Jack extended his arms, tightening his muscles. Broad. Powerful. “I’m paying all of you a shit ton of money to represent me. So fucking represent me. You want to pretend I’m some beacon of moral responsibility, fucking tell people I’m a damn saint. Earn your salaries like I do every goddamned Sunday. Until then, I’m out of here.”

“Jack…” I called to him before he reached the door. The phone rang as he grabbed the knob. “The League is calling. You have to talk to President Bennett.”

“Son of a—”

Jolene answered the call and pressed her fingers to her lips. She plastered on a twenty dollar smile and greeted the president as if they were old buddies instead of the monthly target of Frank Bennett’s rage against Jack.

“Frank…how are you?” Jolene immediately flinched against a hail of profanity from both the phone and Jack slamming into his seat. “We’ve been waiting for your call. I have you on speaker with Finn Smith, Mr. Carson’s agent, and my assistant, Leah Williams.”

“I remember.”

Frank didn’t mince words. He also didn’t greet us because he had no reason to say hello. We had hardly hung up the phone since the last conversation. This scandal would result in the same meeting as before. Just like the last call. And the call before that. And the meeting before that…

Every conversation had the same concerns: booze, women, and bad decisions.

It was easier to represent players who were actually in trouble with the law. At least the public could believe they were legitimately remorseful when they got caught with the cookie jar. Jack had his hand up too many skirts to look like anything but an unrepentant womanizer.

“Carson there?” Frank’s voice bit over his name.

Jolene pretended not to notice, though she raised her eyebrow at me. “Yes, he is, sir.”

“Hungover?”

Jack snorted. “I wasn’t drinking last night.”

Frank laughed, cold. “Well, what restraint, Carson. Should we hold a parade in your honor?”

This wouldn’t be a pleasant call. Frank Bennett wasn’t intimidated by Jack’s abilities or successes. The new league president didn’t care about ratings. It was our luck that he was committed to bringing professionalism back to the league after countless problems with drugs, domestic abuse, and allegations of interleague cheating.

“I suppose you heard the news,” Jolene said. “We’re pleased to report that Mr. Carson is not injured and neither were the other passengers in his car.”

“Passengers?” Frank spat the word. “I think that’s more respect than those whores deserve. Please tell me you didn’t pay for their company, Carson.”

Jack’s hand curled into a fist, but he forced a smile. The smirk didn’t make him friendly.  “I’m man enough to earn my women, Frank.”

“You man enough to own up to this mistake?”

“That van driver was at fault, the police said—”

“I don’t give a damn what the police said, Carson! You were in the accident. You were photographed bleeding. The other car doesn’t matter. They weren’t the multi-million dollar quarterback more concerned with what’s in his pants than his surroundings.”

“Do you want me out of my pants…or would you prefer I crawl up your ass, Frank?” Jack lost his temper. Already. “I’m the one who got in the accident. I’m the one who totaled a very expensive, very rare car. Where’s my are you okay, Jack? Or Are you hurt?”

“Now you listen here you little punk—”

Finn nervously spoke. “Let’s focus on the issue at hand.”

“This issue?” Frank practically snarled into the phone. “The issue is that the star quarterback for one of the most prestigious teams in the league is out every damn night picking up women, getting into trouble, and now recklessly driving and wrecking his car—”

Jack gripped his chair. He’d either break the arms or his fingers. “The accident wasn’t my fault—”

“Yes. This accident wasn’t your fault, but who knows what will happen next! You are worth millions of dollars—not just to yourself or your city, but to the league! What happens when those women sue you for damages? Or worse? What happens if one day a woman alleges you forced yourself on her?”

“Whoa!” Jack nearly ripped the phone from the table. “Let’s get something straight. I don’t have to force myself on anyone. Those women are begging me—”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s the case.” Jolene interrupted before Jack revealed too many of his exploits. “But, from a PR standpoint, the media will begin to spin Jack’s nights on the town as an aggressive male on the prowl for women. While many of his lady friends are…” She cleared her throat. “…charmed, by Mr. Carson, our surveys have shown an unfavorable opinion of his reputation.”

“My concern isn’t with his reputation, it’s with the league!” Frank must have pounded on his desk. “And I will not let Carson make a fool out of the entire, national organization because he chooses indecency over his responsibilities to his team.”

Jack was pissed enough to list his accomplishments. “I hold the single season passing record.”

Frank didn’t listen. “I can’t abide by this sort of behavior. He’s jeopardizing not only the league’s image—”

“And the single season touchdown record—”

“—But he’s also endangering himself to a personal liability—”

“—The team record for completions in a season—”

Frank’s voice rose, silencing everyone. “These instances of misconduct will come to an end. Fining him has done nothing in the past, so I have no other recourse.”

Finn waved a hand to silence Jack. “Mr. Bennett, what are you planning?”

“A four game suspension for now. I’m arranging an internal investigation and pursuing a contract termination and expulsion from the league.”

My heart sank. Jack nearly launched from the conference room.

“It’s the off-season!” He yelled. “Christ, training camp begins in two weeks. You’re going to expel me for doing absolutely nothing wrong eight weeks before the season starts?”

Finn frowned. “Mr. Bennett, I was on the phone with Coach Thompson…he didn’t mention anything about an expulsion—”

“Christ, I should have cracked my head through the windshield,” Jack said. “Maybe you wanted to see more blood.”

“I don’t take this decision lightly, Carson. And you should be grateful I don’t talk to Coach Thompson and recommend he cut you now and let you flounder while we sort out the details.”

Jack sneered. “Like a dozen other teams wouldn’t piss themselves to sign me.”

“Not if I introduce a good-conduct clause into all league contracts—starting this season. I’ll force you to behave or the entire team will be fined for your delinquency.”

“You can’t do that.”

“The preliminary language is with the player’s union now.” Frank paused. “No one will take a chance on you, Carson. You’re a risk and a liability and a PR nightmare. One day, you’ll pick the wrong fight or take home the wrong girl, and you won’t be as lucky as you are today.” He scoffed. “Three women last night, Jack?”

Jack couldn’t charm and rage at the same time. He threatened instead. “This is bullshit. I was giving those women a ride home.”

I braved a chance to jump into the conversation. “Mr. Bennett, a suspension or expulsion will only punish the Rivets and place Mr. Carson in the spotlight. If you feel discipline is the best course of action, we wouldn’t argue with you, but forcing more attention onto this issue will publicize the scandal.”

Frank exhaled. “I’m sorry, Ms. Williams, but Carson’s image hurts everyone. He is no role-model for the younger fans, and he does not project an impression of respect, decorum, or responsibility.”

Jack simmered, ready to blow. “How am I supposed to look responsible? Pick up litter in the park? Herd a family of ducklings across the road?”