“A bit different being bossed around by a woman, huh?” another reporter chimes in, the crowd continuing to chuckle along, and that instantly grabs my attention.
I dart my focus into the group of reporters, looking for who the hell just said that.
And that’s when I realize what’s going on.That’swhy they’re all here.
This massive press conference is not because the Windy City Warriors have a new president. It’s because that president is awoman.
That thought didn’t even cross my mind, that her gender was the reason for this circus.
What a stupid fucking thing to focus on. If Reese were a man, I’d be equally pissed off about the shit they pulled today.
“Who said that?” I ask. “The ‘being bossed around by a woman’ comment.”
A reporter raises his hand, and I instantly recognize him. I recognize all these reporters from various media coverages over the years.
It’s one thing for me to give her shit because she can give it right back, but no one else here is allowed to make Reese uncomfortable in her position.
I focus on him, my tone sharp. “To make it clear, the original question was how I feel about working under someone other than Arthur Remington for the first time in my career. It was not ‘how do I feel about working under awoman.’ I think you all know I raised a daughter, so don’t ever say some stupid shit like that to me again.”
Reese offers me the smallest, almost undetectable but grateful smile aimed in my direction.
Fuck it. It may feel like we’re on opposite teams most of the time, but when it comes down to it, we’re on the same one.
The press conference continues.
“Reese, as you know, there’s not many women in baseball, and there’s never been one in your position of power. Do you feel like you’re in over your head with this new role?”
I’m still fired up and about to speak into the microphone for her when Reese does so first.
“I’m not sure that your first statement has anything to do with your question,” Reese says, completely composed. “Do I feel like I’m in over my head? No. Do I feel prepared with an extensive background and knowledge in both business and baseball? Yes. Next question.”
Another reporter is called on.
“Yeah, this one is for Reese. What would you say to all the Warriors fans, and, well, most of the league, who don’t believe you’re the right man for the job?”
What the hell?
Again, she stays entirely undeterred. “I would tell them that they’re right. I’m not the right man for the job. I’m the rightwoman. Next question.”
I can’t contain the laugh that charges out of me. Lifting my hat, I run a hand through my hair before replacing it. Then cross my arms over my chest and let the cameras pick up on the proud smile on my face.
“Reese, you don’t have children or a spouse right now, but if that changes in the future, are you concerned about how you’d be able to balance your homelife and your career?”
Fucking hell.
I sit forward again, about to lay into this guy, when Reese puts a hand on my thigh to stop me. It’s done so under the table so no one can see.
Light-pink painted nails, slender fingers, and a simple gold pinky ring. A complete contrast to my inked hand that’s resting next to hers on my thigh.
Eyes finding hers, I settle back into my seat and allow her to answer for herself.
“It’s Frank, right?” she asks the reporter. He nods in confirmation. “Frank, have you ever asked any of the other twenty-nine owners that question?”
He stays silent for a moment and not because he’s trying to remember, but because he knows he’s about to get called out.
“Have you ever asked any one of the players in the league who are fathers and husbands that question? Have you ever wondered how they’re able to have kids and still go to work? I didn’t think so. Next question.”
“Lastquestion,” I cut in. “Because these ones have been awfully predictable.”
