Chapter 5
The next day at work, Emmy joined her team in the conference room for a staff meeting with Director Allen. They were going
over a trade prospect analysis Emmy had put the finishing touches on the day before. With the trade deadline approaching,
she was buried and stressed about taking time off for her sister’s wedding.
Of course Piper decided to get married in July when the entirety of major-league baseball was hurtling toward career-changing
decisions backed by the data Emmy was personally responsible for analyzing.
She pushed thoughts of the wedding aside and focused on the task right in front of her. Unfortunately, Gabe Olson was also
right in front of her because he’d sat in the chair directly across the table from her. He wore a buttery yellow shirt today
that drew out the golden hue in his skin. He had a ballpark tan just like she did: arms, face, and neck a few shades darker
than everything else. But she fully suspected Gabe Olson was one solid shade of SoCal bronze under his shirt, probably from
jogging along the beach.
She nearly winced at the sudden image of Gabe Olson jogging shirtless and sweaty in the sand as it bounced through her mind.
Where did that come from? She shook it away and turned her attention to the front of the room where Director Allen stood. He was in his early
fifties, had a PhD in statistics, a neat part in his graying hair, and a pair of wire-framed glasses.
He stood in front of a data dashboard Emmy had built projected on a screen.
The dynamic visualization of numbers and charts was the end product of hundreds of thousands of data points the R coaches like him. He’d be a great addition in more ways than one. Management
should move on him if we want him.”
“Thanks, Olson,” Director Allen said. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Emmy squeezed the pen in her hand until the plastic whined in protest. She nearly snapped it. It was instance number ten thousand
where she and Gabe had said the same thing, and he’d gotten credit for it. Sometimes she wondered if she needed to light her
hair on fire or maybe stand up on the table and shout, because creating impeccable dashboards and being able to spew stats
like a fire hose wasn’t enough.
“How’s Hollander looking?” Director Allen asked about their own player they were considering trading.
Emmy jumped in before Gabe could speak again.
“Not great. He’s slashing one twenty-five, two fifty, and two hundred flat,” she said in reference to his batting average, on-base percentage, and slugging percentage, the three stats that told everything about a hitter.
“He’s put up three errors in ten games, and he—”
“Came in clutch last night.” Gabe cut her off again. “His double in the fifth scored the go-ahead run.”
Emmy gnashed her teeth, both that he’d interrupted her again and that he’d explained a fact she was well aware of. She’d seen
Hollander’s at bat with her own eyes at the game. “Sure, but that was a fluke. His averages tell a different story.”
Gabe dismissively shook his head. “This is just his pattern. He’ll bounce back. I suggest removing him from the list altogether.”
Emmy scoffed. “Seriously? He’s dead weight right now. Not producing at the plate, making errors in the field. If you ask me,
he should be first on the list.”
“I disagree,” Gabe said, and defiantly cocked his head. Their conversation had picked up a cadence like they were arguing
alone and not in a room full of their co-workers and higher-ups.
“Based on what?” Emmy said.
“A feeling.”
“A feeling ? Olson, you’re staring at the data, and you’re telling me you want to make this decision on a feeling ?”
“Yeah. And maybe if you’d ever been on the field, you’d feel it too.”
Emmy paused midbreath like he’d punched her. The room went painfully quiet. She was quickly reminded they weren’t alone. Everyone
was suddenly staring at her, her Only Girl status on full display.
So. He was going to play that card, then.
An awkward tension rippled around the room. Alice, Pedro, Silas, and the pair of analysts from the finance department uncomfortably
shifted in their chairs. Somehow, Emmy found the strength to maintain her composure. She cleared her throat.
“I may not have field experience like you do, but I understand that data don’t lie. If you want to make multimillion-dollar decisions based on feelings , go make movies.”
He stared back at her, and she swore she saw one corner of his mouth twitch up.
“Okay, well, there’s still time until the deadline, so we’ll see how his numbers move around,” Director Allen said. “Who’s
next?”
Emmy reluctantly broke her eye contact with Gabe, silently wishing she could channel the fury burning in her gut into melting
him with her gaze. She turned back to the dashboard. “O’Haron,” she said, and launched into his details.
The meeting followed a predictable pattern of numbers and stats being thrown around, names being moved up and down, Emmy emotionally
detaching herself from all of it rather than thinking about how decisions made in this small room could cause a whole family
to move across the country. But the players had signed up for it when they entered the league, so it was all part of the process.
By the end of it, Gabe had cut her off three more times. She knew by the depth of the indent in her hand from squeezing her
pen in angst. His all-time single-meeting record was six times, and that poor pen had snapped.
When the meeting was over, and everyone went to leave, they arrived at the door at the same moment. Gabe cast her a glance
and then stepped in front of her.
Emmy scoffed. “Cut me off every chance you get,” she muttered.
He heard her and turned back with a glower.
“You really are ruthless,” she muttered again.
He stopped walking, and she almost ran into his back. When he turned, his face was cool. “No, I’m committed. And I told you:
I don’t lose.”
She opened her mouth to snap back with some frosty retort, but Alice stepped into the hall and saw their standoff.
“Jameson, lunch?” she asked.
Whether Alice was throwing a desperate lifeline to save her or to prevent her from publicly tearing into her co-worker with a stream of obscenities worthy of an HR visit, Emmy couldn’t be sure. But she took the excuse to make an exit.
“Sure,” she said, and followed her toward her office. She brushed past Gabe and intentionally held her breath so as not to
inhale a waft of his cologne.
“Don’t let him get to you,” Alice said once they were inside her office. Emmy could hear echoes of Gabe making lunch plans
with Silas and Pedro out in the hall.
She was about to defend that no one was getting to her, but Alice saw right through the denial on her face. “Well, it’s hard
when he’s always doing it on purpose.”
“And that’s exactly why he does it. He knows it bothers you, so don’t let it. Or at least don’t let it show.” She looped her purse over her shoulder and dug around in
it for her sunglasses even though they were still underground. She put on the gold Gucci frames and looked like a total badass.
“How do you do that?” Emmy asked.
“What?”
“Not let anything get to you.”
Alice shrugged and headed for the door. “Years of practice. Eventually, you just realize stressing over it is not worth it.
Come on, I’m starving, and it smells like socks down here.”
Emmy followed her back into the hall where the men were still chatting by the conference room door. The director stepped out
and nodded at Gabe.
“Olson, a word?” He started down the hall in the opposite direction without waiting for Gabe to acknowledge, but of course
Gabe instantly cut off conversation and followed him. Emmy momentarily thought of running over and tripping him. Maybe letting
loose a bucket of baseballs on the floor to roll under his feet. Finding a bat to do some real damage.
Her facetious thoughts of sabotage made her hurry along to catch up with Alice going the other way though she longed to follow and hear what they were discussing. The director was probably inviting him for a round of golf to talk about the feeling he had about Hollander.
“Alice,” she hissed with a glance over her shoulder. “Are the rumors about Olson true? Did he actually get someone fired?”
Alice cast her a sideways glance. Her giant sunglasses blocked out her eyes and brows, but Emmy could tell she was frowning
at her. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
Emmy almost tripped. That was basically HR speak for yes . “Holy shit,” she muttered to herself. She and Alice arrived at the elevator, and Emmy threw one last glance over her shoulder
to see Gabe stepping into Director Allen’s office. Their eyes connected for a long beat, and in it, a tingle bristled Emmy’s
spine.
Apparently, he was ruthless.
Well, in that case. She would be too.