Love from Left Field (13 page)

She tilted her head to the side and relaxed her body, allowing a small smile to spread across her lips. “So now you’re going to prove it was a good kiss? Give it your best shot, lover boy. Let’s see what you got.”

He leaned forward and gently brushed his lips across her, lightly, as if drawing a feather across her skin. She shivered and he chuckled, a low, male sound deep in his throat. His lips skimmed her jaw line, brief, barely whispers of a touch, designed to tease, to taunt, to increase her desire. She moaned and went to reach for him.

“Oh no. Stay still for this.” He grabbed her hands with his, and placed them on the arms of the chair, imprisoning them with his own.

He nudged her face up with his nose then rewarded her with a deep kiss, soul-stirring yet innocent. After a moment, his tongue slid along the crease of her lips and she opened them, welcoming him in. The kiss quickly turned deeper, hotter, their tongues entwining and exploring. His mouth tasted of coffee and sweetness, like the butter-cream frosting of cake, and she couldn’t get enough of it.

Slowly, chest heaving with exertion, he pulled back, resting his forehead on hers while they both caught their breath.

“Still think it was obligation?”

She opened her eyes, still dazed from the intensity. She was in so much trouble with Lucas. And the real problem was she didn’t care. She needed to know if there was something there. But now wasn’t the time, especially with another thought prodding her mind, telling her it was important.

“Did I taste butter-cream frosting? Like the kind we had on Maggie’s cake?”

He flushed and straightened. “Yeah.”

A grin spread across her face. “You act like you’re all loner and stuff, but you went to the party later, didn’t you? Tell me or I’ll ask Maggie.”

He folded his arms across his chest. “So I stopped by to wish her a happy birthday.”

She swatted him on the arm and laughed. “Who said you were a mean guy, ignoring birthdays and people? I think you’re a big, old softie inside.”

He growled and turned away, color flooding his face. Taking pity on him, she sobered and changed the subject. “How did your father build the team? An expansion team doesn’t get the cream of the crop and these statistics weren’t around back then.”

“He never really won the big show the whole way either. He always fell just short of the playoffs,” Lucas admitted with a wry grin. “But he would have expected the team to be doing much better ten years later.”

“We all want that. What were his plans?”

He shoved away from the desk and stalked to the window, staring sightlessly out over the field. “I don’t know. He didn’t share his ideas with me.”

“Really? You always seemed to spend so much time with him here. I just assumed…”

“You assumed wrong. I was here frequently, that was true. But my father kept his own counsel, not letting me in.”

Sensing a deeply held pain in his stiff body, she walked over to the window and laid a hand on his arm. “You were eighteen. Maybe he didn’t want to pile a lot of responsibility on your shoulders.”

“Well, I told him I wanted nothing to do with the Knights. I didn’t want to work here, even with him, and I wanted to do something else.”

Stunned, she inhaled sharply, then slowly exhaled, striving to keep her voice on an even keel. “What did you want to do?”

He shook his head, as if trying to deny the words. “I don’t know. Something stupid probably, like all eighteen-year-olds. What did you want to be?”

Her lips curved in a slow smile. “Not Miss America, that’s for sure.”

He slowly pivoted and arched a sardonic brow. “Really? Yet you were a runner-up.”

She laughed, a mirthless sound. “I was lucky. No, scratch that. I worked hard for it. I thought my mother and father wanted to see that crown on my head, so I went for it. I hate beauty pageants; did you know that? The backstabbing, the swimsuit competition, the way people look at you and treat you. The wolf whistles, the crappy come-ons. It’s like they only see big boobs and a piece of ass. You’re not a person, just an empty-headed bimbo made to look pretty and for sex. By the look on your face, you probably thought something like that when you found out I was working here.”

He hiked a hip onto the credenza against the wall and studied her, hands buried in his pockets, a sheepish smile on his face. “I admit I was surprised that you were president. I thought it was a family appointment, nepotism at its finest. Then I saw you had an MBA and wondered how you could have gotten that with just a pretty face.”

“Well, at least you took the time to see past the face. My father may love me, but he’s ruthless with business. He’d fire me if I couldn’t do the job, trust me.”

“Do you think he might fire you with the changes you’re trying to make?”

She leaned against the credenza next to him, arms gripping the top. “Maybe. He’s not happy with the trade or anything else, to be honest.”

“Is he ever happy?”

She laughed. “Not especially. Even if we won the series, he’d still find something to harp on, something we could have done better. But that’s why he was successful in his other businesses.”

“That may be true but, honestly, baseball has changed significantly over the past decade. If he doesn’t change with it, he’s going to lose.”

She nodded slowly. “Try to convince him of that.” She glanced at him. “Do you think your father would have been happy to see you working for the league?”

His expression grew shuttered and he looked past her at something only he could see. “I don’t know. He might have seen it as a betrayal. I didn’t want to work for him, now I’m working for the league.”

“He’d be happy to see you helping us now.”

“Would he? Helping the man who took his team?” The bitterness in his voice surprised her.

“You can’t honestly think my father stole the team from your father. Seamus can be ruthless in business, but he’s not dishonest.”

He turned to face her, disbelief on his face. “Is this the man’s daughter speaking or his employee? In business, there’s no place for sentimentality. It’s all about the bottom line.”

“Maybe that’s the lesson your father taught you, but not mine,” she replied primly. “My father reminds me about the people we have working here every day. We have an obligation to them. Sometimes you have to make tough decisions but always think of the greater good.”

“Really? So why are you pussyfooting around your leadership team, your coaching staff? They’re all doing just enough to get by, waiting for your father to come back. No one has implemented any of the changes you requested, except of course for the trade. So how are you being a leader like your father?”

“Unlike my father, I don’t yell and shout. I prefer to lead as a team.”

He laughed, a loud sound that sounded faintly derisive to her ears. “Honey, leader implies not being part of the team but leading it, giving orders, telling them what to do. Not getting consensus. You may want to consider that as you go forward.”

“Or what?” She stepped up into his face, hands on hips and glared at him.

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying, working as a team is all great and sounds good, but no one listens except to the voice of authority.”

Her shoulders slumped. “I had hoped they just didn’t agree with me. Not that they didn’t respect me.” She turned away and sat in her office chair, staring blindly at the monitor.

He followed and sat on the top of the desktop, hands folded on his knee. “They still see your father as the leader. While he’s out, someone needs to fill the void or nothing gets done. You’ve gathered your information. What do you want to do?”

She slowly nodded. “We need to make these changes. Other teams have had success doing this and so can we, if we’re all on board.” She stood, a decision made. “Pack your bags, Wainright. We’re going to Florida.”

N
ote to self:
Never book a trip to Florida during spring break. Ever.

The airport was wall-to-wall people. Baggage claim was a nightmare and the car she had reserved was downgraded to the last vehicle left in the lot. A POS Hyundai that looked like a family of clowns and their kids had just returned it and brought half the beach and their food for the past ten days with them.

Lucas had taken one look at it, shook his head and said, “You know, Miranda, we can afford a slightly better car.”

“Get in the damn car.”

He only chuckled and actually got in the passenger side, well, folded himself into it, really, then pushed the seat back as far as he could, which wasn’t very far.

“First time a guy hasn’t demanded the keys,” she grumbled, stuffing her bag in the small trunk. Thank God he only brought a duffle.

“I don’t think I could fit behind the wheel.”

She slammed the door and dropped the keys somewhere around her feet. She banged her head on the steering wheel looking for it. “This is pathetic. I’m the president and I’ll be driving up to the offices in this piece of shit. How will they ever respect me?”

God, the staff was going to have a field day when she drove up in this. What little respect they had for her would be totally destroyed. She should have driven her Mustang down, not that she liked taking that on long trips. It would have been worth it to be spared the degradation of an economy car.

He grinned and handed her the key. “It all comes down to how you handle it. Treat it like a joke and blow it off and they will, too. You have the flair to pull it off.”

She glanced at him doubtfully then snatched the keys. “Whatever.”

He leaned back, sort of since he really couldn’t stretch his lean six-foot-two-inch frame too far in this car. “Brazen it out. Act like it’s a group of mean girls and you want them to fuck off.”

She giggled at the thought. “Mean girls would be worse than these guys.”

“Exactly. Let’s get going before I lose all blood flow to my feet.”

“Fine.” Her knees banged the wheel as she adjusted the seat. “Let’s get this over with.”

*

By the time
they had maneuvered their way through the traffic and people everywhere, Miranda was in a pretty foul mood. Pissed off at the crowds at the airport and baggage claim and her economy car. But mostly pissed at having to come down here and convince her staff to follow her directions. Her father wouldn’t have had to do that. When Seamus said jump, they starting jumping without even asking how high, how long, or how far. They just did it. For her, they questioned, argued, or flat out ignored her.

And she was damn sick of it.

She parked and exhaled, fingers clenching the wheel. Lucas reached over and covered her hand with his. “Maybe a walk might be a good idea. Loosen up our muscles, relax, calm down.”

“I’m perfectly calm.”

“Sure you are.” He pried her fingers off the wheel.

She made a sound of disgust. “Damn it. How can I persuade them to my way of thinking if they have no respect for me?”

He shrugged. “How would your father do it?”

She stared at him. “You seriously want me to channel my father? I thought you said he drove this team into the ground.”

“I only asked what he would do, not that you should do it. He obviously gets them to do what he wants, even to the detriment of the team.”

“He signs their paychecks.”

“Technically. But in reality, you’re in charge as team president. Stop trying to be their friend and lay down the law.”

She nibbled her lower lip. She didn’t think she could be like her father, stomping around acting all nasty and controlling. But she had to get their attention. What choice did she honestly have? They had to make these changes. Working with them, persuading them, was not working. Cole had been banging his head against their collective brick heads for the past couple of weeks. Lucas was right. It was time for someone to lay down the law. Cole couldn’t do it. It had to be her. One of the aspects of being president her father had often taken from her. Maybe not because he didn’t think she could handle it but because she wasn’t doing it. So he just did it.

She opened the door and swung out, almost moaning at the crack in her back. “We have a season to win.”

*