But it never could have been someone else, could it?
It was always going to be Emmett. We were two people who were lonelier than we realized and only found each other because we had the same hiding place.
It only makes sense that the person I fell for is the manager who spends as much time at the field as I do. Who loves the team the same way I do, even if I didn’t want to admit it initially.
The players are off today, no doubt still recovering from last night’s wedding. But I have too many meetings ahead of me to do the same. The top floor is full. All of the front-office staff is working today. I offer a few smiles and waves as I pass by their office windows, headed for mine.
I’d find the skip in my step to be a bit annoying if I were watching me strut down the hall. But I can’t help it. Life is good.
Stopping by the coffee station, I pour myself a cup before adding a splash of cream. Then I take a brown sugar cube from the small glass jar and plop it in my mug. Brown sugar cubeswere an addition I found here one morning a few days after my grandfather’s retirement party. No doubt Emmett’s doing.
With my mug in hand, I turn in for my office, coming face-to-face with the empty receptionist desk just outside my door.
The interviews I conducted for a new receptionist were promising. There were some good candidates. Some great ones, even. But I didn’t have it in me to hire someone. I know I should. I know I technically need one, but there’s something about having an open door this season that I’ve enjoyed.
I enjoy that players can come to me if they need something.
I enjoy that the staff can come directly to me with any concerns they may have.
And I enjoy that Emmett can get to me anytime he wants.
I don’t know. Maybe I won’t hire anyone. Maybe the door will remain open for the rest of my time here.
But that notion flies right out of the window when I step into my office and find Scott sitting in a chair opposite my desk, his back to me, looking out my view.
Sure, I have a lineup of meetings today, but none of them are with him.
“Scott?” I ask, rounding my desk and placing my mug on the coaster I leave next to my computer.
“Reese.”
“I don’t have you on my schedule, and I don’t have extra time today.”
“If I were you, I’d make time for this conversation.”
My senses go on high alert, prickling my skin uncomfortably.
“What can I help you with?” I ask.
And why were you in my office without me?
I don’t look at him, firing up my computer and focusing on a few emails I need to reply to. Trying my best to not let his presence throw me off.
Out of my periphery, I watch the smug bastard lean back in the chair, stretching his legs out and crossing his hands over his stomach. “You can help me by involving me in the team as I’ve been requesting all year.”
I roll my eyes, but they’re locked on the computer screen. “We’ve discussed this, Scott. You’re involved with the advisory board, but I’ve taken over the baseball operations for the club. I’m glad you were able to help my grandfather when he needed it, but I do not need that same help.”
The truth is, he didn’t help my grandfather. He made slimy moves that pushed us into debt, knowing my grandfather was too tired to notice. But I don’t have the energy to explain all that today. I don’t owe him an explanation anyway.
Scott, as well as the rest of the advisory board, are compensated well for their advice. Even the ill-intentioned advice that’s delivered in a disrespectful manner. I’ve kept them on as a courtesy to my grandfather and because it felt like the right thing to do when I took over this role. I was new. I wanted to learn. But they haven’t wanted to teach me anything. They’ve wanted me to fail.
Or in this case, they’ve wanted my job.
“You see, about that.” Scott sits forward. “I don’t just want to help. I want the title I deserve after all the years of work I put in with Arthur. I want you to name me President of Baseball Operations.”
I don’t even look in his direction. “No.”
“You’re unqualified, Reese.”
