Wooing Cadie McCaffrey

by Bethany Turner

  “You don’t think so?” I asked with a smile. I wasn’t sure if it was being at a wedding or if it was being surrounded by my family and realizing how comparatively normal I was, but we were skating dangerously close to an actual marriage conversation. I was determined to say as little as I possibly could so I didn’t mess it up.

  “I don’t,” he continued to whisper. “I mean, you wouldn’t really want any of that movie stuff to happen in real life, would you? Do women really dream of John Cusack with a boom box or Patrick Swayze carrying a watermelon?”

  “Jennifer Grey carried the watermelon,” I corrected him. “But . . . yeah. Maybe sometimes. I mean, not all the time, certainly. No girl, with the possible exception of Victoria, really wants a fantasy world to play out in their life.”

  Even as I said those words—through tight lips meant to disguise the fact that we were chatting our way through the bridesmaids’ processional—I realized I had no idea if they were true or not. I wasn’t sure what other girls wanted. But I had watched all the movies, and though I knew I couldn’t live my life like Baby Houseman on vacation in the Catskills, I couldn’t deny that once in a great while I wanted a guy to tell my dad that no one puts me in the corner, and then we’d dance and I’d finally do the lift. Metaphorically, of course.

  “In the movies, those things are usually an attempt to save the relationship, aren’t they? You never see the happy couples making grand gestures.”

  “True,” I whispered. I smiled and sighed before adding, “So I guess just save all the gestures for someday. When the romance is gone. And then you can plan something spectacular and give Aimè Meunière a run for his money.”

  The warmth and security of the past dissipated in a cloud of very present sadness as I watched him across the conference table. Yes, I had been slowly getting over him for a year, but it was equally undeniable that not that long ago neither he nor I could have imagined a future apart. And Darby was right, no matter how much I hated to admit it—even to myself. The flowers, the Tic Tacs, the mixtapes . . . even “Sista Big Bones,” in its own catastrophic way. It was all romantic.

  Why had I told him to wait until someday?

  I felt the tears that were defying gravity but threatening to give in at any moment, and a small amount of panic set in. No. Crying was not an option. There is no crying in baseball meetings. I grabbed a tissue from the box on the conference table in front of me and gently dabbed at my lower lashes.

  “Sorry,” I spoke up, choosing to be proactive. “What’s the ‘Make Good, Do Good’ game?”

  Silence filled the room as all eyes were instantly on me. There were only two sets that I paid attention to—my boss’s, which were looking at me as if I had grown a second head, and my ex-boyfriend’s, which, if I’m not mistaken, hadn’t noticed I was in the room until right then.

  Something flashed across his face, but it all moved too quickly for me to try and interpret it. There was a moment of slack-jawed calm that quickly morphed into tightly pressed lips squeezing against each other until they became slightly discolored. His eyes and mine were locked, and then it was as if his eyes could only focus inward.

  Slow down, I thought. I could read him so well. I had always been able to read him well. The fact that I couldn’t now made me feel as if I were caught in a tailspin—or at least I was witnessing one. Just make your face stay put for half a second, Will! I hated that I couldn’t figure out what he was feeling, but not nearly as much as I hated that I cared.

  “Where’s Anna?” he abruptly asked—so instantaneously calm that the only logical conclusion I could reach was that I had completely imagined the tailspin.

  “Um, she . . . I thought . . . I mean . . .” Snap out of it! I lectured myself before opening my mouth to try again. Thankfully Kevin beat me to the punch.

  “I wanted Cadie here. So much of this is going to require her approval that it just makes sense to cut out the middle man.”

  Will nodded. “Of course. Makes total sense. I was just expecting Anna, since she’d already been briefed on the event.”

  “And you must have just misheard the name a moment ago, Cadie.” Kevin’s eyes bore into me, and I understood that he was simultaneously frustrated with me and bailing me out. “‘Make Good, Do Good.’ The project you were just given lead on.”

  Will looked at Kevin and then quickly back to me. “Great. I mean . . . that’s . . . sure thing, boss. If you think . . . great.” I saw his Adam’s apple bounce up and down as he swallowed repeatedly.

  Have you gone bonkers on me, Whitaker?

  “Yep. Great,” I stated calmly. Sure, I didn’t know a single thing about the project I’d just been given lead on, but I wasn’t too worried about it. When someone from The Bench was given lead on a project, it usually just meant someone from The Field needed a project manager. Or, more accurately, a babysitter with administrative skills. I’d have Anna fill me in as soon as I got back to my office. I just had to remain vague and noncommittal until then—and try not to get too caught up in trying to figure out why Will was acting as if he were struggling to chew a particularly tough cut of meat.

  Kevin groaned softly. A groan that I interpreted to mean, “This is why no one should ever date anyone they work with.” My imagination’s version of his thoughts made a good point.

  “Okay, well, I think that’s all,” he finally said, standing from his chair. “You two call me from Staten Island.”

  “Sure thing,” Will replied, and when I looked at him in response to his affirmation, I saw his Adam’s apple going crazy again.

  “Who two?” I asked in sudden panic. “Us two?”

  “Dinner meeting with MLB’s legal reps and some representatives from each division,” Will answered quietly.

  Oh no. No, no, no. “On Staten Island? Why would any meeting of people who all have their offices in Manhattan . . .” A low growl began making its way up through my torso. “Kevin, so sorry . . . can I speak to you for a moment?”

  Just as before, those two sets of eyes were the only ones that mattered. My boss’s eyes looked at me as if yet another head had been added to the cluster atop my neck, and my ex-boyfriend’s . . . well, my ex-boyfriend’s began busily looking around the room at absolutely anyone else.

  “Now?” Kevin asked, more than a little annoyed with me, I was certain.

  I nodded. “It’s important.”

  He began walking out of the conference room, gesturing that I should follow. I picked up my things and walked out after him, down the hallway. When we reached his office, he entered in a huff. As soon as I had cleared the threshold, he slammed the door behind me.

  “What is your problem today, McCaffrey?” he shouted.

  I took a deep breath before softly saying, “I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t have any excuse, but—”

  “I’m not looking for an excuse, I’m looking for an explanation. I’ve known you for ten years and you’ve never once been as unprofessional and unprepared as you’ve been today.”

  “I know.”

  “You’d better know,” he barked. “And if you know, you need to do something about it. I’ve tried to be understanding. I know it’s been a tough few weeks for you and Will—”

  “Oh, sure,” I scoffed. “It’s been a real tough time for the golden boy.”

  He put up his index finger in warning. “No. Sorry. I care about you, Cadie. You know that. I think the world of you, but you are not going to put me in the middle of the two of you at work.”

  I sighed. “That’s not what I’m trying to do, Kevin. Really.”

  “I have all sorts of thoughts and feelings about you guys—together, apart, all of it. If you want to come over to the house sometime, we’ll put some steaks on the grill and Larinda and I will gladly tell you everything we think about the two of you breaking up. Spoiler alert: you’re both to blame. But today? Today all I want to do is finalize plans for the biggest opportunity in the history of this network. I realize how uncomfortable it must be for
you that Will is the guy at the center of it all, but that doesn’t mean you can keep sending in Tennyson and Alvarez. It’s time to get back to work, McCaffrey,” he concluded definitively, obviously referring to so much more than the current meeting.

  I quickly weighed my options. I did not want to go to Staten Island with Will, but there was no chance I was going to allow myself to be known as the one out of the two of us who couldn’t handle it.

  I sighed. “Of course. Sorry, Kev.”

  He held the door open for me and I made my way back into the hallway. I didn’t get very far before he called after me, “And Cadie? On the ferry, be sure to ask Will to tell you what ‘Make Good, Do Good’ actually is. It’s plain as day you didn’t hear a word I said, but you’re still the best one for the job—even when you’re making it up as you go.”

  15

  A Few Hours of Moving Forward (or Moving Back)

  Will sure hadn’t expected his day to end this way—on the Staten Island Ferry, staring up at Lady Liberty, looking back at the lights of Manhattan, with Cadie by his side.

  Well, Cadie on the same ferry, anyway. He’d lost track of her shortly after they left the dock at Whitehall in Manhattan. She was probably inside where it was warm, not to be seen again until they docked at St. George Terminal. November weather in Manhattan can be pretty unpredictable, sometimes swinging fifty degrees from noonday to shortly after sundown, but this day was just plain cold, all day long.

  If he thought she was inside just to stay out of the cold, he’d probably be feeling a lot better about things.

  “This isn’t working,” he muttered to himself over the railing, with only New York Harbor and the steam from his breath around to overhear.

  He felt bad about Gordon. Really, he did. But even if Gordon’s face hadn’t blown up like a balloon animal, he wasn’t sure it would have made any difference. He sent her music every day, and she never said a word. And, unfortunately, he hadn’t had a chance to be close enough to her to find out if her breath carried the scent of orange Tic Tacs. He was trying to convince Kevin to take part in some 13 Going on 30–esque “Thriller” flash mob, but so far he wasn’t having any luck—despite the fact that Ellis had tried to get it started in the lobby every single day since they watched that one.

  I can only watch so many, he silently fumed. I do have a job.

  Sweet Home Alabama and The Proposal hadn’t given him much to work with. What was he supposed to do? Try and get them struck by lightning? Pretend he was Canadian and beg her to marry him so he didn’t get deported? She’d probably buy him a Mountie hat and a one-way ticket to Niagara Falls.

  “Or over Niagara Falls,” he grumbled.

  “Are you planning to jump?” Cadie’s suddenly present voice behind him did make him jump a little, actually.

  He chuckled and turned to face her. “No current plans.”

  “So, we’ve got about four minutes until we dock. Tell me what I need to know.”

  He couldn’t imagine that anything would ever hurt as much as her treating him like a coworker—and not even one she liked.

  “Sure. ‘Make Good, Do Good’ is essentially going to be an All-Star game. American League versus National League. Basically the best of the best who weren’t caught up in the scandal. It’s a ‘make good’ for the fans and they’ll ‘do good’ at the same time, by donating all of the proceeds to the newly formed MLB Anti-Doping Foundation.”

  She nodded in acknowledgment. “How much of all of this was your doing?”

  He shrugged, wondering if there was any way to state the truth without sounding full of himself. “All of it, I guess.” Probably not.

  He swallowed down the onslaught of emotions—complicated, conflicting emotions—and worked very hard to maintain eye contact for as long as he possibly could. He tilted his head and studied her, trying to interpret every expression on her face. If he wasn’t mistaken, she was attempting to do the same with him.

  If only they were reaching the same conclusions.

  She pulled her eyes away from his and cleared her throat. “It sounds like a great idea, Will. Really.”

  “Thank you,” he replied softly.

  In a hundred years, he would never get used to not being allowed to touch her.

  She took a few steps forward and stood beside him—beside him, but distant—at the rail, staring out at Brooklyn across the bay. He turned to face the same view.

  “What’s tonight about?” she asked. “Working out logistics?”

  “On paper maybe. Yeah, they’ll send you back with some figures for the network, and I’ll explain to them what The Daily Dribble has in mind for some of the exclusive lead-up coverage. But it’s really more about convincing a few key people that I’m not out to ruin Major League Baseball—or any of their players, in particular. Kevin got this idea in his head that my career as an on-air sports personality will have more potential for long-term success if the major representatives for America’s favorite pastime don’t hate me right out of the gate. They’re all a little gun-shy about working with me at the moment, it seems.”

  “I can’t imagine why. I mean, you’re only the guy solely responsible for there being no World Series for the first time since the strike in 1994.”

  He laughed. “Actually, I like to think that the guys injecting steroids into their bodies had a little something to do with it.”

  “Whatever it takes to ease your conscience.”

  He glanced over at her and was surprised to see a warm smile on her lips. It had been far too long since he’d had the pleasure. The frigid Atlantic wind blew strands of her russet hair across her face, momentarily masking her eyes and lips, alternately, and he desperately wanted to reach out and remove the interference. But he knew that once he touched her hair, her skin, the only thing stopping him from pulling her close and capturing her mouth would be her, and he just couldn’t bear it.

  “I’m proud of you, Will,” she said softly. Emphatically. As she did, she took care of brushing her hair out of her face, removing one distraction. But her words had provided a new one. “So many people get ahead in this business by being underhanded and shady, and by ruining careers—ruining lives—without a second thought about how those people will survive. But you . . .”

  Their New Yorker instincts simultaneously kicked in, and they grabbed the rail as their weight shifted from one foot to the other, and back again, as the ferry pulled in to the dock. The outside deck, which had been theirs alone, suddenly filled with passengers making their way to the exit, the tourists all commenting on the cold, as if they just hadn’t seen it coming.

  “Shall we?” she asked.

  He wanted her to finish her thought. She was about to say something nice about him, and he wanted—needed—to hear it. But he quickly realized he was okay settling for once again, even for a moment, being a part of we with her.

  Three-and-a-half hours later, they were reboarding the Staten Island Ferry, the massive Andrew J. Barberi vessel having been traded out for the comparatively quaint Alice Austen, which ran during the less busy hours.

  “That was the most fun I’ve ever had at a three-hour meeting,” Cadie said with a laugh as they took their places along the rail.

  “And that’s saying something,” Will joked. “You’ve been in three-hour meetings consisting of nothing but Enzo reading the whistleblower policy.”

  “Well, I mean apart from that, obviously.”

  “Obviously.”

  They stared at each other, and Will couldn’t help but wonder if the past few hours had moved them forward in time or moved them back.

  “You were fantastic, Cadie. I’m pretty sure Kevin’s got his work cut out for him in the coming days. If MLB and the players’ trade union haven’t already begun making plans to steal you away from ASN, I’d be shocked.”

  And they wouldn’t be the first to try. Cadie had gotten a million job offers. Every network, not to mention every other corporation inhabiting office space in a five-block radi
us, had attempted to steal her away through the years. She’d received countless offers she shouldn’t have been able to refuse, and yet she always had. Everyone thought Ellis was the hotly sought-after commodity around ASN, but it was Cadie.

  “Me?” She laughed again. Joyous. Free. “Are you kidding? I was just the designated pencil-pusher.”

  Will shook his head. “No, you were much more than that. You were in control of that room, Cadie. I bet Kevin gave you lead because he intends for you to be producer on this thing.”

  Laughter erupted out of her. “I don’t think so. You know I’ve been telling him for years I have no interest in producing. I actually like being the pencil-pusher.”

  He knew that was true, and he knew how adamant she had always been about not wanting to have any part in the production side of things. But after seeing her at work on Staten Island, he could say with absolute certainty she was the right person for the job. He didn’t think much of Kevin’s chances when it came to convincing her of that, however.

  “Besides, you were the one in control of the room, Will. As far as they’re concerned, you’re some new kid stepping on their toes, but within about five minutes, they all trusted you. You had them eating out of your hand. That was impressive stuff, Whitaker.”

  Should he say it? If there were ever a moment, this was it. Would it backfire? Would she step away? Would the joy and freedom—the warmth—fade away and be replaced by the freeze they’d been consumed by for weeks?

  “I guess we actually make a pretty good team,” she said, and he had to do a double take. The words had been in his thoughts, but they came out of her mouth. And in her soft, lilting voice, they held so much more power.

  He smiled. “I guess we do.” He was so torn between keeping it light and making sure he didn’t miss the opportunity to take things deeper. “Good thing too. If we’d messed this up, Kev would’ve killed me.”