The bossman’s door was ajar, which was either an invitation or a power move. I knocked anyway.

  “Yeah,” he said, without looking up. “If you’re here about cones, talk to Thompson.” The Bossman was looking at something and tapping his pen against the table. The sound ticked at me. I didn’t like it.

  “It’s Jamie Harrington,” I said. “Defensive coach.”

  “Right. Harrington. What is it? I still haven’t seen us keeping a clean sheet.” Which was false, by the way. We did keep a clean sheet against Portishead.

  “I wanted to talk about Harper,” I said.

  That did it. The pen stopped tapping.

  “Good,” he said immediately. “Because I’ve been wondering how long it’d take before someone sensible brought him up. Thompson wanted to ease him in, but frankly, I didn’t pay what I paid for him to admire the grass.”

  “He’s raw.”

  “So was Vardy,” the bossman said. “So was every asset worth anything before someone put them in the shop window.”

  I chose my words. I’d dealt with men like this in the past, and since I didn’t have the sharpest tongue to actively convince him, I’d learned not to push. Never worked with Mitch on things he actually cared about. You disagreed just enough to make them feel challenged, then gave them room to push back so they could hear their own ideas out loud and mistake them for persuasion. “The concern isn’t talent. It’s context. We’re light at the back already. Young keeper, young full-back, Redding’s barely out of the academy—”

  “Exactly,” he cut in. “You win games with kids who want it, not old lads protecting their contracts. How many goals have Donovan scored? Shouldn’t have signed a whole season with that useless tosser.”

  I let a beat pass, just long enough to look like I was weighing the risk rather than agreeing.

  “The tempo will be higher than he’s used to,” I said. “If he starts, he’ll be targeted. Early fouls, physical pressure, the usual welcome.”

  “Good. Then he learns. Or he proves he’s not worth what I paid.”

  That was almost impressive in its brutality.

  I nodded once, neutral. “If he plays, it has to be framed right.”

  The bossman scoffed. “Framed?”

  “Clear instructions, with limited role and no improvizing. If he tries to be clever, he’ll get eaten alive—”

  “That’s your job,” he said. “You’re the defensive bloke. I don’t care how you do it, just don’t let him turn it into a circus.”

  “Then he starts wide,” I said. “Touchline, not inside. Let him run at tired legs, not organize play. And we don’t ask him to track back like a full-back. If he’s defending deep in his first senior start, something’s already gone wrong.”

  “Exactly. Keep it simple, all that. None of that easing-in nonsense. You don’t learn swimming by standing in the shallow end.”

  I said nothing.

  He straightened, decision clearly made now that it was his.

  “Tell Thompson he’s starting,” he said. “You know what? I’ll call Thompson now.” He was already reaching for his phone.

  There it was.

  Exactly where I wanted him.

  Now, if only I could finish this quest as well…

  I hesitated, just long enough to make it look like second thoughts rather than ambition. “Since we’re talking about Harper,” I said, carefully, “it’s probably worth mentioning how he ended up on your desk in the first place.”

  The bossman paused with his phone halfway to his ear. “What about it?”

  “You know who flagged him early, before he showed up on anyone else’s radar.”

  “Who?”

  “A scout,” I said. “She’s worked National League, South and North. Knows where the cheap kids who don’t look like much until someone actually watches them properly are.” I was actually lying now. If I had someone that good, she wouldn’t be working for Hungerford. She’d be working for, well, National League teams.

  “Why would I hire a scout when I’ve got you?”

  I kept my tone even. “I’m a defensive coach.”

  “You watch football,” he said. “Same thing.”

  “I lack expertise when it comes to scouting, and I can’t ask people for favors forever.”

  He set the phone down, leaning back again. “So what, you want me to start paying for opinions now?” he said. “You know her, right? Just ask her to help you out. Say it firm enough and women listen.”

  I felt my jaw tighten, but I didn’t rise to it. Rising to it would kill the angle.

  “I’m not asking you to take a gamble, Boss, and I’m not going to ask how much you paid for Harper,” I went on, “but you were obviously happy with the number. You don’t look like a man who signs cheques he regrets.”

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  A smile crept in at that.

  “So,” I continued, “imagine this instead. One scout, one salary, and in return, you get first look at every underpriced kid in a hundred-mile radius instead of overpaying thirty-year-olds whose best days are already behind them.”

  He drummed his fingers on the desk now, slower than before.

  “You’re saying I spend once,” he said, “so I don’t have to keep spending.”

  “I’m saying you turn Harper into a pattern,” I replied.

  For a second, he said nothing. I wondered, briefly, if I’d pushed it too far. If I should’ve waited and let Harper play so the idea could sell itself instead of forcing it into the room early.

  “National League experience, you said?”

  “Yes.”

  “And she finds kids like Harper?”

  “Better,” I said. “Earlier.”

  He nodded, once.

  “Fine,” he said. “Bring her to me next week.”

  I inclined my head. “I’ll let her know.”

  I stepped into the corridor and exhaled audibly.

  Two problems solved in one conversation. That went better than I expected. Maybe too well that I felt a bit guilty about it. Now, given how loose-mouthed the Bossman was, there was an opportunity he’d spill to Mitch I was going behind his back. But I’d already gone and done it; I couldn’t rewind things now.

  This was just for the betterment of the team. It was fine.

  Now I just needed to find Maisie and see how these Managerial Attributes apply to her.

  It was 6:24 am at a coffee shop, and Maisie Burns was doodling cows.

  At least, that was what it looked like at first. The image was rendered in black-and-white linework, with loose and confident curves and horns shaped with the ease of someone who had drawn the same thing countless times.

  Maisie could always draw. That had never been in question. I’d seen notebooks full of margins colonized by animals and faces. Seeing her doing it on a screen, zooming in and out without breaking rhythm, was a new thing entirely.

  For a moment, I wondered if she’d just picked up digital art as something to keep her hands busy in the mornings, but then I saw the invoice window tucked into the corner of the screen.

  I crossed the room and slid into the chair opposite her. She glanced up almost immediately and lifted her mouth in a small, automatic smile before her eyes returned to the tablet.

  “Morning,” I said.

  “Mmm,” she replied, eyes still on the tablet. “Give me thirty seconds.”

  The cow gained shading, texture, then a hint of ridiculous personality. Then she flicked her wrist, saved, and finally looked up at me.

  “You’re early,” she said.

  “You’re drawing cows in a coffee shop,” I said.

  “Highland cattle,” she corrected. “There’s a difference. Oh, do you know why humans only have two, uh, breasts?”

  “What?”

  “Apparently, the number of mammary glands usually matches how many offspring a species expects to feed at once.”

  What was she even on about?

  “Humans generally have one baby at a time, so two breasts make sense, because you only really need to feed one child and still have redundancy. Cows tend to have calves that can stand and walk almost immediately, but they need a lot of energy very quickly, so four teats lets them deliver more milk efficiently. Dogs and pigs have large litters, so they have a whole row of them. It’s—” she stopped herself as if she’d only realized now that she had an audience. “Sorry, uh…” she said, a little sheepish. “Early mornings do that to me. So, football?”

  I stared at her readouts.

  Maisie Burns — Scouting Profile

  For someone who wasn’t exactly a scout, her stats were actually not bad.

  I looked at my own scouting profile.

  Okay, most of the stats she had weren’t great, but that was the point. If I was the one with triple-digit evaluations, I shouldn’t be the one burning hours in damp stands and half-empty training grounds, watching thirty players to find the three who were even worth a second look. My job wasn’t volume.

  Maisie had already had the network. If she could handle the rough filter, it would give me a much, much easier time.

  “You said you were keen on working, if something ever came up,” I said.

  “Yeah, but not full-time. I’ve got a few other commitments.”

  “That’s fine. I wasn’t thinking full-time. We can meet the club owner and talk terms. Nothing binding unless you want it to be.”

  If she could refrain from talking about cow teats during the interview, she’d be alright.

  “Um,” she said. “Sure. So… was this whole coffee thing just a recruitment drive?”

  “I wanted an early coffee with you,” I said. “If that was alright.”

  She looked at me for a moment, then smiled. “You still haven’t ordered.”

  “Ah, right.” I pushed my chair back to stand.

  “And just so you know,” she added, glancing back down at her tablet, “I’m really boring in the mornings, so don’t feel like you have to entertain me.”

  This kind of response didn’t fit the Maisie I’d seen in the agent event, but it was fine, I guess. I’d rather she be awkward with me and unshakeably confident in her work than the other way around.

  I replied, “I collected Pokémon cards well into my teens. I happen to have a perfectly healthy interest in biological evolution.”

  She laughed at that.