“But you are a hard-ass, aren’t you?” I make sure I give her a genuine smile when I ask that, because I don’t mean for her to take offense. Any general manager in this business, male or female, has to have thick skin, brass balls, and a concrete ass, so to speak.

She doesn’t answer my question. Completely ignores it and instead asks me, “Do you know why I wanted you to come to the Cold Fury?”

“Because of my history…my experience.”

“No,” she says emphatically as she pushes her chair back, turns to the shelf behind her, and plucks a binder off. She turns backs to me and hands it across the desk. As I take it, I see my name in navy blue lettering down the spine. Giving it a nod, she says, “I didn’t give a shit about your history and experience. I didn’t care that people were calling you old and washed up. I didn’t care that Bill Bowman didn’t think you were worth five cents, even when he pointed out to me that our starting goalie, Max Fournier, had a better goals against average and save percentage than you had.”

I clamp my teeth together to keep my jaw from sagging and stiffen my spine, because damn…that’s harsh. Not that I can’t take it, because fuck…much of it’s true, but now she has me wondering…why in the hell did she want me on this team?

She doesn’t make me beg for the answer. “I cared about your fortitude.”

“My fortitude?” I ask, puzzled as shit. No clue what she’s talking about.

“Your stats weren’t that much below Max’s, but most scouts and front office execs would have chosen him over you ten out of ten times because they only look at those numbers.”

“But you looked at something else?”

“No, I looked at numbers. It’s what I do. But I was analyzing your fortitude. I boiled it down to numbers. Deep numbers, but numbers all the same.” She stares at me a moment, satisfied by whatever she sees on my face. She seems to think I’m following her, but I’m not sure I am. “The median save percentage of starting goalies in the league was .912 percent last year. You were right at it and Max was a little better.”

I nod…because that I understand.

“Your former team, the Boston Eagles, was the most penalized team in the league.”

I nod, because this I also understand.

“Which means that thirty-five percent more of your saves were in penalized situations when you were facing a five-on-four situation. The Cold Fury is a low-penalty team, meaning Max faced shots with historically better protection from his teammates because most shots were five-on-five situations.”

I blink at her, marveling at why someone would even bother to analyze this data. I blink, marveling that I half understand what she’s saying.

And she’s not finished. “In fact, if you filter down the stats and compare apples to apples, that is your quality start statistics compared to Max in only five-on-four scenarios, you blow him out of the water in both goals against and save percentages. That shows fortitude.”

That is when the light goes on and full awareness filters in. “You also recruited Caysen Rinne and Corey Reimer around the same time.”

She nods. “Only after I had you signed did I ink the deals with them. I had to get you first.”

I finally smile with understanding…because I’m sitting here having a conversation with a real, live genius and I’m getting her. A real, live, very fucking hot genius whose tits are getting harder and harder not to look at.

“Caysen and Corey are heavily penalized players,” I say, overly proud that I’ve figured this out and kept my eyes above chest level.

Gray nods with excitement. “I’m a big fan of old-time hockey where the goons rule the ice. I want to protect our stars like Crossman and Samuelson better, and that means putting bruisers like Rinne and Reimer out there. Statistics prove time and again that those teams with more zealous enforcers consistently win not only more games, but more playoff games.”

“And apparently I’m a pretty handy goalie to have around in a five-on-four situation.”

“You are fucking right on the money,” she says with glee while pointing an exuberant index finger my way.

I have to say, I’m really impressed. She’s a regular Billy Beane, the Oakland A’s general manager who made a name for himself using statistical analysis in making personnel decisions. It’s not a new concept, but it’s not generally employed in professional hockey either. Scouting in our league is done on hunches and even sometimes on whims.

If Gray Brannon intends to employ this method to build her team, she’s going to make history. It could be very good history, or very bad history, but it will be history.

“I’m presenting at the MIT Sports Analytics Conference at the end of January on using analytics in hockey, particularly in making contract decisions. I expect I’m not going to be a popular person.”

“Because you’re going to use industry averages to get your players to strive. You’re setting goals for them based on that.”

She nods gravely. “And if they don’t meet them, I’ll find someone who will.”

I whistle low through my teeth and shake my head, not in disagreement but with an odd level of amusement. When my eyes meet hers, I decide to take her up on her total honesty without repercussions offer. “You are not going to get much support from the team on this.”

Gray stares at me a moment and then does something uncharacteristic for a certified genius and confident businesswoman. She pulls her bottom lip in between her teeth and nibbles on it while she stares at me. I can see the wheels grinding in her head as she figures how to best respond to my brutal honesty.