“Well, this ismyseat, you know.” A smile cracks on her lips at my teasing tone. “But I don’t mind sharing it with you.”
26
Reese
I don’t know if I’ve ever walked as slow as I am now, going from the parking lot to the team plane out on the tarmac at O’Hare. Trying to delay the inevitable of seeing everyone on board.
I’ve already addressed the team of course. I’ve spoken to the staff. But we’ve been under constant question since I made that trade, and it doesn’t just extend to me. Every person in this organization is being scrutinized for my decision. And now, I have to get on an airplane with each and every employee I’ve unintentionally added stress to.
Are the remaining players good enough to bring this team to the playoffs?
Are the coaches supportive of losing a power hitter like Kaiser?
Is Reese Remington setting the tone of being the most impulsive owner in MLB history?
Actually, I think the wording was “emotional and impulsive,” if I remember that headline correctly. Because of course I had to be labeled emotional by a bunch of fucking men. I’m a woman, after all.
I’m not an emotional person when it comes to business, but it feels as if I’m real close to becoming one. I pride myself on having a thick skin, but these past few days have shaken me. The headlines have been far worse than I was mentally prepared for. They’ve made me question my confidence, and I hate that I’m allowing other people’s thoughts and feelings to cause me to second-guess my ability to do my job.
People were loud when I took over the team, but the hate was never to this extent. And the overwhelming thought that’s been playing on a loop in my mind since the trade announcement became public is that maybe my ex-husband was right. Maybe he should’ve been the face of this team.
Maybe if a man made this same trade, the chatter would’ve died down by now. Maybe my entire staff wouldn’t currently be operating in crisis mode because the first big decision that the first female team owner ever made was to trade away a majorly sought-after vet.
I’m not ready for this plane ride, but we need to get Milo’s first game under his belt and hopefully everyone will just move on.
I pass my suitcase off to one of the linemen just outside the aircraft and make my way up the stairs. As soon as I turn the corner and stand at the front of the aisle, every pair of eyes lands on me in a way I’ve been dreading all day.
Standing here splayed out for my entire staff to see, looking like shit because I’ve hardly been able to sleep or eat, all while knowing they’ve seen the headlines. They’ve seen the forums and the name-calling. They’ve seen me be undermined by every single reporter who has covered the story. They’ve seen the horrible things Harrison had to say about our club.
It’s humiliating. No one wants to look weak in front of those they’re leading, but it’s a whole added layer of complication when it comes to my particular role. Me being my age. Me being a woman.
If a different owner makes a mistake, it’ll be forgotten soon enough. However, if this trade is my first business mistake, it’ll follow me forever.
I, more than anyone else, have to be perfect, and right now, I feel anything but.
My skin prickles with embarrassed heat as I stand in the aisle for everyone to see, and I wish I could just run away. I wantto hide. To let this blow over. To apologize profusely for adding stress to anyone else’s plate. But I’m in charge here. I made this decision. So, I do my best to hold my head up high and own it as I get to my seat in the third row.
Except today, my seat is currently taken. My entire row is taken, in fact, by a man and woman I don’t recognize.
“These are the Walkers,” one of my staff members tells me. “They were the winners of the charity fundraiser’s silent auction we held toward the beginning of the season. They’ll be joining us for this road trip.”
Fuck.I completely forgot we were going to have guests with us on this trip and I’m in no shape to be seen by fans.
“Of course.” I find my most convincing smile. “Welcome. I hope you have a great time with us.”
They beam up at me, thanking me for allowing them to join, and expressing their excitement to see the behind the scenes of team travel.
I don’t have it in me to tell them I completely forgot they were coming, but they also donated a ton of money to Chicago’s public school system in exchange for this trip, so the least I can do is give up my seat on the plane for the week.
Emmett stands from his seat, the one that’s directly in front of my usual place on the plane, and for the first time today I make eye contact with him.
It’s shocking to me how centered I feel when he’s around now. A bit more confident too, like I have a partner in this mess. Yes, it’s just a work-related partnership, but it’s nice being part of a “we.”
I don’t know if I’ve ever been part of a “we.” It’s becoming more and more evident that my previous marriage wasn’t a partnership at all, and with Emmett... at least I know that even if every other person in Chicago hates me, he doesn’t.
“Saved you a seat,” he says, brown eyes equal parts soft as they are concerned. “Window okay?”
I nod, thankful that I have a place to hide away from everyone’s attention. “Thank you.”
