Love from Left Field (2 page)

“Hang on.” Miranda raised her hand, then lowered it when she realized when she’d done. “I don’t think this is the best idea.”

Her father cocked an eyebrow. “You have a better idea? The consultant would be thrilled to cut costs in some of our operations. And we probably could use it. As long as he doesn’t touch my team.”

She inhaled sharply and leaned forward, lowering her voice for her father to hear. “I’m the team president, not the vendor manager. We discussed me taking more team responsibilities on from you, like other presidents. I disagree with this approach.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Not open for discussion, Miranda. Now, on to our catcher situation. Not to mention our first baseman. This is becoming a common theme. Last year we lost Suarez and then signed Friar, who barely lasted a couple of months.”

“Sorry for helping your team get into the playoffs, not to mention you only offered a three-month contract,” Jason said, a former first baseman for the Knights. Well, for a few months at least.

Miranda shot him a sympathetic smile. If anyone in the room understood the cheap shots her father slung like hash in a diner, it was Jason Friar, victim of her father’s insults throughout the second half of the previous season. He was rewarded, or some said punished, with an offer of employment. She still didn’t understand why he took it, but was grateful he was there to lead their young players in their first steps of big league fame and fortune and the pitfalls that come with a major league baseball contract. Before she became president, she headed up public relations. In that role, she was often called upon to deal with the fallout from some stupid stunt a player had pulled when out with friends the prior night. Jason had made those same mistakes and knew how to guide the young players towards a better route. And it helped that his fiancée was now the head of publicity, trying to get ahead of any bad press.

Seamus barely glanced at Jason. “You got your reward. Besides, you did abandon us. You and that bum shoulder.”

“That’s not the issue.” Cole stepped in smoothly before the conversation could turn even more adversarial. “Right now, we still need a first baseman. Lockhart is still not quite up to snuff fielding or in the batter’s box.”

“He’ll be fine. His swing is solid and his fielding is outstanding. He worked this off-season. He deserves the chance,” Jason stated. “More importantly, he’s cheaper than someone else.”

Cole nodded. “True. We signed him to a big contract out of high school four years ago and he’s been on a steady climb. He was even named one of the Future All-Stars two years running. Besides, our Triple-A team sucks. He’ll be wasted down there.”

Seamus snorted. “He’s a kid. We need a big name. Trade him for Mendoza. He’s a proven player, both in the field and in the box.”

Jason leaned forward, red seeping into his face, a vein pulsing in his jawline. “You’re wasting good talent. You need him and other guys to build a solid, long-term team. Not keep trading them away. And Mendoza adds too much to our payroll. We can’t afford his salary.”

Cole, again, inserted himself in the middle. “Jason’s right. Lockhart’s perfect.”

Seamus growled but shuffled some papers in front of him. “Why didn’t you sign a free agent like I asked?”

“The price was too steep and no one was worth it. We can’t afford to compete with the Yankees, Sox, or almost anyone else. And they’re the ones who signed the big fish. Most of the other players stayed put this year.”

“Then make a goddamn trade. Make something happen! You’re the damn general manager. I pay you for more than excuses.” Seamus’s hand slammed on the table, knocking over his water glass.

The silence that followed was as deafening as the yelling before. Only the buzz from the lights filled the space. The water slowly, inexorably drifted closer to the conference speaker phone. Seamus’s bushy eyebrows were furrowed and he scowled fiercely at each person, but no one said anything. At that moment, there was a knock at the door and Ruth, Seamus’s assistant, poked her head in. Anyone else would have ducked, expecting something thrown at the door for the interruption, but Ruth had been with Seamus since his early days and she knew his moods and knew he would never do anything to her.

“What is it?” Seamus growled.

For the first time Miranda could remember, Ruth hesitated, looking from her to Seamus. “The league’s representative is here. A Mr. Lucas Wainright?”

For another long moment, there was silence, with Seamus staring at Miranda.

Slowly, recognition dawned and his face paled. “Wainright? Is that—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Miranda stood. “Please show Mr. Wainright to my office. I’ll be right there.”

Ruth nodded and slipped out the door, closing it softly behind her. Miranda grabbed a few napkins and cleaned the water.
When in doubt, do something
. It always filled any awkwardness, at least according to her mother. When she was done, she tossed the soggy remainder in the garbage and gathered her things.

“Yes, father. It’s Lucas Wainright.”

He growled. “I’ll be damned if I let that young pup take over my team.”

“Afraid karma’s going to kick you in the ass, Callahan?” A man’s voice drawled from the doorway where he stood, with Ruth’s anxious face behind him.

Somehow she didn’t think they’d seen the worst of Seamus’s rage yet.

L
ucas Wainright stood
in the doorway of the main conference room and a wave of nostalgia crashed over him. Seeing Seamus Callahan at the head of the table conflicted with his memory of his father sitting in the same spot, performing much the same role. That was over a decade ago and many things had changed. He was no longer his father’s heir and expected to sit in that same chair. Now, he was an outsider, coming to the Georgia Knights as a turnaround consultant, who’s goal was to pull the team from the brink of bankruptcy. He had two options before him. Help the man who destroyed Lucas’s father, or force Seamus out, much as Lucas’s own family was ejected.

He drew upon every bit of his rumored cold-blooded management style and stuffed the emotions deep inside to be examined at a later date. Not getting personally involved was going to be harder than he had anticipated.

He strode into the room and headed for the windows overlooking the empty baseball field and stadium. Not perfect but it would do for now. He wouldn’t sit at the table, not yet, not until he could choose the right spot. Positioning for power and strength when starting a new business venture was critical and with an alpha male businessman like Seamus Callahan, it was everything.

He hiked his hip against the ledge and leveled a stare at Seamus. He’d prefer a seat at the table, where Miranda sat, establishing his position in the hierarchy. For now, he’d settle for a standing position, forcing everyone to look up at him. Biding his time. But one day soon he’d have that seat.

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.

*