I scroll down to read the comments on the post. Some of them are predictable, calling me names and claiming I’m trying to sleep my way to the top.
To the top of what, though? I’m already the sole owner of this entire baseball club.
A few comments call out the original poster for making it all up. A couple of comments reiterate how excited they are for a woman to oversee her own team. But there’s one comment that steals all my attention.
I heard she was married before and the guy only wifed her up so he could take part ownership of the team. Maybe Monty is doing the same kind of thing. He’s up for a new contract next year, so who can blame him for playing his cards right and having a bit of fun while doing it?
It takes everything in me to ignore that comment, but I won’t lie and say it doesn’t eat away at me. I can’t say I’m fully confident in my ability to read others’ intentions after what happened with Jeremy.
Do I believe Emmett is pretending to get close to me so that I won’t be able to let him leave for another team after the season ends? Do I think he’s lying about wanting to protect me just soI’ll keep him on my payroll? I don’t want to. I can’t imagine that’s the case, but again, I’ve been blinded before.
There’s a reason I swore off personal relationships when I took this job, and this right here is a prime example. I’m letting what I’ve learned about him cloud my business judgment.
I’m second-guessing myself.
I don’t have time to second-guess myself. The rest of the league is doing that enough for me already.
I need to refocus. No more getting distracted by good-looking men with sweet stories about why they love their players and family so much. I have too much on the line to lose sight of what my end goal is here, and that’s to make this baseball club the most successful it can be.
The last thing I need is headlines swirling with rumors about the team owner and field manager.
“Reese?”
Emmett’s voice pulls my attention up from my phone screen to find him standing in the dugout, directly in front of my secret spot. And while yes, this is technically the field manager’s spot, he’s off duty at the moment.
“What are you doing down here?” he asks.
“Nothing.” I quickly stand, locking my phone screen and slipping the device into the back pocket of my trousers. “Just leaving.”
“This is the second time I’ve found you in my spot. Are you waiting for me or something?”
There’s a playful smile on his lips and I can sense him gearing up for whatever quick retort I might come up with.
But I’m not doing that anymore.
“Have a good night, Emmett,” I say, turning to leave.
He gently grabs my arm to stop me, spinning me back in his direction. “Hey, everything okay?”
“I’m fine.” I steal my arm back, stepping a healthy distance away.
“Okay.” It comes out as more of a question. “I’ll see you on the plane in the morning, I guess.”
Because of course we’re heading on the road again tomorrow. Where we’ll be staying in the same hotel. Where more rumors can circulate.
I can’t avoid traveling for the entire season, but I can give it a pause to give whatever might be spreading online about us time to calm down.
“Actually, I’m going to stay back this time.”
“What?” His brow furrows. “Why?”
“Because I can watch the games from here and I need to be in my office this week.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, clearly taken aback by my sudden coldness toward him. “Okay. I’ll call you and bring you up to speed with anything you missed each night after the games.”
“I’d prefer it in an email.”
“An email.” He huffs a small disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever emailed you.”
