Sitting in a chair facing Harper’s desk was David Butler, head of marketing and Sheila’s boss. David was a thin man with a big personality. He had an egg-shaped head, bald on top with dark gray ringing the sides and back. He liked to wear blue button-up shirts and had thick, silver-rimmed glasses.
Sheila’s heart sank to the floor. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done that would bring her into a meeting with these two, but having them both look at her like she was Maria von Trapp and they weren’t sure what to do with a problem like her didn’t bode well. The season was barely over. The band hadn’t packed up yet. If they were going to fire her, now would be a good time.
Ugh, sometimes it didn’t pay to have an active imagination.
“What’s up?” She forced herself to sit in the chair and appear relaxed.
Harper nodded for David to start.
He took a deep breath and folded his hands together. “You’ve done an excellent job, once again.”
She let out half the air she’d trapped in her lungs. There was a “but” in there somewhere, and she wasn’t going to get caught unawares.
“Your work with The Pantry and the elementary schools and the hospital has brought in a third of our ticket buyers.”
Sheila couldn’t help but smile. She’d taken the players into the elementary schools to talk about everything from bullying to drugs and dealing with divorce and abuse. Some of the players had personal stories they shared. Some had a knack for inspiring others to chase their dreams. Linking the right player with the right program had taken some time, but she’d figured it out. Along with the visits, they handed out coupons for 25% off tickets to home games, making it easy to track how much revenue those visits brought in. A third of the tickets sold was huge! The year before, it had been an eighth.
“Thanks, boss. I love what I do, and I feel blessed to work with the Redrocks family.”
Harper smiled. “I can tell. You put your heart into your job. That’s why David and I think you’ll do a magnificent job with a new assignment we’ve cooked up.”
Sheila perked at the mention of a challenge. The off-season was slower in the outreach department, but it wasn’t like she twiddled her thumbs from October to February. Still, she could take on more. “What do you have in mind?”
Harper sighed. She took another long drink from her water bottle before continuing. “Can I be frank with you?”
“Sure.” Sheila lifted a shoulder in an effort to appear casual when her nerves were wide awake.
“The Redrocks are in the red.”
“Uh …” Sheila wasn’t privy to the financial statements, but after what David had just said, she thought they were bringing in bank. “How is that even possible?”
Harper’s eyes flitted to the painting of her father that hung on the east wall. He had on a Redrocks red polo shirt and a pair of gray slacks. His hair was gray and his cheeks lined with age. He had soft blue eyes and a proud smile. “Dad had big dreams and promised the moon to a lot of people. Which means that he put the team in debt. More than he should have. Bless him, this was his field of dreams.” Her face softened. “We have a large loan coming due in the middle of November.”
Sheila noticed for the first time the hint of dark circles under Harper’s eyes. She’d covered them well with makeup, but no shadows completely disappeared. Her worn expression said even more about the weight she carried as the owner of the newest team in the MLB.
Sheila’s need to nurture rose up. “What can I do?”
David leaned forward. “We’d like you to come up with a plan to fill the stadium at least three times in the month of October. Tickets can be cheap—five bucks each should cover operating costs. We’ll make the money we need to pay the loan in concessions.”
Sheila’s heart hammered. “You want me to fill a baseball stadium without a baseball game?”
They both nodded. She blinked several times, her mind going completely blank.
“You’re a person who has big ideas. I know you can do this.” Harper’s smile seemed watered down. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe what she said; it was the stress that weakened the gesture.
Sheila’s mind had ground to a halt. Big ideas? It would be nice if she could string a couple of words together right now, let alone a way to put butts into the seats. She glanced at David. “And you’re okay with me overseeing this?” Something of this magnitude would normally fall to him or one of his assistant marketing specialists—he had four.
He nodded easily. “We’re knee deep in spring training plans already. We need you to take this on.”
She put her hands on her knees and pushed to standing. “Okay, then. I’ll get started first thing in the morning.”
Harper also stood. This time, her smile was a bit stronger, and Sheila took comfort in the fact that she’d already helped in a small way by accepting the responsibility. “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”
Me too. Sheila shook hands all around and said her goodbyes. In the hall, she texted Ashley to meet her the next morning at Brookie’s, a local bakery that specialized in loading their sweets with as much chocolate as possible. She was going to need a jolt of goodness to get her creativity going.
She was still staring at her phone waiting for an answer when the elevator doors whooshed open in the lobby, allowing the band’s version of “Don’t Be Cruel to a Heart That’s True” to fill the small space. She walked off, not paying attention to what or whom was in front of her because she was mentally willing Ashley to reply. The woman practically lived on her phone, and the one time Sheila needed her to respond, she didn’t. Right as she lifted her head to watch where she was going, she slammed into Brock. He wrapped an arm around her back to keep her from bouncing off his solid chest.
“Oh.” She gasped at the feel of his muscles beneath her left hand. Her right still clutched her phone.
Brock grinned, took her right hand, and spun her out in a Frank Sinatra/Ginger Rogers move. Without missing a beat, he pulled her back in. His eyes gleamed with mischief.
“Have you been drinking?” she asked.
“What? No!”
Her phone dinged, and they both looked at the screen.
Brookie’s at 8 a.m. I’ll be there.
“Big date?” he asked, his hand still on the small of her back, keeping her from escaping.
Not that she was trying all that hard. Being in Brock’s arms was rather nice, comforting. Like he could hold her up even though she’d been bowled over by this new assignment. The time constraints alone were enough to lose some serious sleep over. Yet this was Brock. The guy who thought doing her job was akin to stealing money from widows.
She pushed against his chest without answering, needing out of the swirly-twirly haze that had grown around them and the muffled sounds in the crowded room. Not to mention they were surrounded by their coworkers. She didn’t need rumors to start about her and a player—even if that player was extremely hot and amazing with children. She’d thought of little else besides the sweet exchange between him and Elizabeth as she drifted off to sleep every night since their visit over a week ago. The image was oddly soothing.
She needed to get out of here. Not only was snuggling a coworker bad for her image, but he had a date with Kelly this week. Her hormones screeched to a halt at the thought of her sister in this very spot. She threw her hands in the air and retreated. She would not go after the same guy as her sister and start Sister War III. Sister War I had been ugly, but Sister War II almost destroyed the family.
If Kelly wanted Brock, she could have him.
He let her go and ran a hand through his beach waves, making her think that she’d like to run her hands through that thick, dreamy hair. She barely managed to hold back her lusty sigh. “What does the outreach specialist do in the off-season? I guess you don’t get the next four months off.”
“Nope. I’ll be here. Working, working, working.” Did that sound as dumb out loud as it did in her head?” Gag! Gather your wit
s, girl. Sheila flipped her bangs off her forehead. “Have a great off-season,” she said with a dismissive smile.
“I will.” He smiled back, his posture shifting to match her own. He entered the elevator.
The moment the doors shut, it was like she could breathe again, and she gasped for air. Dang, it smelled like Brock, all freshly showered and sprayed down with those manly sprays men use to lure hordes of women to them. She pressed her hand over her belly, where the butterflies were having panic attacks. She’d be a goner for that scent for the rest of her life.
Darn that Brock! If he was going to date her sister, he should learn to keep his arms and his man spray to himself.
Brookie’s was the kind of bakery that liked you to pull out a chair and stay a while. They had padded seats, padded booths, free refills on coffee and soda, and a display case twelve feet long full of the most delectable desserts imaginable. Sheila was already eyeing up the triple fudge brownie with fudge topping and white chocolate swirls for after they came up with an amazing plan to open the stadium in October. At the rate ideas were flowing, she’d never get that cake.
She dug her hands into her hair and leaned her elbows on the table. “Think! Gah, why is this so hard? We have an entire stadium at our disposal.”
Ashley scratched her forehead as she considered the list of ideas they’d compiled. “That’s the problem. We don’t have anything big enough.” She leaned her head on her fist and sighed.
The buzzer that indicated a new customer had come in sounded. Sheila’s gaze dashed to the newcomer and then snagged on him like a nail on a sweater. “Hide me.” She scrambled for something to duck behind, but the table was empty of everything but their pad of paper and two empty plates that once held chocolate waffles with whipped cream, chocolate chips, strawberries, and fudge sauce. The strawberries were there for justification purposes only.
Ashley flipped around—in a completely obvious move—to see who had come in. “Brock!” She lifted a hand and waved.
“What part of hide me did you miss?” Sheila hissed, leaning over the table to be lower than Ashley.
Ashley’s face clouded with confusion. “I thought you liked him.”
Sheila blanched. She hadn’t been a good best friend and updated Ashley on the Brock situation. “We have got to talk more often.”
Brock arrived at their table, looking so good he could have stood next to the chocolate cake in the display case and women wouldn’t be able to pick between the two. Who was Sheila kidding? They’d pick Brock every time.
Instead of standing to say hello and then leaving, he swung a chair around so he could sit on it backwards and took a seat. “Hello.” He turned his casual beach smile on Sheila. “So this is your date?”
Sheila rolled her eyes. “I never confirmed nor denied the nature of this meeting.”
She may have let him believe she was seeing someone. Wait! Was that why he’d come in, to spy on her? That was … weird. It was weird, right? For a guy to come check out the competition—even if it turned out there wasn’t any. Sheila’s hands took flight, touching her cup, picking up her fork and putting it back down, twitching. For the love! She sat on them. But that only made her aware of the heavy pounding of her heart. She prayed Brock couldn’t hear it.
Ashley twisted her lips. “I just broke up with my boyfriend, so …”
Brock laughed. “Good to know. So what’s the big meeting about?” He reached out a large hand and pulled their notepad over to him as if he had a right to be a part of their discussion. His assumption that they’d want him there rankled. She tried to grab it back, but he held on, his eyes scanning their chicken-scratched brainstorming session. “Field day. Aging well conference. Keynote speaker? What is this?”
Sheila managed to rip the notebook away from his grasp. Dang, he was strong. She scowled. “None of your business.” Harper wouldn’t like it if the players knew about the giant loan that was due. The off-season was hot for trades and signing new players. If the guys thought they were on a sinking ship, they might bail. She hadn’t even mentioned it to Ashley, figuring it was need-to-know information.
She wasn’t sure how Brock could take her from heart palpitations to level-seven annoyed so quickly, but he could do it with ease.
Ashley cleared her throat. “We’re trying to come up with a series of fall events for the stadium.”
Sheila kicked her under the table. Ashley jumped and glared, her look saying, I didn’t tell him anything important.
“What about a concert?” Brock asked.
Thankfully, he ignored their antics and acted like they were all adults—which Sheila didn’t feel like at the moment. She felt like the nerdy girl in the lunch room, hoping some guy didn’t walk by and steal her chocolate milk. She’d hated junior high.
“Great, but what kind of music?” asked Ashley.
“A big name,” Brock replied.
Sheila shook her head. “All the big names have big price tags. We don’t have that kind of money to throw at this event. Not to mention they’re already booked on tours.”
Brock sank over the back of the seat as she effectively stomped all over his idea.
“But it was a good thought. I’ll make a note to start booking for next year.” Hopefully they wouldn’t be in this position next year. However, if things went well, Harper would want to do it again. Money was hard to turn down.
Brock drummed his fingers on the table. Sheila found herself starting at them. He had square fingertips. His nail beds were curved, but the finger ended in a nice rounded square. She’d bet they felt heavenly massaging a scalp or a tight neck. She tipped her head from side to side, needing to loosen the muscles that were suddenly crying out for Brock’s touch. Stupid disloyal muscles.
“Maybe we could get a cover band?” Ashley offered.
“Would you pay to see a cover band?” Sheila countered.
“Not really.” They both leaned over and rested their cheeks on their fists.
Ashley sat up. “We could do a talent show. St. George has talent. I’d pay five bucks to see that.”
“Me too,” added Brock.
Sheila sighed. “It’s been done.” They looked at her. “In the spring. The turnout was great.” She sighed again. “We need something fresh …” A talent show was good. “I like the idea of an exhibition of some sort … a competition.” She rolled the vague idea around in her mind, hoping it would catch on to something specific.
“Bike stunts?” Brock threw out.
“Dancing with the Redrocks?” Ashley added.
“Oh. My. Gosh.” Sheila rose halfway out of her seat. “I’ve got it.” Could they really do this? There was so much that had to be done. A to-do list grew in her head like someone had thrown magic beans in there.
Ashley grabbed her hand and shook it. “What?”
“We hold tryouts for a mascot.” She beamed. “We can invite gymnasts, cheerleaders, stunt guys, daredevils. Heck, we can invite the general public to try out.” The hair on her arms stood on end. “I’m getting goose bumps.” She rubbed her palms against the bumps.
Brock shook his head. “We don’t have a mascot.”
“That’s the beauty of it. We have the children pick the mascot—from, say, three options. Grades seven through twelve can compete to design the costume. And anyone over eighteen can try out. We reveal all the winning entries at the finale to draw in families.” She was shaking with excitement. “We can even sell merchandise. Collectible tee shirts with the Redrocks logo and a huge question mark underneath. Posters. Foam fingers. The works.”
One side of Brock’s mouth lifted in a sultry smile. “Teddy bears?”
Sheila’s heart stopped. She swallowed hard in an effort to find her voice. “Yeah.”
Ashley slid the pad of paper in front of her, flipped to a new page, and started taking notes. “We’ll make the tickets the ballots. That way they have to buy a ticket to vote. They’re cheap, so people may buy more than one.”
Thank
goodness for a focused best friend. “Brilliant. Okay. Okay. Okay.” Sheila splayed her fingers out in front of her. “I see three rounds of competition. Open tryout. Semifinals. Finals. At the open tryout, we reveal the mascot. A bear or tree or whatever.”
Brock folded his arms. “It cannot be a tree.”
She swatted at him. “We’ll figure that out in a minute. At the semifinals, we reveal the winning design. At the finals, we put the winner in the suit at the end of the round.” She clapped her hands together. “Yep. I think that will work. We can have the finals the Saturday before Halloween—it’s perfect because of the whole costume thing.”
Ashley grinned, her pen moving furiously. “We should invite kids to dress up and trick-or-treat at the stadium.”
“Should we order more bags?” Publicity was an area where you had to spend money to make money. It was so frustrating. She wasn’t even sure what her budget for this project was—she probably should have asked that before she’d taken the assignment. Well, it wasn’t like she could have said no.
“Naw, have them bring their own.” Brock folded his arms over the back of the chair. “Back to this tree thing.”
Sheila took in the firm set to his mouth. He had a really nice mouth. His bottom and top lips were equally proportioned. They were slightly pink in a totally manly way. Though they’d go deeper in color after a good kissing session, she was sure.
Ashley cleared her throat, and Sheila blinked back to reality. “I’m googling mascot options.”
Sheila stole another look at Brock’s lips and then dropped her gaze. The things a man could do with lips like that. Kissing was just the tip of the iceberg. Whisper sweet words. Whistle when she walked out in that tight black dress. Did she mention kissing?
“Blobfish,” said Ashley.
“No.” Sheila and Brock shot it down at the same time. His voice snapped her out of her kissing daydreams. “We’re in a desert,” Sheila added to prove to herself that she could have a coherent thought with the hottie sitting right there, looking all … hot.
Heavy Hitter (Dating Mr. Baseball Book 4) Page 4
