Holy shit, escalator god is Ronan Sinclair.
The first baseman from Ontario caught my eye a few years ago when I was on the field coordinating interviews after a game. Even from a distance, his good looks were noticeable. Especially in tight baseball pants. Not to mention the way he was kind, humble, and respectful toward the media and support staff.
Knowing that my escalator god is a baseball player makes things both easier and harder for me.
I might not see him again today, but I will undoubtedly see him during the season, and now I have to make myself forget the way he made my mouth water with nothing more than an upturn of his lips.
There’s an unspoken rule about dating baseball players. As in,don’t do it.And I take that rule very seriously.With my uncle Mike — my dad’s best friend — owning the team that employs me, it would be beyond stupid to mix work and pleasure when I already have to prove I’m more than a nepo hire. I want to be known for my work, not for who I’m related to or who I’m dating.
In an effort to distract myself from the fantasies I really shouldn’t be having about the man, I stupidly open my email. Rookie mistake when I want to be in vacation mode, not work mode. Because even with the out-of-office turned on, there’s one waiting from my boss, Lydia.
Guilt instantly hits me when I mentally groan seeing her name. When I started at the Tridents, Lydia took me under her wing, mentored me, and helped me get to where I am today.
Here's the thing, though. Lydia’s demanding on a good day, insufferable on a bad one. She might have been a powerhouse in the media relations field once upon a time, but these days she seems content to let the rest of us do the work and she just takes the credit. She puts a lot of pressure on me and everyone else. Everyonebutherselfthese days. Tori has tried to tell me before that Lydia’s not giving me enough credit for what I do, but as much as I love my bestie, she doesn’t get it. If I want to prove myself as more than just a nepotism hire, I have to bust my ass.
And kiss Lydia’s.
Right now, it’s even more important I work hard. Because Lydia’s retiring this season, and I want a shot at her job. That doesn’t mean I want to see an email from her as I wait for my plane with the subject line “URGENT” in all capital letters. Dread filling me, I open the email.
From: [email protected]
Willow,
Where are the videos of the players’ final interviews? They need to be uploaded to the website and I don’t have the files on my computer.
Call me immediately.
Lydia
Thank fuck. Not urgent at all. Because it was done a week ago. Which she would know if she read the email update I sent her last night as a handover before my trip. It takes me two minutes to type out a reply. And that includes the time to remember I have to be respectful and not come off as annoyed.
From: [email protected]
Lydia,
The videos were uploaded along with transcripts of the interviews to the website the day after the game. The web team notified me they emailed you the files and links on Monday. You should be able to view them right now.
Just to remind you, I will be unavailable for the next seven days, but the document I sent over last night summarizes my wrap-up of all necessary projects, and Sheena is on hand to answer urgent questions.
See you in a week,
Willow
I hit send and immediately close my email. Won’t be making the mistake of opening that up again for a week. Vacation-mode Willow is officially turned on.
A short while later, I’m settled in my first-class window seat and pulling out my e-reader that’s stocked with all the books I haven’t had time to read these last few months. While the rest of the plane boards, I lose myself in the science fiction saga I’ve been dying to start. The vivid storytelling sucks me in immediately, and I don’t even notice someone sitting down in the seat beside me until the husky rumble of a voice stirs something deep inside of me.
“Seems you are going my way, after all.”
I look up. And into the azure blue eyes of my against-the-rules escalator god.
Chapter two
Ronan
