Love from Left Field
A Knights of Passion Romance
Megan Ryder
Love from Left Field
Copyright © 2016 Megan Ryder
EPUB Edition
The Tule Publishing Group, LLC
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-945879-16-6
This book is dedicated to the MTBs – Jamie Beck, Regina Kyle, Tracy Costa, Katy Lee, Jamie Schmidt, Jen Moncuse, Gail Chianese – without whom I would have never gotten this book finished. You ladies supported me when I was lost in the weeds; set me on the right path when I wandered; and were a fabulous cheering section when I despaired. Thank you for always being there!
O
n any other
day, Miranda Callahan would have brushed off the threat being hurled at her through the phone like a fastball, high and tight. This was baseball, after all, a man’s game, and threats were as common as fly balls. But this wasn’t any ordinary day and it wasn’t any ordinary threat.
“You have no choice, Ms. Callahan. Our consultant will be there today.”
They were taking over her team. Coming in to tell her what to do. She’d had more than enough of that from her father, Seamus Callahan, Managing General Partner of the Georgia Knights and her boss. He’d watched his chance at the playoffs slip away last season and had told her she had one job this spring—
Get the Knights to the World Series.
She sighed and leaned back in her scarred leather chair. It protested with an ominous creak. “We don’t need a consultant, commissioner. And you have no right to take over our team like this.”
“I’m not taking over your team, just putting a consultant in place to assist you in getting back on your feet.”
“Tell that to Los Angeles, whom you took over and forced a sale. No thanks. We can handle our situation by ourselves.” She was proud that her voice was firm and resolute, even as she knew the truth.
“You’re very close to defaulting on your loans, including the ones major league baseball gave you. You’re a small market team acting like you’re in a big market, buying your way to playoffs, signing big names, gutting your farm system. You need to move into the new world of baseball. The old ways are done. You can’t compete. A consultant can help you.” Commissioner Roger Martinelli flatly laid out the situation facing the Knights, just as firm as she’d been. “And we have every right. There are plenty of teams who’ve needed our services, including Texas. You’re a franchise and the other owners have concerns about the financial stability of your team.”
He sighed and, when he spoke, his voice was gentler. “Ms. Callahan. Miranda. I know you understand this. I also appreciate your situation. As president of the team, you have a responsibility to the team and the shareholders. Your father is not managing the team responsibly.”
Her conviction wavered for a long moment. Other small market teams were having more success by building their teams differently, using unconventional statistics, and what was otherwise known as small ball. It hadn’t worked for everyone, but it was better than trying to compete with teams who had unlimited money and a willingness to spend it. Seamus Callahan had a willingness to spend the money, but that money was quickly becoming depleted, and with losing season after losing season, the fan base was also leaving. Even though the Knights made it to the playoffs last year, a feat no one had ever expected, it wasn’t enough for the fans to believe in them, or believe it could happen again. With several players leaving for free agency, they were relying on young, leaderless players and minor leaguers who they hoped were ready. They might be able to handle playing in the big leagues but they were not admired enough to draw the crowds. And once the fans abandoned the team, sponsors would leave, too.
It was a vicious cycle, one her father knew well. But they differed on how to overcome it. He wanted instant results, a big name to be an instant draw. That would be great, but one player would not be enough, and they had nothing to draw that player to Savannah. The team was projected back in the cellar; and the fans were streaming out, changing allegiance to the other Georgia team, whose name shall never be mentioned in the Knights offices. Not as long as Seamus could hear it.
Maybe a consultant would be a good idea, another point of view to convince her father the less expensive way could work. It had almost worked last year. If they had stayed the course with Cole Hammonds, their general manager’s, advice, maybe they would be doing better this season. But Seamus had gone back to his position and refused to make offers to some of the free agents and lowballed others. None of them wanted to deal with the cantankerous owner, so they left. Granted it was only a few positions to fill, but they were critical. First base. Catcher. Starting pitcher. Middle relief.
The last thing she needed was another finger in the pie. Based on the financials she had seen and their talent pool, she needed a miracle to fulfill her father’s demands. And if her father was unhappy, everyone was unhappy. Nobody wanted that.
“Miranda?”
She smothered her irritation at his use of her first name. He was trying to appeal to her. Again, she’d seen all of the tricks. Working for Seamus, she had been raised on the tricks. “Thank you, Commissioner Martinelli.” She put a slight emphasis on his title. “But I think we’ll be fine.”
“You mistake this conversation for a negotiation, Ms. Callahan. The decision has been made. Lucas Wainright will be there this afternoon, if he isn’t there already.”
Her blood froze in her veins. “Lucas Wainright?”
She could hear the frown in his voice. “Yes, I believe you know him. Wasn’t he from Savannah?”
Oh shit. Her father was going to have a stroke.
*
Her father might
not have had a stroke but it was a close call, judging by his red face and bluster. Miranda had consulted with legal and then headed to a meeting with her father and other player development staff, including Cole, the team manager, Sam Monteleone, from spring training in Florida, and Jason Friar, head of player development. Instead of discussing players, as intended, her father was raging against the injustice of the league and how they were out to get him. And she hadn’t even had a chance to tell him who had been assigned.
Lucas Wainright. While she wanted to believe the tingle that coursed through her at the mention of his name was irritation at having someone sent to second guess everything she did, deep inside, it was a lie. Fifteen years ago, Lucas had fueled many of her teen-aged fantasies, with his short, blond hair, deep blue eyes, and a body her then fourteen-year-old self could only dream about. It had been ten years or so since she’d last seen him. She wondered how he’d aged, if he’d married, what he would think of her.
Seamus’s hand slammed against the table, shaking her out of her thoughts. “I won’t let them steal my team.”
“They’re not trying to take away the team. They just want to help us. And we could use it.” Miranda held her breath.
She hated parroting the commissioner’s words but, honestly, he had a point.
Seamus snorted. “They fooled you, too. They’re not interested in helping us. They want to force me out and sell my team to someone else. They’ve done it before and will do it again.”
“You’re being paranoid. They can’t take that action without more evidence. But if we don’t work with them and our financial situation gets worse, we might not have a choice.” Cole leaned forward. “What can it hurt to work with them? They can’t control everything we do. We just play along, include their representative at times until they get tired.”
“Really? Do you honestly think they’re going to just get bored? They’re not toddlers.” Seamus snarled.
“We’re not saying that.” Miranda broke in. “Maybe just tone down your animosity. Try to get along.”
Cole was already shaking his head and Jason was smothering a laugh behind a strangled cough and a discreet sip of water.
Miranda shot them a dark look. “Not helping.”
Cole shrugged then a thoughtful look passed over his face. “Here’s a thought. I know you like to run everything, Mr. Callahan, but why not let Miranda liaise with the representative? She’s the president and handles most of the day-to-day operations. She could keep him mired in daily duties where he might be able to help. Baseball operations can stay as they are.”
Miranda stifled the flash of annoyance at the suggestion that, yet again, she should not be included in baseball operations, players, trades, and so on. After earning her MBA, Miranda had worked her way up through the organization. Partly out of love of the game, but mostly seeking her father’s approval, fruitless as that effort had proved to be. He’d hired her because she was his daughter, but he never gave her credit for understanding the game or industry as well as spreadsheets and budgets. To him, the “real” baseball stuff should be left to the men. He didn’t seem to notice how all the men had mucked it up, including himself.
Seamus’s eyes grew pensive. “That’s not a bad idea, Hammonds. I like it. Miranda, you’ll work with whomever they’re sending and we’ll get the team back on track. Perfect.” His hands clapped together once and everyone jumped. “Now, what about our catcher situation?”
