Chapter 2
MOLLY
Ever since I walked into the meeting with the managers and scouts last week, my job has gotten so much easier.
Suddenly, we’re making miracles happen. It’s all hands on deck for community outreach, and at every level, people who were reluctant to try some of my whackier ideas have suddenly come on board.
And thanks to some serious luck on social media, our mascot is having a Moment.
But the one get I really want, a big promo with the head coach himself, is proving elusive.
So I decide to ambush him. He’s the first person to the stadium most mornings, and the last to leave at night. Since I’m not a morning person, I stay late and wait until all the other coaches have left, then when he heads down the hall, I slide into his office and wait.
I’ve learned a lot about baseball in the last week.
I now know that the head coach is also called the team manager, which is separate from the General Manager, who runs the business side of the team.
Coach Rosehill manages the play on the field, so to speak.
I make a quick note to ask someone if play on the field sounds right to a baseball fan.
While I wait, I look at the photos on his wall. Three World Series wins. His career is so impressive, and he’s a fearsome man. So he might not like that I’ve snuck in here.
I’ll apologize as soon as he finds me, of course. But I have a sneaky suspicion that he’s the one who barked an order at the rest of the organization to help me out.
His assistant, Helen, won’t confirm or deny—she’s very loyal—but he has that vibe about him. All bark, no bite.
I giggle to myself as I twirl in his well-worn office chair. I wouldn’t mind a Jeff Rosehill bite, I gotta say. He looks like the kind of guy who knows how to bite just right.
“Something funny?”
I scream and throw myself out of the chair mid-spin at the sound of his deep, rich voice, stumbling a few steps before I straighten up and smooth my skirt down.
I dressed up for this meeting, and it won’t do to look messy.
Stand up straight, Molly. It’s fine, he won’t fire you. He can’t even fire you, he’s not your direct boss.
But he is the head coach. The manager of the team. His word has a lot of sway with HR, who I guess is who I would be fired by since we still don’t have a new PR director.
“Cat got your tongue?” He sighs and leans against the doorframe, and I jerk my attention to his face.
This is only my second time seeing him up close. In the last meeting, he looked tense.
Today, he looks tired.
Neither day he looked happy.
My heart beats faster, anxious desire rabbiting in my chest. What would it take to make him happy? I want to do that, whatever it is.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. A good start. “I wanted to catch you real quick to talk about a promo idea. And you’ve been hard to get a meeting with.”
“We’re a week away from spring training, Polly.”
“Molly.”
“Sorry.” He says it like he’s not, though. Like he couldn’t care less what my name is and I’m in his way.
Which is true, but he’s blocking the door, so he’s also in my way.
Instead of trying to push past him, I settle my hips against the edge of his desk.
His gaze drops to where my body is resting.
Heat ignites low in my belly, which is deeply inconvenient. He doesn’t even know my name. He doesn’t deserve an adoring crush, Molly.
But that stare is heavy, and it sucks all the oxygen out of his quiet office.
Nobody else is around. I knew he was working out in the gym, so I stayed late and waited for him to circle back to his office.
I’m committed to helping this man, even if he doesn’t want it.
“Mr. Rosehill—”
“Jeff.”
“Sorry?”
“My name is Jeff. Or Rosie, in certain situations.”
“This isn’t one of those situations.” It’s a guess, but I know I’m right.
“No.”
“I know I’m young, but I’m not inexperienced. I’ve worked in media and online marketing since my first year of college.”
“And how many years ago was that?”
“Four.”
“Okay, Millie. Listen, I’ve been a coach in this league for more than a decade.
I played for almost twenty years before that.
I’ve had all the ups and downs. I know you have some eager enthusiasm to get butts in seats, and there are a lot of people in the organization who can and will help you with that.
But my entire focus right now is on getting a team on the field who won’t embarrass those butts who do show up. So if you wouldn’t mind—”
“Molly,” I say gently. “Please don’t disrespect me by pretending you don’t know my name. You famously have the best memory in the league, so the first misnaming worked to put me on edge. The second one revealed itself, though.”
He swears under his breath. “Great. You’re fucking smart as well as being annoying.”
I smile. “I will take that as a compliment.”
That surprises him. He blinks and looks at me, really looks at me. And there’s something in his gaze, something I can’t name and don’t recognize exactly, but it feels … familiar. It feels like I should know what this is, this spark of recognition as he holds my attention.
Finally, he breaks the eye contact and scrubs his hands over his face. “What do you want, Molly Henderson?”
“I want you to marry Captain Citrus before the first spring training game.”