If that hit landed, Reese doesn’t let it show. She simply turns on her heels to leave. She doesn’t throw a fit. She doesn’t call me names. She just leaves.
But not before adding one more thing over her shoulder.
“Baseball is a business, Emmett. It’d be nice if you started viewing it that way.”
You’d think that winning this series would help my mood.
It hasn’t.
I’m still pissed. Even more pissed the longer I think about the fact that Reese fired one of my guys.
And now I have to sit in a press conference and pretend as if she and I have some cordial working relationship after she just did what she did.
Almost every major sports network is here, eager to cover this interview, which is a bit surprising. It’s a Friday night in Cleveland, Ohio. We’re being interviewed on the road. Both the NBA and the NHL are winding down their seasons, heading into playoffs. Shit, even the college basketball Final Four is this weekend, and yetthisis what they want covered?
Sure, it’s a big deal when one of the clubs gets a new baseball president, but I’ve never seen this much attention surrounding any previous transition.
“Should we get started?” Reese asks from the seat next to mine, countless microphones pointed in her direction.
Too many hands raise at once, but thankfully we have someone overseeing this conference who calls on the first reporter.
“Yeah, this one is for both of you. Have you two experienced any disagreements regarding the way you run the team, and if so, how has that been handled?”
I gesture for Reese to answer first because I can guarantee she’s not going to like mine.
She’s the picture of professionalism, sitting up straight, hands folded on the table in front of her. She’s even got that sharp blonde hair of hers covering the stacks of gold earrings that sparkle up the length of her ears.
Don’t get me wrong, those aren’t unprofessional in the slightest. They just make her stand out a bit from the twenty-nine old guys who run the other teams in the league.
“Of course, there are a few small things we haven’t entirely aligned on, but that’s what communication is for. We both want what’s best for the team, and any decisions we make are with that sole focus in mind.”
Polished, professional bullshit.
I don’t think I’d refer to firing someone from my staff as a “small thing.”
With my turn to answer, I lean in closer to the mics. “This is Reese’s team.”
I can sense that most everyone is waiting for me to elaborate my answer, including her. But adding “our communication consists of her not listening to me” or “she does whatever what she wants” isn’t exactly something I want to air out to the world, regardless of how pissed off and childish I feel.
But I’m also not going to lie by saying some shit about how we’re a team and we’re doing this together, so I sit back in my seat to signal that I’m finished with my answer.
Reese’s face is etched in stone, unimpressed with my response.
“Okay then.” The coordinator selects another raised hand.
“Yeah, this question is also for both of you. How do you feel the transition has been going so far? Reese, with you workingso closely with an experienced and winning field manager. And Monty, for you working under someone other than Arthur Remington for the first time in your career.”
Again, I look to Reese to answer first.
Reese gives a slight nod of her head. “It’s still new. The season started only a week ago, but I look forward to working together this year. Emmett is well-loved so I’m eager to learn why that is.”
Reese glances my way, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.
All eyes turn my way and if Reese wants to play, we can fucking play. “Well, it may be new but I’m quickly learning that she’s the boss, so whatever she says goes, right?”
There’s a hum of laughter among the reporters and I allow my attention to drift over to Reese. The stoic princess cracks a bit, blinking quickly and swallowing hard, before resetting into her pristine posture.
Now I’m the one wearing a shit-eating grin.
