by Jody Holford
“Um, I meant—”
Liam held up a hand for his own sanity. “I know what you meant, Red. Let me get some plates. We can eat in the living room.”
Getting the plates, dishing out the food, helped settle him, though her intoxicating scent—the part that was uniquely her—would stick with him for a long while.
They’d barely started to dig in, sitting facing each other at opposite ends of the couch, when her phone rang. She’d crossed her legs beneath her, and Liam had his stretched out.
She frowned. “I turned it back on while you were in the restaurant.” She glanced at it, frowned deeper. She swiped her thumb across the screen. “Hello… Of course I’m still in town. I have a meeting with you tomorrow… Oh. Hmm.”
Isla’s shoulders dropped, and she closed her eyes a minute. Liam put his food on the coffee table, wishing he could hear the other end of the conversation.
“I know they were on their way. Yes… No. I can meet you there… All right. Yes. Okay. See you soon.”
She hung up and huffed out a defeated breath. “My brother and dad called the lawyer. Several times. He said the will is incredibly specific and, after speaking to my father, he’d like to see me before they show up. Since they haven’t landed yet, I need to go now and find out what’s going on.”
Unease made its way back into his gut. Wills weren’t read early. That sort of thing took forever. Unless, say, the deceased needed a press conference or some big decisions made in the early days after the death…
Her last name isn’t Pennington. Stop it.
Isla set her food on the table. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”
Liam stood up. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t need to do that. I’m not sure how long it will take or what it will entail. But I could… Maybe I could come back when I’m finished?”
God, he hoped so. “You can take one of my cars.”
She laughed. “How many do you have?”
Liam shrugged. “Three.”
Isla smiled, stepping toward him. “How about I take a taxi and when I finish, maybe you could pick me up and show me a bit more of Nashville?”
Though pressure continued to mount in his lungs, he nodded. “That sounds good. Nashville at night is something.”
“You’re something, Liam Cruz.”
The words slid along his skin, awakening all sorts of feelings he’d had no clue were lying beneath the surface. Framing her face with his hands, he eased into the kiss, kept it soft, until he felt her melt against him.
“So are you, Isla Bennett. Something special.”
Chapter Seven
Isla regretted her decision to go alone about forty seconds after the cab pulled away from Liam’s house. Which made her feel weak, since she prided herself on her independence. Rain tapped against the windows of the cab and as the sky turned gray, so did her mood.
“You just visiting?” the cabbie asked.
Isla turned her head, met his gaze in the rearview mirror. “I am. Just for a few days.” Unless. Unless she took Liam up on his offer to stay for a bit. It wasn’t like her family was missing her. Though she was sure Addie did.
“Great city. Lots to do, lots to see.”
“I love what I’ve seen so far,” she admitted.
“Sad day today, that’s for sure. But most of the time, this city is bursting with positive energy.”
“Sad?” Her brows furrowed.
“Owner of the baseball team died last night. It’s all over the news. This was supposed to be our comeback year. Brought in a hometown power hitter for that purpose before he retires. It’ll happen, too. Don’t let the retirement rumors fool you—our slugger’s still got all of his game. Too bad the big guy won’t see it.”
Isla’s stomach jolted. She felt like she was trying to fit the wrong puzzle pieces into place, but she couldn’t wrap her head around why her lungs felt constricted. Liam’s boss died. Her grandfather died. The owner of a team died. All last night?
Why had her father kept them from their grandfather? She thought back to visiting his home. His opulent, grand home. She’d paid no attention at the time. She grew up with money; grandeur wasn’t a must for her, but it wasn’t a shock.
She sat in the back of the taxi, trying to reason things out. She was good at puzzles, at finding a way to make things make sense. Her father hated sports. All sports. Which had always seemed odd to Isla, given he made a fortune in the fitness industry. The times she’d suggested bringing on professional athletes for endorsement purposes, he’d shut her down instantly.
Your grandfather owned businesses, buildings, corporations. Not a baseball team. Right? Something was off. This couldn’t all be coincidence. She thought of Liam’s house—again, she was fairly used to being in the presence of money, but she’d never known a bartender, even an owner of a successful club, to own a near-mansion with a full three-car garage.
She played with her phone, running her hand over the blank screen. Maybe she should call Ian back. Her brother had said there were things her father kept from them. They’d be here tomorrow. Which, in and of itself, was a curiosity. One she hadn’t wanted to deal with, but this suddenly expedited meeting made things weirder.
“I hope you enjoy your stay, lady,” the cabbie said when he pulled up to a tall brick building.
“Me too,” she replied. She had been, but there was no telling what was to come. She paid and got out of the taxi.
Hurrying into the building, she was surprised to see the ground floor was empty but for a staircase to the left and a bank of elevators to the right. Pressing the button to go up, she was again surprised by the opulence of the office that came into view when the doors opened.
The large room with several doors leading off it around the perimeter had a wall of windows that looked out over Nashville. Even with the gray skies, it looked beautiful. It was late, so it surprised her to see a woman, blond hair twisted high on her head in a tight bun, sitting at the tall receptionist counter.
“Can I help you?” She wore a gray suit with sharp lines, and Isla felt underdressed even in her black slacks and dress shirt. The shirt was one of her favorites; it had tiny black bows dotting it. Usually, it gave her an added boost of confidence but, at the moment, her nerves had no intention of settling.
“I’m here to see Mr. Warner regarding my grandfather,” Isla said, stepping close to the desk.
The woman’s somewhat severe features softened, and her eyes filled with compassion. “I’m so sorry about your granddaddy. He was one of my favorite people. Never without a smile and a story.”
Again, her heart and her head collided. What?
“Thank you,” Isla said. What else could she say?
The woman stood and came around the desk, taking Isla’s arm and leading her to the right of the elevator. “Everyone is waiting for you in the conference room.”
Isla stopped. “Everyone?”
The receptionist smiled through watery eyes. “Yes.”
Okay. That answers nothing.
They stopped at the second door, and the receptionist opened it for Isla. It felt a little like being led onstage. She stood in the doorway staring at several strangers. They all stopped, men and women both, to look at who had intruded. Isla did a quick count: eleven people, eleven sets of eyes looking her way.
It was an older gentleman who recovered first. He had a white, close-cropped beard and a full head of hair, reminding her a bit of Sam Elliot. His eyes were kind as he came forward, hand extended.
“You must be Isla Bennett. I’m Josiah Warner. I was a good friend of your grandfather’s in addition to being his lead counsel,” Mr. Warner said, shaking her hand with both of his.
Willing her professional self to take over—the woman who commanded attention inside of boardrooms—she kept her grip firm. It was different when it was so personal. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”
He laughed, and the sound bounced off the walls. “You here that, y’all? Sir. Wouldn�
��t hurt for the lot of you to use that word now and again.”
The group laughed, and though she’d rather be anywhere but here, Josiah was genuinely welcoming. He slipped a hand behind her shoulder, but not in an uncomfortable way. Like he was leading her to meet new friends.
“Come in, dear. Let me introduce you.”
Instead of asking why, she nodded politely, but there was no way, despite shaking every hand in the room, she’d remember the names. Usually, she was pretty good at such things, but her nerves on the back of sadness on the heels of surprise made her mind feel like a sieve.
As she took a seat to Josiah’s right, a dark-haired woman—Jennifer—in an enviable striped dress, leaned close.
“Don’t worry about remembering all the names. You need Dad’s,” she said, discreetly pointing to Josiah, “and mine, because we’ll be right by your side the whole time. And Bruce’s because…well, you know.”
Isla gave her a small smile while glancing around the table to find Bruce. If she was remembering correctly, he was the man in the dark blue suit across and down a few seats, glaring at her like she’d stolen his bike and rammed it into a brick wall.
“Isla, I’m sorry about your grandfather. He often expressed sadness that you weren’t part of his life. He tried, more than once, to change that, but your father wouldn’t allow it. I’m not going to get into that, but I think it’s important you know so you understand he was of more than sound mind when he made this decision.”
Isla’s fingers played with the strap on her purse, running over the seams and finding a loose string that she tugged at while keeping her gaze locked on Mr. Warner’s. What decision? What the heck were they talking about? A very small—like teeny, tiny—piece of her wondered if she should have waited for her father to be at her side.
It took effort to process what Josiah said without letting emotion weave through the cracks in her heart that the information caused. She’d often wondered what it would be like to have grandparents, aunts, uncles, and cousins around. Like Liam’s family.
“I feel like we need to back up. I’m sorry, but I had no idea I even had a grandfather until yesterday morning. His wife was very succinct on the phone, asking me to come. I didn’t make it on time…which I truly regret. But I’m not sure why I’m here.”
If silence had an edge, it would have sliced through Isla. The expressions staring back at her ranged from disbelief to anger. The anger belonged solely to Bruce, who pushed back from the table and out of his chair, stalking away with his hands in his hair.
Josiah leaned forward. “Isla. You know who your grandfather was, right? What he did for a living?”
Blinking rapidly, she forced air in and out of her lungs with more effort than it should require. “My father and his father were estranged. I wasn’t aware I even had any family outside of Colorado.”
Jennifer looked over at her own father, and a look passed between them. One Isla couldn’t decipher yet somehow envied. Because they clearly communicated well enough that they could read each other, follow each other’s leads. She’d never had that. And it was all she’d wanted.
Jennifer covered her hand. “Your grandfather owned the Nashville Slammers. They’re our major league baseball team.”
Sharp pressure crowded her chest. “Okay.” She drew the word out, slowing it down as if that would help her make sense of the information and why it mattered.
“Isla, did your father ever tell you he played baseball?”
“What? Like as a kid?”
“Are you serious? You don’t know your father is Hank Bennett?” This from Bruce, who whirled on her with so much venom in his voice it would have knocked her back a step if she’d been standing.
Still, she covered her discomfort with a laugh. “My father would never go by Hank.” The thought would have been amusing if not for the tone of the room.
“Bruce, that’s enough. I’d like everyone out. Give Jennifer and me a moment with Isla.”
Everyone rose from the table, but Bruce stormed out before all of them. She wondered if he’d been close to her grandfather. When the room emptied, Josiah sat beside Isla so she was flanked by the father-daughter team.
“I wish we had more time to ease you into this. Your grandfather would have hated knowing you knew nothing of him. He tried, more than once, over the years to be part of your life and Ian’s. There was some pretty bad blood between him and his son, but he never expected it to last a lifetime.”
Tears pressed, but she swallowed them down. “My father knows how to hold a grudge.”
“You’re a smart woman. Anyway, Isla…your granddad kept tabs on you from afar.”
An ache spread out from the center of her chest, like paint spilling slowly across a blank canvas.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to say goodbye.” Or anything else.
“It would have pleased him to know that you tried. You’re a very successful businesswoman, from what I’ve read,” Josiah said.
Isla stared at him, then looked around the table. When her gaze met his again, her stomach tipped uneasily. Fortunately, at the same time, a little piece of the woman she worked to be slipped firmly back into place.
“I work for my father’s fitness company. I’ve recently handled a fairly large deal with a well-known hotel chain. But I’ll be honest, Mr. Warner, that’s not public knowledge, so I’m curious how you’d know about my success or lack thereof.”
“It’s good you can speak up for yourself,” the lawyer said, leaning back and steepling his fingers under his chin. “I’ll get straight to it. Your grandfather has left you his baseball team. You are the sole owner of the Nashville Slammers, the twenty-third-ranked team in major league baseball. Effective immediately.” He took a slow breath. “Your life is about to change dramatically.”
Isla’s skin heated and even sitting down, it felt like her head spun, as if she’d stood up too quickly. She tried to blink the moment into focus even as they carried on with the conversation. Josiah continued. “You have a small group of support, starting with the people who just left this room and Jennifer and myself. You’re going to need it.”
He held her gaze, and for a minute Isla slipped outside of herself—like she was floating above the conference room, watching another version of her take in this surreal information. When had her grandfather transitioned from owning companies to owning a sports team? Did her father know? He’d played baseball? Did Ian know? The questions bounced around like hail off a car, each one leaving a dent.
This couldn’t be real. “I can’t believe he would leave me his team. Surely people will contest that,” she said. Her mind jumped immediately to her brother and father. Her granddad’s wife. And then back to her father’s insistence she come home. Ian’s request that she let them handle things.
Josiah leaned forward and folded his suit-covered arms over each other. “It’s already begun. Your father and brother are my primary concern. Cordelia never wanted the team. She’ll keep the house and other assets, which he had several of, but the team, from the time he bought it, was meant to be passed on to you.”
She couldn’t wrap her head around why.
“Rest assured,” Josiah said, “he knew he’d be thrusting you onto the battlefield when he made this decision. He kept an eye on you all these years and even managed to get some reluctant updates from your mother now and again. Walter was confident in your ability to come out on top.”
Isla pressed her knuckles to her chest. There was so much pressure building there, she couldn’t pull in a full breath. A man she hadn’t known had more faith in her than her own father. How could that be true?
“Your father’s lawyer has already contacted us,” Jennifer confirmed. “He isn’t aware of Walter’s wishes at this moment, but we suspect he can guess. My impression of your father from our phone call is he’ll fight this to the ground. Do you agree, or do you think you can persuade him of your ability to do this?” Jennifer’s tone was tempered, but her words
were serious and sharp.
Anger replaced all other feelings, blanketing her. He’d known about this. “In my life, I’ve never been able to persuade my father of my ability to do anything. This will be no different. What exactly does this entail, anyway? And…what if I say no?”
Another subtle glance between father and daughter.
“It would complicate things immensely. But it’s within your rights to do so,” Josiah said, his tone not giving away anything.
Jennifer swiveled in her chair. “The this entails a number of things, including operating within franchise expectations and regulations. You have a general manager, Bruce, who is responsible for the players, trades, and releases. Walter oversaw everything, but he didn’t have to. He was the sole owner on purpose, but there are lots of teams that have multiple owners. He liked being the final say.”
Isla gripped the arms of the chair. “My baseball knowledge is a little…rusty.” She didn’t need to tell them that rusty meant nonexistent.
“That’s okay. Because the rest of it is right up your alley. This is a business, Isla.”
Isla’s heart rate increased, like a slow-moving crescendo working toward an overwhelming finish. Like a wheel spun too fast, turning over and over with no stop in sight.
“Why me?”
“He wanted it to be left to family. The tear in his relationship with your father never mended. I won’t lie—Walter had a ruthless side, and part of him was satisfied with this decision simply because it would give him the last word. But a bigger part of him wanted you to know that you had someone watching from the sidelines, rooting for you. Did you know he attended your high school and university graduations?”
She inhaled so sharply she choked. Her eyes burned with tears and a glass of water appeared next to her on the table. She took a sip, her hand shaking.
“Why wouldn’t he reach out to me?” Tears clogged her throat.
“Your father forbade it. He went around him with Ian, but your brother made it clear where his—and your—loyalties lay.”
She didn’t know it was possible to feel the level of betrayal coursing through her. Ian had no right to speak for her. She could damn well speak for herself, and this was the ultimate chance to prove it.