Love from Left Field (10 page)

She laid the papers down. “So, bottom line it for me. Who do you recommend?”

Four sets of eyes blinked at her for a moment, then three voices started speaking at once. Of course, it was too much to hope for consensus. She held up her hand, already wishing for aspirin.

“Okay, let’s start on our options. Moreno, current catcher. Knows the team and our way of doing things.”

“I vote for him. He’s been working with these guys and knows the team.” Sam Monteleone’s voice shot out from the speakerphone, shouting as if he wanted to be heard from Florida spring training.

“He’s been struggling with passed balls all spring, Sam. Can his knees really handle the whole season?” Cole countered, eyes scanning a document in front of him. “We want more ground balls which mean lower pitches and possibly more movement, leading to more passed balls.”

“His pitch framing is on the low end, not stealing pitches for our guys. With lower pitches, we’ll need strong framing.” One of the stats guys spoke and the other nodded. “We recommend Prosser.”

“Prosser?” Sam snapped, scorn evident in his voice. “He’s a backup in Minnesota. We already discarded him weeks ago.”

“My father discarded him. I didn’t. Make the case.” She pointed to the stats duo.

“Excellent framing. Used to ground ball pitchers and even knuckle ballers. Guided a couple of young guys in Minnesota.”

“And cheap. Minnesota can’t keep him past this year and they know it. He’s too good for back up and they have a young guy in front of him and behind him. He doesn’t fit their model and they have needs.” Cole spoke up while Sam snorted.

“Can we fill their needs?” She asked.

Cole shrugged. “Depends what we’re willing to give up. They’d like Moreno, believe it or not. He can play first and DH for them. We don’t need a DH in the National League, not often enough at least.”

“Why isn’t Moreno our first baseman?” Miranda asked, trying to follow the conversation.

“Because we have Lockhart.” Sam’s voice exploded. “We decided all of this weeks ago, with your father. Why are we rehashing everything?”

She’d found her first opponent. The one guy she needed on her side to make everything work. If he wasn’t open to new players, would he be open to a new style of play? Doubtful.

She leaned towards the phone, lowering her voice to a more soothing tone. “Sam, we need a new catcher. I agree that Lockhart will probably be fine at first but Moreno just can’t handle the rigors of the season anymore and he’s not connecting with our pitching staff. We need to change some things around to get wins. We can’t sign big names, not that there are too many out there right now and we don’t have the farm system to trade for them. Minnesota might be willing to talk.”

“Who are you thinking of giving up? I don’t think they’ll accept Moreno alone.” Cole asked.

“Moreno and Hardesty,” Miranda replied.

“Hardesty? He’s our middle relief guy, more innings than anyone last season,” Sam yelled.

“And he gave up more fly balls and homeruns than any other middle relief. We want to focus on more ground balls this season, keeping the ball in the park and lowering the big innings.” Cole added his support with a quick glance at Miranda.

Lucas, meanwhile, observed the whole process, not saying anything, not revealing his thoughts. He leaned to one side, idly tapping a finger on the table. His intense stare penetrated Miranda’s calm and she shifted in her seat. Now he was quiet, after poking his nose into every other discussion? What was holding him back now?

“This is bullshit. You’re taking away everyone on my team. How do you expect me to win with this team?” Sam bellowed.

Jason finally leaned forward. “I have reservations too, Sam. But, we can’t keep playing the old way. Almost every other team has moved into this new model, and those that haven’t adapted haven’t made it to the playoffs. Clearly, there’s something to this. Maybe we should give it a chance?”

“Et tu, Jason?” Sam replied bitterly. “How will we win games without middle relief? None of the other guys are strong enough to pitch every day.”

“Then we rotate them,” one of the stats guys replied. “This spreads out the work, evens out the risk, and lowers our chances of injury.”

“So now we’re taking direction from a group of bean counters?” Sam sighed. “Fire me now because I can’t win this way.”

Miranda opened her mouth to respond but the dial tone stopped her. She narrowed her gaze at the phone, suppressing the flash of anger at Sam’s blatant disrespect for her, something he would have never done if it had been her father sitting here. Mentally she counted to ten, then ten again before raising her eyes. The two stats guys leaned together and spoke in rapid whispers, apprehension clear on their faces.

Miranda sighed heavily and looked at Cole. “I’ll deal with Sam later. Cole, Jason. What are your thoughts?”

“This was my proposal a few years ago. I’m on board, although I have doubts that it can really affect our bottom line as quickly as we need to.”

“I’m concerned that we’ll cause more problems by not implementing this right because we don’t have time.” Jason said, resignation in his voice and slumped shoulders.

“Lucas?” Miranda caught the flash of irritation that crossed Cole’s face. “What are your thoughts?”

Lucas stared at the table, seeming to ignore everyone in the room. Finally, he straightened and turned abruptly into the sharp businessman she had expected. “I think you need to make changes. You can’t remain stagnant. You need new blood on the team and make it look like you’re trying. Not making any moves when everyone knows your team is weak only discourages your fans and makes it harder to win them back. So make a goddamn decision and stick with it.”

The last words were gritted out between clenched teeth, although Lucas’s face remained otherwise calm, only his eyes betrayed the frustration. The rest of the group sat in the silence, stunned.

Miranda finally cleared her throat. “Will everyone leave the room, please?”

Slowly, everyone filed out, even Cole who looked questioningly at her. She avoided his gaze and remained fixed on Lucas.

When the door finally closed, he shrugged. “I won’t apologize for saying what was necessary.”

“How was that remotely helpful?”

“You’re sitting here asking everyone for their opinions, but you need action. You’ve been circling the drain, trying to make everyone happy, even your father, and it won’t work. Either take command of this team or watch it fail.”

“Here I thought you wouldn’t want me to do anything, conserve money, be safe.”

He leaned forward, eyes boring into hers. “You have an MBA. You’re smart. What do you think you should do? What are you so goddamn afraid of?”

She nibbled her lower lip, answers to that one question eluding her. Her brain was stuffed with her father’s thoughts, her advisors’ recommendations, and even the shock jocks on sports radio. But what she did want to do? For so long, she had been trying to please her father, get his attention, make him happy. Now, he was out of commission and it was up to her to save his team, only what she had to do might actually be the direct opposite of what he wanted. It was so much easier when dealing with the day-to-day operations. None of that played out on the front page of the newspapers or radio programs for all of the fans who considered themselves bench coaches after the fact. And, to be honest, her father never really cared about that side of the business as much as on the field.

Lucas snorted and stood, walking around the table to brace his hands on the arms of the chair where she sat, pinning her in place. “You’re afraid, Miranda. You’re scared you’ll be wrong and the fans will rip you to shreds. Well, guess what, sweetheart, you’ll never make everyone happy. Someone is going to be pissed off at your decision. They’ll be pissed if you don’t make a decision. So, you can’t win. Accept it and move on. Or give up the damn team and save us all the trouble of trying to salvage it.”

He pushed off her chair and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Miranda flinched at the loud noise, stunned at his harsh words. She lowered her head into her hands. Was he right? Was she afraid? Most of the old-time baseball guys working for her father barely tolerated her, sounding like Sam and his accusations. Her father had his own plans and her ideas were a direct counterpoint to what he wanted. Her loyalties were torn – the team who needed something to revitalize them and her father, a man who was too stubborn to change his point of view.

As team president, she had a responsibility to the team, the employees, and the fans. As a daughter, she owed her father her loyalty, not to mention the fact that he was her boss. But what to do when her boss’s ideas no longer benefit the team? Where does that leave her?

She restlessly tapped her pen against the wood of the conference table, the tapping keeping time with the thoughts whirling in her brain. Lucas was right about one thing. It was time to shit or get off the pot.

*

A few hours
later, Miranda looked up at a knock on her door. Lucas stood framed in the open doorway, one eyebrow arched.

“Working late? Not going up to the hospital?”

She shook her head. “My father is in the cardiac unit now, not in ICU. Mom thought it would be less stressful if I didn’t stop by so often.”

“Less stressful for whom?” He stepped further in the room to stand in front of her desk, hands buried in his pants pockets.

“I thought my father, but now I think it was more for me.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the back of the chair. “I think my mother knew I couldn’t do what I had to if I was running to report to him on everything. And she knows that we have to do things differently and my father will be furious.”

He sat on the edge of the desk, leaning one arm on his thigh. “So what are you going to do?”

“Fake it until I make it.” She laughed, a mirthless sound. “I authorized the trade for Prosser today. You were right. I was waffling, trying to please everyone. When my father comes back, he might fire me. But I did what I thought was best for the team.”

He stood. “Good. Stick to your guns, Miranda. If Seamus can’t see the value, then shame on him.”

She glared at him. “I could have used some support in the meeting today, you know.”

“I’m sure you could have. But if I had stepped in and made the decision, it would have weakened you, leaving you in exactly the same position you were in before. You need to take charge and make the team your own.” His words were matter of fact, spoken without emotion.

“So you were helping me? Thanks, I think.”

He grinned at her disgruntled tone then held out his hand. “Look, it’s late and we’re both tired. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten since lunch.”

At his words, her stomach rumbled loudly, as if viscerally responding to his comment. She pressed a hand to her stomach and grinned. “Try breakfast.”

He shook his head. “Well, this team can’t have another one of their leaders down for the count. Come on. Let’s get some dinner.”

She arched her eyebrow. “Together?”

He shrugged. “We need to eat. And I hate eating alone.”

“I would’ve thought you’d be used to that by now, with your consulting business with different teams.”

“Doesn’t mean I like it. What do you say? Afraid to be seen with me? Afraid your hormones will overcome you and you’ll make a pass for me? Have dinner with me and I’ll forget all about you making a trade without my approval.”

She laughed. “You wish, Wainright. Give me a minute.”

She shut down her laptop and locked it in the desk. For one night, she would go out and enjoy herself, not checking in on work, except maybe on her phone for any trade updates. The deal wasn’t quite final and she might have to authorize other details before Cole could make the trade. But first, she’d enjoy her night and not think about how long it had been since her last date.

Not that this was a date.

*

Lucas steered Miranda
to the elevator and into the employee parking garage, his hand on the small of her back, branding her with heat. She started towards her parking space but he guided her left and his car.