“You mean in baseball? No. We met years ago when he was doing data and analytics for the MLB and living in San Francisco. I was finishing my MBA at the time. But maybe you already know that. I don’t know what you know.”
“I don’t know much, Reese. I think that may be part of the issue with us. I don’t know much about you at all.” The server drops our drinks off. Emmett pushes my wine toward me. “But I’d like to.”
A warmth rushes my cheeks at the soft and sincere way he says that. Or maybe it’s the wine that’s making me hot. Who knows at this point. But I’m starting to understand how my grandfather had a hard time saying no to this man.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“Keeping your buzz going, so you keep talking to me. Oh, no. You caught me.”
“You’re doing a great job. Keep it up.”
I try to hide my smile behind my glass and watch one mirror on Emmett’s mouth as he brings his bourbon to his lips.
“We were married for three years,” I tell him.
“Amicable separation?”
I toss my head from side to side. “Once I came to terms with what our marriage was to him, then yes. He tried to take the team from me. It was easy to walk away after that.”
I take another sip of my wine. “I grew up around the clubhouse. I knew I was going to take it over one day. But my grandfather wasn’t going to just hand over the team without any experience. I had to get my MBA. Did that. I had to intern with the MLB, learning the baseball side of things. Did that. Started working for the San Francisco office, educating myself on the game from the numbers point of view. Did that. Met Jeremy there. Got married. He tried to take the team from me. That’s super fucked up, right?”
“Yeah, Reese. That’s super fucked up.”
“I mean, people can change their mind. It happens all the time. But the things he suddenly wanted came out of nowhere. He had never mentioned wanting any involvement in running the team, then all of a sudden, he wanted in on all of it. He assumed marrying into my family gave him that right. My grandfather was pissed. I was pissed. You’d be pissed too, right?”
He crosses his arms over his chest. “I’m currently pissed.”
I hesitate when I realize I’ve probably already said too much. “I don’t want to just sit here and shit on Jeremy.”
“Well, that’s too bad. Because I do.”
I huff a laugh. Okay. Maybe I do too. “He legally wanted fifty percent of the team ownership to be under his name.”
“Wow. He can go fuck himself for expecting that.”
“I know! Right? Fuck him!”
“Fuck him!” he echoes.
I sit back in my chair with a heavy sigh. “Emmett, I know you think I’m being careless with some of the decisions I’ve made, but I promise you, I’m just trying to do my best. You have no idea how desperate I am to do well.”
My field manager’s face softens with understanding.
“Is he who made you so nervous today? You seemed on edge all night, looking around.”
“Oh God.” I exhale a self-deprecating laugh. “You noticed that?”
He brings his bourbon to his lips, watching me from over the rim. “I had my eye on you most of the night.”
That heat rushes up my face again. And though I like the way those words sound coming from him, we both know that’s not what he means. He was simply trying to have my back tonight, the way I asked him to.
“One of Jeremy’s selling points for him taking over instead of me was the concern that if I were the face of the team, no one would give me the time of day. And today only proved that he was right. His theory was on full display for him to witness.”
“He wasn’t right.”
“Emmett—”
“He wasn’t right, Reese.” His words are laced with so much conviction evenIalmost believe them. “And I’m really fucking tired of people telling you that you can’t do this job.”
