Chapter 3 #2
Don’t get me wrong, those aren’t unprofessional in the slightest. They just make her stand out a bit from the twenty-nine old guys who run the other teams in the league.
“Of course, there are a few small things we haven’t entirely aligned on, but that’s what communication is for. We both want what’s best for the team, and any decisions we make are with that sole focus in mind.”
Polished, professional bullshit.
I don’t think I’d refer to firing someone from my staff as a “small thing.”
With my turn to answer, I lean in closer to the mics. “This is Reese’s team.”
I can sense that most everyone is waiting for me to elaborate my answer, including her. But adding “our communication consists of her not listening to me” or “she does whatever what she wants” isn’t exactly something I want to air out to the world, regardless of how pissed off and childish I feel.
But I’m also not going to lie by saying some shit about how we’re a team and we’re doing this together, so I sit back in my seat to signal that I’m finished with my answer.
Reese’s face is etched in stone, unimpressed with my response.
“Okay then.” The coordinator selects another raised hand.
“Yeah, this question is also for both of you. How do you feel the transition has been going so far? Reese, with you working so closely with an experienced and winning field manager. And Monty, for you working under someone other than Arthur Remington for the first time in your career.”
Again, I look to Reese to answer first.
Reese gives a slight nod of her head. “It’s still new. The season started only a week ago, but I look forward to working together this year. Emmett is well-loved so I’m eager to learn why that is.”
Reese glances my way, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.
All eyes turn my way and if Reese wants to play, we can fucking play. “Well, it may be new but I’m quickly learning that she’s the boss, so whatever she says goes, right?”
There’s a hum of laughter among the reporters and I allow my attention to drift over to Reese. The stoic princess cracks a bit, blinking quickly and swallowing hard, before resetting into her pristine posture.
Now I’m the one wearing a shit-eating grin.
“A bit different being bossed around by a woman, huh?” another reporter chimes in, the crowd continuing to chuckle along, and that instantly grabs my attention.
I dart my focus into the group of reporters, looking for who the hell just said that.
And that’s when I realize what’s going on. That’s why they’re all here.
This massive press conference is not because the Windy City Warriors have a new president. It’s because that president is a woman.
That thought didn’t even cross my mind, that her gender was the reason for this circus.
What a stupid fucking thing to focus on. If Reese were a man, I’d be equally pissed off about the shit they pulled today.
“Who said that?” I ask. “The ‘being bossed around by a woman’ comment.”
A reporter raises his hand, and I instantly recognize him. I recognize all these reporters from various media coverages over the years.
It’s one thing for me to give her shit because she can give it right back, but no one else here is allowed to make Reese uncomfortable in her position.
I focus on him, my tone sharp. “To make it clear, the original question was how I feel about working under someone other than Arthur Remington for the first time in my career. It was not ‘how do I feel about working under a woman.’ I think you all know I raised a daughter, so don’t ever say some stupid shit like that to me again. ”
Reese offers me the smallest, almost undetectable but grateful smile aimed in my direction.
Fuck it. It may feel like we’re on opposite teams most of the time, but when it comes down to it, we’re on the same one.
The press conference continues.
“Reese, as you know, there’s not many women in baseball, and there’s never been one in your position of power. Do you feel like you’re in over your head with this new role?”
I’m still fired up and about to speak into the microphone for her when Reese does so first.
“I’m not sure that your first statement has anything to do with your question,” Reese says, completely composed. “Do I feel like I’m in over my head? No. Do I feel prepared with an extensive background and knowledge in both business and baseball? Yes. Next question.”
Another reporter is called on.
“Yeah, this one is for Reese. What would you say to all the Warriors fans, and, well, most of the league, who don’t believe you’re the right man for the job?”
What the hell?
Again, she stays entirely undeterred. “I would tell them that they’re right. I’m not the right man for the job. I’m the right woman. Next question.”
I can’t contain the laugh that charges out of me. Lifting my hat, I run a hand through my hair before replacing it. Then cross my arms over my chest and let the cameras pick up on the proud smile on my face.
“Reese, you don’t have children or a spouse right now, but if that changes in the future, are you concerned about how you’d be able to balance your homelife and your career?”
Fucking hell.
I sit forward again, about to lay into this guy, when Reese puts a hand on my thigh to stop me. It’s done so under the table so no one can see.
Light-pink painted nails, slender fingers, and a simple gold pinky ring. A complete contrast to my inked hand that’s resting next to hers on my thigh.
Eyes finding hers, I settle back into my seat and allow her to answer for herself.
“It’s Frank, right?” she asks the reporter. He nods in confirmation. “Frank, have you ever asked any of the other twenty-nine owners that question?”
He stays silent for a moment and not because he’s trying to remember, but because he knows he’s about to get called out.
“Have you ever asked any one of the players in the league who are fathers and husbands that question? Have you ever wondered how they’re able to have kids and still go to work? I didn’t think so. Next question.”
“Last question,” I cut in. “Because these ones have been awfully predictable.”
Another reporter is called on. I believe her name is Kelly. She works for one of the major networks and has covered quite a few of our games over the years.
“Hi, Monty.” She smiles at me. “I’ll make this one less predictable for you. You’ve been in Chicago for quite some time now, and I’ll be in town soon to cover a few Warriors’ games. Do you have a favorite restaurant I should try?”
“Oh yeah, loads of them. I’m not much of a cook, so I’m a regular in the Chicago restaurant scene. I’ll uh . . . get someone from our front office to email you a few recommendations.”
“And these recommendations, would they be okay for someone to go alone, or is it best if I book for two? Because I’ll be alone when I go.”
“Jesus,” Reese mutters under her breath.
“Um, well, most have nice bars you can sit at. I typically go eat by myself.”
Kelly nods, still smiling my way. “Well, maybe you won’t have to when I’m in town.”
“Okay.” Reese stands from her seat. “That’s all for tonight. I hope everyone has a safe trip home. Thank you for your time.”
I’m out of my seat too, chasing after her, but she’s quick in those heels.
“Reese,” I call out, jogging to catch up to her, but then slow to a speed walk to stay at her side. “Are you all right? Those questions were inappropriate.”
“Yeah. They were. Especially the last one.”
I grab her arm to stop her because I didn’t expect to be getting my cardio in by sprinting through the visiting clubhouse.
She reluctantly turns my way and takes even more time to look up and meet my eye.
“Kelly?” I ask. “That was the question you felt was inappropriate?”
“Emmett, she was hitting on you.”
Was she? I’ve been out of the game so long I didn’t even notice.
My face must say exactly that.
“Seriously?” Reese asks, unimpressed. “You didn’t pick up on that?”
“You seem awfully bothered about it.”
She breathes a disbelieving laugh. “I could not care less. I would just prefer it if you didn’t use our place of work as your own personal dating pool.”
My smile only grows as I look down at her. The polished princess is flustered right now.
“Stop smiling at me like that,” she huffs, walking away while I stay cemented in place, watching her go. “I’ll see you on the airplane in the morning.”
There’s too much satisfaction in my tone, my cheeks a bit sore from grinning like a fucking idiot. “Have a good night, Reese.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” she calls back.
I burst a laugh. Maybe this sparring thing isn’t so bad.