by Megan Ryder
Seamus frowned at him and punched a button on the conference phone, ending the call. “Don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying.”
“I have papers that say otherwise. You borrowed money from major league baseball. I’m the strings that come with that loan.” He smiled, knowing the pleasant, easy-going attitude would drive the intense, older man crazy.
Seamus scowled, as if the truth was a sour taste on his tongue. “Fine. Miranda will show you to an office and get you what you need. Now, we have work to do.” He waved his hand and shuffled some papers in front of him.
“No.” Lucas pushed off of the ledge, the word falling flat like a rock in the conversation and everyone quieted immediately. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do. I approve every order, every decision, every output of capital.”
“The Knights are my team, not yours. You lost your team years ago when your father sold shares to me.”
Lucas smiled, sensing the frustration, knowing he had the upper hand. “Don’t mistake me for my father. I won’t roll over for you, especially now with our roles reversed. Your only chance to save your team is to work with me.”
Miranda stood and walked around the table to stand by her father before Seamus could respond. “Gentleman, would you excuse us?”
The two other men in the room exchanged glances and gathered their things. Lucas settled against the ledge again, waiting as they took their time, using the opportunity to study his opponents.
Seamus had always been a bit grumpy and ill-tempered from what Lucas remembered, but the years had not been good to him. His face was craggy and deeply lined; years of bad temper and not enough smiling or rest were etched deeply on his countenance, adding to the overall negative impression. He had replaced the team photo with a picture of himself in front of the team. Not surprising, the photo was his own deluded view of himself, the hardscrabble team owner demanding perfection in everyone around him.
Of course, Seamus was far from perfect himself, not that he’d ever admit it.
The differences between his father’s ownership and Callahan’s were in every line of the team offices, in every person hired, in every picture on the wall. Jacob Wainright had once counted Seamus Callahan among his closest friends. He wondered what his father would say about the current state of the Georgia Knights, the team he founded during the expansion era?
Lucas mentally cleared his mind, dispelling the thoughts. He had no time for distractions, especially the past he had thought was buried. Now, he had to focus on the present and the mess he was sent to clean up. Miranda stared at him, her face a mask of icy calm, as if his presence was irrelevant, a bother to her. He missed the lovesick teen, the former beauty queen who had crushed on him in high school yet was always out of reach, mostly due to her age but also her father’s insistence that Lucas was not good enough for his daughter. Had any man ever made the cut with her father, or with Miranda?
Miranda had certainly grown into the beauty her junior pageant days promised. Her blond hair was twisted up in a smooth, chic style, emphasizing her calm image. Where was the bouncy young woman he remembered, dancing around the owner’s box on game days, chattering like a blue jay and bringing sunshine into every situation? He caught himself smiling at the memory of her exuberance and unabashed joy at life, a joy that seemed not only dimmed but completely crushed by her father and life. What would it take to catch a glimpse of the child inside? Was she even there anymore?
She arched a cool eyebrow at him, clearly trying to let him know he didn’t belong there and she did. She studied her perfectly manicured nails, avoiding him as if he didn’t exist, and he realized the happy girl was gone, buried in the beauty queen image her mother had been impressing upon her for years.
He grinned. She was a minnow in her little pond. Tougher people than her had tried to fight him and lost. He’d win. He always won. Despite the attraction, he had a job to do and only one question when it came to Miranda Callahan. Was she a true president or a figurehead, a pretty mouthpiece for her father and face of the team? And how much of an impediment to his plans was she?
Finally, the room was clear. Miranda lowered into the chair next to her father and gestured for Lucas to sit across from her. Instead of taking the seat, he strode to his preferred seat – the one she had vacated. Consternation flashed across her face, as if she knew she had lost the advantage.
But she recovered quickly. Kudos to her for that.
“Now, let’s discuss this rationally, please? Dad, we don’t have a choice. Martinelli assigned Mr. Wainright to help us and, frankly, we could use it.” She spoke low, but her voice still carried the length of the table.
Lucas waited patiently for Seamus’s response. He didn’t have to wait long.
“We don’t need his help. Once we sign Mendoza, we’ll have the big name we need at first base. Our fans will show up and everything will be fine.”
“You’re delusional.” Lucas leaned back, projecting every ounce of the confidence he felt to his core. “The reason you don’t have a first baseman; the reason your general manager can’t make a trade; the reason your farm league can’t help you is because you drained it. Drained the farm team of talent. Drained the team of capital. Drained the patience of the entire management and board with your rush to sign big-money players with no return on investment at all. Bad business decisions placed you where you are today. And you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Seamus’s face turned purple in his rage. His mouth opened and closed multiple times, completely unused to people speaking to him in any tone but agreement or mollification.
Miranda leaned forward. “That’s enough. Is it your plan to come in here like gangbusters and make enemies? If so, we don’t need or want that kind of assistance.”
He turned to her, coolly studying her. “Oh, you need me. You need me to clean up the mess you’ve all made of this franchise.” He cocked his head. “Trust me. I know your situation. If it was good, you wouldn’t have me on your doorstep.”
Satisfied he’d made his point, he stood. “I’d like a chance to review the financials and talk with each of your department heads before we discuss any next steps. And, yes, that includes signing any new players or trades. Now, where is my office?”
She glanced at her father, who never took his dagger stare off of Lucas. Seamus waved distractedly, as if they were annoying mosquitoes. “Fine, find him a place to squat. For now. Don’t get comfortable, Wainright. My daughter may not have stood up the commissioner, but I won’t tolerate this invasion.”
Lucas smirked and stood up. “Go ahead and call Roger. Call all of the owners. It won’t change the outcome.”
He gestured to Miranda to precede him out of the room and followed with one last level stare at Callahan.
*
Lucas strode down the hallway for the executive offices, amazed at Callahan’s stubborn refusal to admit to the problem. First, he ran the team into the ground with delusions of grandeur and unreal expectations. Then, he was too obstinate to accept assistance, after having no problem taking a financial loan from the league. Well, Lucas had dealt with worse. He just needed to find the right leverage. If only Callahan wasn’t so involved in the team. Miranda might be more amenable to changes, provided they could work together.
He hadn’t expected the rush of desire when he’d first seen her. It went well beyond her beauty to the flash of intelligence in her ice blue eyes, the husky timbre of her cool southern accent. He’d felt the irresistible tug of attraction the minute she spoke, her voice shooting sparks of desire into his icy calm. It was rare to deal with a woman at senior levels in baseball; it was still very much a boy’s club. So he never had to deal with being attracted to his colleagues in previous assignments. Hopefully, they could both remain professional and, possibly, work together to get the job done.
Thoughts of Miranda reminded him that she was following him down the hall, her heels clicking on the floor in a rapid staccato beat. Hell, he did
n’t even know where he was going. He stopped to let her catch up. Pictures of important people lined the hallway. Seamus Callahan. A couple of players. The last picture stopped Lucas in place. The balding head. The kindly hazel eyes. The gentle smile. His eyes burned as he gazed at the picture of his father.
Miranda stopped next to him, also looking at the picture, lips curved in a small smile. “He always had a praline for me when I came to visit. I wasn’t supposed to have candy. It wasn’t on the pageant diet plan but I loved them. I’d sneak into his office before a game or when Dad was here for a meeting and Uncle Jacob would always stop what he was doing and spend time with me.”
Lucas swallowed thickly. “He always had time for everyone.”
“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Wainright? Revenge?” she asked quietly, casting him a sidelong glance.
“Are you questioning my ethics, Ms. Callahan, or my motives?” He countered, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“I would never question your ethics, Mr. Wainright. But clearly your motives are much more complex than simply doing your job for major league baseball.”
“Much more complex indeed.” He turned to face her, a teasing note entering his voice, deflecting the emotion coursing inside. “Since we’ll be working closely over the next few months, shouldn’t you call me Lucas? It’s not like we don’t know each other. We practically grew up together.”
She flushed, her face turning a bright red. “I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”
“You were very cute back then, not at all awkward. I had heard you were Miss Georgia a few years later. Major bragging rights for a young guy, telling his friends he knew a beauty queen.”
She straightened and pursed her lips as if the memory was not as pleasant for her. “That’s in the past. I’ve earned my position.”
“Whoa, princess.” He held up his hands. “I meant no disrespect. You don’t get an MBA if you’re stupid. I only question how much control you really have as president, or do you stand in for your father?”
The answer to the question was critical to his plan. If she was her father’s mouthpiece, then his job would be exponentially harder. However, if he could convert her to his side, then he’d have an ally and a foothold. He stepped closer, crowding her slightly against the wall, intentionally in her personal space.
Her eyes narrowed and she stepped to the side, away from his neat cage, just as she sidestepped his question. “You’ll find that we’re a team here, on and off the field. I’m sure we’ll find a way to work with you, if your ideas make sense. Your office is down this hallway. It’s all I could get ready on such short notice, Mr. Wainright.”
“Lucas.” He didn’t know why it was so important that she called him by his first name but it was. He refused to move, waiting for her.
After several moments, she finally murmured, “Lucas.”
After if her words broke a spell, he started walking in the direction she had indicated. “Excellent. I’m sure it will be fine, Miranda. Let’s get to work.”
He hadn’t missed the sudden flash of attraction in her eyes, just as she put distance between them. He’d have to be very careful working with Miranda.
*
Lucas deliberately ignored Miranda, perched on the edge of the chair opposite the desk. After their heart-to-heart in the foyer by his father’s portrait, he needed to put space between them to recover some of his senses.
He had been expecting a pampered princess, a mouthpiece for her strong-willed father. His first mistake was expecting her to be the same beauty queen he remembered as a teenager, a little spoiled and pretty but not yet grown into a woman. In the intervening years, she had grown into the promise of the beauty that had been lurking under the teenager, adding a maturity and a brain that was a killer combination in his book.
She had proven her smarts by arguing with her father. Too bad she had backed down when pushed. Not a great beginning. He had hoped he could get her on his side, assuming everyone else was too intimidated by Seamus to argue. But she seemed just as cowed by her father. Now, he’d have to work harder to convince the staff to make necessary changes to truly help the Knights. If they chose not to work with him, then the Knights were doomed.
He glanced at her, sitting ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap. She was studiously ignoring him, stiff, not filling the silence with inane chatter or shifting in her seat. If he hadn’t noticed the telltale quiver in her hands and the downcast eyes, he would have thought she was confident and calm. He frowned and closed the folder.
“So, what do you think?”
She looked up, her gaze steady and sure. “We have troubles, sure. We need to do better. But we’re not a lost cause. Not completely.”
He leaned back and steepled his hands in front of his face. “Do you know what I do? I help teams like yours figure out how to be successful in this new world. There’s always room for improvement. In your case, you need to find a way to be profitable and not lose more money.”
“Fine. But you also recommend sales of teams if they don’t meet your standards, and you lay people off without considering the impacts.” She smiled, an almost predatory look. “Yes, I had you researched before you came. I wonder what else I’ll find when I have more time?”
“You’re just a guppy in this pond. Sometimes hard decisions are required for the end result.” He gave a half-shrug, knowing he was in the power position.
“The ends justify the means? I thought you understood this is a family business. Every member of our staff has been here almost since the beginning. Your father knew that and treated people like family, not numbers.” She straightened in her seat, shoulders back as if she were prepared to fight to defend her staff right then and there.
“If my father was still in charge, you wouldn’t be in this position.”
“Do you really believe that?” She countered in a soft voice.
This time, he frowned, suppressing a flicker of defensiveness. “That’s irrelevant. He’s not here and you are. And we have a mess on our hands. Once you took money from the league, you accepted the conditions. Now it’s time to pay up, in more ways than one.”
She sighed and leaned forward, one hand on her knee. “Fine, I agree. So what do we do now?”
“We need to figure that out.” He paused and studied her for a long moment. “And you need to decide which side you’re on.”
Chapter Three
Miranda closed the office door behind her and heaved a sigh. She had spent the last three hours reviewing documents, reports, and financial statements with Lucas, and that was just the overview of everything. Now he wanted time alone with the data and individual meetings with each department head before he made any of his thoughts known. Although one thing was clear. The situation wasn’t good and it would take a lot more than some belt-tightening before the Knights were in the black. Most likely it would take a complete overhaul in team strategy to right the course, and Seamus was not going to be supportive of anything different than what he already did.
Her muscles were tight and stretched like a rubber band pulled between two opposing forces. How long before she snapped? It was just day one in a long process. She already felt battered and beaten. Despite her exhaustion, another emotion twanged along her nerves.
Lust.
His very presence in such close proximity teased her senses, reminding her of how long she had been without a date, or anything more physical. During the season, it could be challenging to find a partner, especially with the demanding schedule her father insisted his executives keep, but in the off-season, she often took time for herself, a small vacation, some personal time. And a little stress relief. But after being named president last year, she hadn’t felt quite right taking time off this year.
That was all it was. Long denied physical desires rearing their ugly heads, distracting her and causing her to fantasize about their new consultant and public enemy number one. So what if he looked amazing without his suit jacket? He was just younger and diffe
rent than the doughboys she worked with on an everyday basis.
Not Cole Hammonds, a tiny voice reminded her. You were never tempted by him.
She snorted, earning a sharp glance from a man walking by. She greeted him with a low murmur and waited for him to pass, leaning against the wall, looking through her tablet as if occupied.
She should have never gone to his office, where he was in control. Her father would never have stood for it. She should have brought him to her office, set the boundaries and their roles. In her own space, she would be less inclined to be swayed by how sexy he had grown. She could have stayed focused.
She sharply inhaled, still smelling a residual scent of his musky aftershave. Then, shaking her head to clear it, she pushed off the wall. Her knees still a bit weak, she walked the several feet down the hallway to her own office. Stacia Kendall, the players’ PR lead, sat in one of the chairs chatting up Miranda’s assistant. She jumped up when she saw Miranda stride into the small waiting area.
Miranda paused at her assistant’s desk and gave her instructions to schedule meetings with each of the vice presidents for Lucas in the next few days. Stacia followed her into the office, a worried look on her face.
Miranda and Stacia had grown up together but were never really close friends. They ran in the same social circles, with Stacia’s father a powerful United States senator and Miranda’s father a shipping magnate. More often than not, their fathers were opposed on many issues, but then again, most people were on opposite sides of both men, so there was that. But Miranda became reacquainted with Stacia when she was hired to clean up Jason’s Friar’s image for the last three months of the season, during which time they fell in love and each found new roles with the Knights. Since then, Stacia had focused on the players while Miranda worked on overall team image and corporate connections, and the proximity rebuilt their friendship. Miranda was grateful to have a sounding board of someone who understood her situation.