Chapter 30
Reese
“All right, you two.” The photographer holds his camera up. “We need a photo. This will be frame-worthy. The previous team owner and the current one.”
I slip an arm around my grandfather as we pose together, getting our picture taken. Maybe it’ll be one that I’ll add to the walls during my own retirement party one day.
The photographer smiles at the screen on his camera. “Perfect.” Then he moves on to take more photos of more party guests, snapping his way through the venue.
I glance around the room again, taking it all in. “Denise did a hell of a job.”
My grandfather looks around with me.
We have an event space at the stadium, and it was only right that his retirement party took place here. So many of his previous players, coaches, and staff have shown up to help him bid farewell to this part of his life, and the whole night just feels really special.
One man’s entire life’s work in one room.
There’s a dance floor in the center and a live band on a small makeshift stage. Multiple open bars are set up along the perimeter of the space, and the remaining walls are covered in photo collages, showcasing all the previous teams and memories my grandfather has made in this exact building.
“This is really something, isn’t it, Reese’s Pieces?” His voice goes thick. “I can’t believe so many people showed up.”
His emotion is evident, but how could it not be? I gained my love of this game and this career choice from him. He was the embodiment of “choose a job you love, and you’ll never have to work a day in your life.”
I run a hand across his back. “You deserve for people to show up.”
I scan the room once again, recognizing so many faces from the past. And of course, plenty of ones from the present.
Our entire current roster is here, all suited up, because, like me, my grandfather enjoys the fancier parts of life.
The lighting is dim and moody. Cocktail tables are peppered throughout the space, as are plush couches for mingling. The food was divine, and it’s clear that no expense was spared.
It’s been special to spend tonight with my grandfather, but I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason I’ve been glued to his side. My self-control is utterly lacking as of late, so much so that I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t attach myself by a metaphorical leash.
My attention drifts to the dance floor, snagging on the source of my lack of restraint.
Emmett is wearing this sweet, almost wistful expression as he looks down at his daughter.
It’s a tender moment, the two of them dancing together, and I’m unable to tear my eyes away from him.
It’s been my issue all night. We’ve successfully avoided each other for hours, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t looked.
Miller says something to him that causes Emmett’s head to fall back in laughter and I can’t help but smile at his contagious joy. He looks good when he’s happy. He looks good, period.
“Arthur!” Scott calls out, drawing my attention away from the dance floor as he and the rest of the advisory board circle around my grandfather. “It is so good to see you. You’re looking great.”
My grandfather beams at the five men. “Thank you all so much for coming. It means so much to me.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Phil says.
“How have you all been? How’s it going with my Reese? Giving her some good advice, I hope.”
“Great advice.” Scott puts his hand on my grandfather’s shoulder in a chummy but slimy way. “Just waiting for her to take it.”
My attention drifts to Ed, and he meets my eye, telling me he’s thinking the same damn thing as me.
My grandfather looks around the group of men suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
“He’s kidding.” Phil laughs. “We’re glad to be working with her. She’s really . . . doing her own thing. Making this team hers.”
Again, Ed and I share a look, silently calling out that bullshit.
“As she should.” My grandfather beams with pride because he doesn’t pick up on the nuance of their statements.
He has no idea that four of the five members of his previous advisory board are furious with the direction I’m taking my team and think I should step down as Acting President of Baseball Operations.
I’m also not going to go run to him and tattle. I can handle myself just fine.
Ed gives me a squeeze on the arm as I excuse myself.
For the first time tonight, I’m alone without the safety net of company. I instantly feel the heat of Emmett’s attention, the same way I have most of the night. Glancing back in the direction of the dance floor, I find him and Miller walking off as the song ends.
But as I assumed, he’s watching me.
He looks stunning tonight. Fitted black suit, white shirt unbuttoned near his throat, and a perfectly trimmed beard leading to a bit of salt around his temples.
It’s not often I get to see him without his baseball hat, but it’s a lovely change to witness his face without the shadow of a brim covering it.
Then you add those black lines webbing over his hands, falling out past the cuffs of his suit and starkly contrasting the rest of his look tonight, and I’m just kind of done for.
His lips are a bit too full but perfect all the same, especially when they fight the smile he shouldn’t be sending me from across the room.
Emmett joins a group of his players, and I turn my attention back to the bar.
Grab a drink. Reattach myself to my grandfather. Those are the only two things I’m allowed to do.
“A glass of red, please,” I request from the bartender, and as he’s pouring it, my phone dings in my clutch.
Emmett’s name is on my screen with a message below it, but when I look for him over my shoulder, he’s mid-conversation with the guys on the team, standing around a cocktail table. No phone in sight.
Emmett: If I had it my way, you plus that dress would be the second-best thing I’d see today.
Honestly, screw the giddy, ridiculous smile on my lips. Something is truly wrong with me lately.
Me: What would be the first?
I press send and watch over my shoulder as he pulls his phone from his pocket and holds it under the table to read and reply while keeping it hidden from everyone else.
Emmett: You minus that dress.
This forty-something-year-old man has more game than anyone I’ve dated in the past. Confident and unapologetic all at the same time. And it just really does something to me. The way he’s both hard and soft. Grumpy yet a huge fucking flirt.
Again, I look over my shoulder at him, and this time, find his eyes already on me. They take their time slowly tracking down my length, outlining my dress while his bottom lip absent-mindedly slips between his teeth.
“Aww,” Miller coos, sliding into the space next to me at the bar.
I quickly pull my attention away from her father and focus on the glass of freshly poured wine in my hand.
“Mutual eye-fucking across the room. So cute.” She thinks about what she just said before she audibly gags next to me. “I cannot believe I just said eye-fucking in regard to my dad.”
Chuckling, I take a sip from my glass. “Sorry to break it to you, Miller, but your dad is very eye-fuckable.”
“Oh God. Not you too.” The look on her face is utter disgust before she rethinks that statement as well. “Actually, I take that back. You’re just about the only person I’m okay with saying that.”
I gesture to the bar. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“A beer would be life-changing at the moment.”
“Yeah, I bet it would be. I’ll happily buy you a beer once you push that baby out.”
“Fine. I’ll take a water. How boring.”
We’re shoulder to shoulder, saddled up to the crowded bar top, with our backs to the party. I’ve just asked for an ice water when Miller says, “My dad likes you,” quietly enough that only I can hear.
I swallow hard. “Yeah. I like him too. We work well together.”
“No. He likes you. In a way I’ve never seen before.”
I’m beyond tempted to get all schoolgirl on her with a, “you really think so?” but I restrain myself.
Emmett’s daughter was not the first person on my list I expected to discuss this with, and it would be so much safer for me if I could get back to my grandfather and spend the rest of the night trying to pretend that my field manager didn’t exist.
“We just . . .” I speak in a hushed tone, discreetly checking my surroundings. “It can’t be like that.”
“Why not?”
How do I even answer?
Sure, as the owner of this franchise, there’s nothing that would explicitly keep me from having a relationship with someone in my organization. But it’s not about some metaphorical rulebook. It’s about the way it would look. I’m his direct superior.
What would that do to my reputation? I’m still dealing with the mess that happened online this past week.
I can already see the headlines now about me being a woman and sleeping with someone on my staff.
Let alone just months after I took over the team.
The situation would be entirely twisted to fit a narrative, and I have a responsibility to other women who are trying to break into this industry to not give us a bad name.
I’m his boss. He’s up for a new contract. Who knows how messy that could get?
“Because . . .” Again, I hesitate. “I want to protect him. And myself too. He loves his job, I love my job, and he really loves you. He wants to stay in this city. He and I would just be . . . messy.”
“I think messy is worth it sometimes.” She mulls something over for a moment, taking a drink of her water. “I wouldn’t normally be this bold—”
I lift a brow in her direction.