s figured out how to manage him. He respects talent, but he’s not a team player. Doesn’t take orders well. If you can rein him in, though…”
“That’s a big if,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair.
Brady shrugs. “It is. But if anyone can, it’s you. You’re not his coach. You’re the owner. That carries a different kind of weight.”
I glance at the stack of folders again, Elias Novak’s at the top. A problematic star player, a losing record, and a city expecting results.
This isn’t going to be easy.
But then again, nothing worth doing ever is.
