“Shh.” Sheila patted her hand through the air. Even with the door mostly shut, they had to talk in quiet voices. “I don’t know that.”
“But she said she wanted to quit?”
“She’s thinking about it.”
“I can’t imagine this place without her. I mean, I know she’s only been here a season, but she’s done so much good.”
Sheila stared at the framed picture of the field on her wall. She’d taken the image on her first day of work and had it blown up to hang behind her desk. The grass was bright green against the red cliff that served as the out-of-bounds marker for right field. To her, it was simply beautiful—a combination of nature and history. No other sport had its roots sunk so deeply in American soil. “What’s going to happen to the players if she sells? Or worse, closes down? Where would they go?” Brock would do everything he could to find a place on another team. Which would mean a different city, one far away. She squirmed, not liking the thought of him leaving at all.
Ashley waved her hand in front of Sheila’s face bringing Sheila out of her fog. “Hello? What about us? There are 25 players in the locker room, and there’s over 250 employees in the front office. If this team shuts down, we’re toast.”
Sheila sat up taller. “That’s why we’re not going to let that happen. Let’s look at trimming the budget.”
Ashley shook her head. “We’re already operating on Sheila’s patented under-budget program.”
Shoot. She had made sure they spent ten percent less than they were allotted in case there were unforeseen expenses.
A knock sounded at the partially closed door. Jerry, the resident computer geek, stuck his head in. His hair stood up all over, like he’d grabbed on to it and tugged all morning. His glasses were smudged and his pants were wrinkled. “The votes are in.” He stuck his arm through the space, proffering a file folder that looked like it had been run over.
Sheila reached for it, eagerly. “You can come in,” she told him. He’d obviously spent a lot of time on this project that she’d thrown at him out of the blue.
His eyes scanned the space, bouncing over her and Ashley as if they were hairy spiders that might jump out and bite him. “I gotta go.” He yanked his head back through the space and disappeared.
Sheila rounded on Ashley. “We owe him doughnuts.”
Ashley wrinkled her nose. “I think we scare him.”
Sheila giggled. “Probably. But that’s okay. He’ll warm up to us eventually.” She sat behind her desk and wrote a note to remind herself to get a thank-you for Jerry. “Okay, are you ready for the big reveal?” Her hand hovered over the file. “This feels so big.” Her eyes darted to the door. Julia might be able to hear them, and she loved to get the scoop out there on social media.
Julia wouldn’t blow this for them, would she? She’d been the first one to post a pic of Harper and Coach Wolfe when they were in the middle of hiring Coach—all without Harper’s permission. She’d also publicized pics of some of the groupies plastered against a few married players that hadn’t gone over well with their wives. Her defense was that big boobs sell tickets. Harper put a stop to that kind of marketing, but Julia had a reputation of posting what she thought would bring in the most likes and then ask forgiveness later.
They had a whole big reveal planned for the first audition, and only a handful of people, including Sheila and Ashley, were allowed to know the results beforehand. The graphic artist was sworn to secrecy, and the guy who programmed the Jumbotron was in on it too. Letting the cat out of the bag early would spoil the moment.
Sheila motioned for Ashley to come closer.
Ashley glanced over her shoulder before hurrying around the desk so she could see the paper too.
“One. Two. Three.” Sheila flipped open the folder, and they both leaned in to read the results. “Eagles!” She threw her hands in the air. “We’re the St. George Eagles!” Her loud whisper was too much, and Ashley shushed her.
“I’m not going to lie; I’m glad we’re not the bobcats.” Ashley fanned her face.
Sheila laughed happily, a sense of relief washing over her. “Or the blobfish?”
“Right?” Ashley went back to her desk and took a seat. “I’m sending the art sheets to the high schools now.” She began typing. They were sponsoring an art contest to involve the local teens. The students could submit designs for the costume. They wanted the kids who were going to enter to want to be in the stands when they announced what type of animal costume they would need to draw. The three possibilities were out there now, so students could sketch ideas before they needed to get serious about their entry. The winning design would be sent to brand development, who would actually create the costume, and the student would win season tickets. There were so many levels to this campaign that it made Sheila’s head hurt. No wonder she had sticky notes on every surface in her office.
“I’m sending the email to Ronda and Guy,” Sheila told Ashley so she could cross it off their list. Ronda was the graphic designer. She was the one who would work up the tee shirts, hats, and other gear. Guy had to put together the stuff for the Jumbotron, and the two of them would confer to accomplish their goals.
They spent the next thirty minutes frantically making a dent in their workload.
Ashley hit send and swung around in her chair. “What about the budget? Any ideas?”
Sheila stood up and began to pace, snapping her fingers as if she were conjuring ideas. The idea that they could reduce how much they spent was stuck in her head. “Think … think … where can reduce our spending?”
“We need to expand our reach. Bring in people from Nevada. The more we draw in for the competition, the better,” Ashley offered.
Sheila nodded.More money. We need money and reach.She glanced around the room. There was a key chain from the car dealership who was the “official dealership of the Redrocks” sitting on the edge of her desk. There was a mug from the burger place that plastered images of their double-decker with cheese all over the stadium when a home run left the park. Her shoes suddenly grabbed the carpet. “A sponsor.” The word came out like a balloon filled with helium. It floated out of her, dancing through the air.
“A sponsor?” Ashley repeated it, tested it.
