The Athletic Groom
Lucy McConnell
Orchard View Publishing LLC
Contents
Copyright
Sweet Romance
Also by Lucy McConnell
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
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About the Author
Copyright © 2017 by Lucy McConnell
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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1
“I don’t have a comment.” Isaac paced the confines of his modest front room. He had no idea who had given out his home phone number to reporters. If he ever found the person, he would—
“Do you believe Coach Jacobs should be suspended?”
“No comment!” Isaac hung up and unplugged the phone from the wall. If Logan needed a ride home from school, he could call his cell. Home phones were archaic anyway. He should cancel the service.
His dismissal from the Bulldogs coaching staff had garnered an inordinate amount of press. Being fired in the middle of a game was dramatic, and reporters loved drama. Add Gunderson’s injury and they had a full-on controversy on their hands. Isaac had done all he could to protect the injured pitcher from the head coach, who wanted to put him in the game, but in the end, Gunderson had left with his arm in a sling and Isaac had a pink slip from a major university in his hand.
Isaac could live with being fired. He’d done the right thing by his player and would do it again in a heartbeat. What irked was that the longer the press dragged this out, the harder it would be to find a job. As much as reporters enjoyed shining the spotlight on him for being the hero in all this, general managers hated to hire trouble. And that’s exactly what Isaac looked like right now: trouble.
Isaac wondered who had tipped them off to the whole Gunderson situation. Coach Jacobs was under fire for mishandling his players, and several men on the team and front office workers, who shall remain anonymous, had labeled him verbally abusive.
Even with karma hard at work, the bottom line was that none of this would give Isaac his job back. If Jacobs stayed on as head coach, he wouldn’t want to work with Isaac, who had questioned his motives and challenged his authority on the field. Frankly, Isaac didn’t want to return to that environment—not if he didn’t have to.
On the other hand, if Jacobs was fired, management would go through a thorough cleansing—not necessarily to create a better environment, but to appease the fans and the boosters who funded the baseball team. Isaac had no desire to be involved in a witch hunt. So he’d refused all interview invitations.
Plopping down behind his laptop, Isaac glanced over the email and hit send, then leaned back in his chair. How many résumés had he sent? He checked his list. Five just today. As a baseball guy, stats were his thing, and his batting average stank. Those who had replied to his queries were long-time friends he’d played with in college or for the few years in the minors, all full of apologies and excuses about not having enough money to hire now.
The front door creaked open and fifteen-year-old Logan came through, his earbuds in and his backpack hanging off of one shoulder. At six feet tall and 155 pounds, Logan was everything Isaac wished he had been physically at that age.
Where Isaac had shopped in the hefty section, Logan was lean and strong. Isaac’s sandy-blond hair had hung over his ears, but Logan’s black hair was trimmed and stylish. Whenever Isaac started to wonder if he made any difference in the world—an old phantom that had haunted him since his third foster home—he looked to Logan and remembered that making a difference in his son’s life was more important than anything.
Besides, he wasn’t that hefty teenager any more. Those extra pounds melted off as he ran ladders, lifted weights, and trained with his high school baseball team. As an adult, he’d managed to stay fit. Maybe his washboard abs were a thing of the past, but he wasn’t hanging over his belt loops, either, and his arms were still thick with muscle.
Logan headed straight for the fridge. He grabbed the turkey meat, cheese, and mayo and plopped them on the counter. Isaac got up and fetched a plate, handing it to Logan.
“Thanks.” Logan pulled out his earbuds.
“How was your day?” asked Isaac. They talked for a bit about Logan’s Spanish test and the biology poster due at the end of the week. He was such a good kid. Sure, he had his moods; every teenager did. They worked through them and Logan saw a counselor once a week.
Since Isaac grew up in foster families, he knew Logan would hav
e issues. Amy handled the night terrors and lashing out well, for the first little bit. Over time, resentment built up that this intruder was taking her sleep and drawing from her emotional well—which wasn’t that deep. Isaac should have insisted she see Dr. Osmond too. Maybe if he had, she wouldn’t have left and broke both her boys’ hearts.
Logan spun his empty cup. “Dad, are we going to be okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like money and stuff. Your job …” He trailed off and stared hard at the counter.
Isaac’s chest tightened. Logan wasn’t a child, but he still seemed too young to carry this burden. Feeling like a loser, Isaac nodded several times before he realized he was probably putting too much effort into looking sure. He stopped. “We’ll be fine.”
“What happens if you don’t get a job?”
Isaac had tried hard to keep a positive outlook. Like he preached to his players, envision yourself succeeding and you will. “I’ll figure it out. I promise, I’ll always take care of you.”
“’Kay.” Logan headed for the couch.
“Do you want to go throw for a bit?” Isaac asked. His body could use some exercise.
“I’ve got a lot to work on and the new Sanderson book came out yesterday.” Logan placed his plate in the sink. “Maybe another time?”
“Sure. Sure.” Isaac smiled to hide his disappointment. He’d been cooped up all day. “I’m going to go for a run before dinner.”
“Frozen pizza?” asked Logan.
“I thought we’d try taquitos tonight.”
“Sweet.” Logan settled in on the couch, his biology book in his lap.
Isaac slipped on his running shoes and hit the sidewalk, wishing he could outrun his troubles. At this point, he’d take any job in baseball, including peewee coach if it would pay the mortgage.
He’d always felt like he was meant to do something bigger than himself, bigger than nine guys with numbers on the back. Ever since he was a kid, he’d felt this promise of something great on the horizon of life. The only hint he had from the Lord was that it had to do with baseball.
One thing he knew with his whole being was that if he left baseball, left coaching, he’d never reach that dream. Though he couldn’t see it now, there had to be a way to stay in the game. The Lord wouldn’t have placed knowledge in his heart without providing a way.
2
Harper sat in a worn seat at the LA airport, waiting for her flight to board. She’d left early in case security lines were long, but the crowds weren’t too bad. Smoothing her long blond ponytail with one hand, she gathered her gumption. Not three days ago they’d buried her father, a business tycoon and the owner of the St. George Redrocks MLB Team. Mom got the houses, including a castle in Scotland; enough money to last her five lifetimes; and investments that she handed over to Harper’s older brother, Seth, to manage. Seth got the company that he was already running and control of the family trust, and she’d inherited the laughingstock of pro baseball.
Thanks ever so much, Dad.
No stranger to money, Harper held two advanced degrees and believed she could bring the Redrocks out of the red.
She also got the mansion near the stadium and the plane. The plane was mostly for the team, and since they were on their way home from a string of away games, she was flying commercial. Which was okay, because she needed the travel time to familiarize herself with the way the team was organized. She needed to get her bearings before practices and games resumed. This afternoon was her first meeting with the front office—a get-to-know you affair with a hint of reassurance that she wasn’t going to clean house.
At her side, an older gentleman in a salmon polo shirt and gray pants opened a pet carrier to let out a darling little dog.
Harper was happy to watch as he fed and watered her right there in the terminal. The dog’s freshly groomed appearance, not to mention the custom water and food dishes with the name “Nutmeg” inscribed on the side, testified of her first-class care.
Nutmeg took a drink and then looked quizzically at Harper. Smiling, Harper leaned forward so the dog could sniff her fingers before petting her.
“She’s a doll,” Harper told the owner.
“Thank you.” He beamed.
“I want you to give me a seat, now!”
Harper lifted her gaze from the pooch to watch the drama unfolding at the ticket counter. A man in a brown leather jacket, his overstuffed black bag slung over his shoulder, and a shiny bald head slammed his hand down on the counter.
The gate agent, with an elongated face and bright eyes, swallowed once. “Sir, I cannot give you a seating assignment until the other passengers have checked in.”
“This is ridiculous! What’s the point of being a platinum member if I don’t have any perks?” His face flushed as he jerked his bag higher on his shoulder.
Nutmeg’s owner whispered to the dog, “That man’s behaving very badly. Yes he is.” He tucked Nutmeg back into her carry case and zipped it shut as if he were afraid the irate passenger would turn on the animal.
The customer smacked his hand against the counter for emphasis as his tantrum continued. “I made Five. Million. Dollars last year—you should be nicer to me!”
Did he just say that? Harper gripped the seat. Entitled son of a—
“Sir, the computer will not allow me to assign seats—”
“What’s your name?” demanded Baldy.
“My name?” asked the agent, clearly shocked at the turn in the conversation. “Gerald.”
The man stomped away and yelled across the terminal, “You’ll be hearing from me, Gerald. You’ll be hearing from me!”
Poor Gerald’s cheeks were bright pink. He ran his hand over his short-cropped hair as a security guard appeared.
“Now they show up,” said Nutmeg’s protector.
Harper grinned. “I thought Gerald kept his cool.” She reached into her bag and pulled out the gourmet chocolates she’d bought at a shop in the terminal. After that encounter, Gerald needed them more than she did.
Just as she stepped up to the counter, Gerald announced the flight was boarding and invited ruby, platinum, and gold members to board first. Harper stepped back to wait her turn and Baldy cut in front of her without so much as an excuse me. Stifling her annoyance, and praying she wouldn’t be next to him on the flight, she glared at his back.
“Well?” The five-million-dollar man slapped his ticket on the counter.
Gerald narrowed his eyes. “Let me check the computer.”
Another agent, a middle-aged woman with no-nonsense posture and a supervisor’s tag, stepped to the scanner and helped move passengers along. She kept an eye on Gerald and his irate customer while answering questions and scanning tickets.
Harper was hopelessly cornered by Baldy, the desk, and a velvet rope.
“I don’t care what the computer says—bump someone. Her if you have to.” He pointed at Harper.
“Excuse me?” Harper blurted.
“Listen, chick.” His eyes dropped down to the chocolates and boarding pass in her hands and back up. “Your little bachelorette party or whatever can wait. I have to be on this flight.”
“No one will be bumped,” assured Gerald before Harper had a chance to respond.
Anger sent heat waves through Harper’s fingertips. She glared at Baldy’s back, ready to shove him aside with her carry-on bag. Hopefully she’d leave a nice bruise in the process. Pulling herself up straight, she met Gerald’s tired eyes. He glanced at the supervisor over his shoulder. Anything Harper did would only escalate the situation. For Gerald, she’d wait patiently.
Huffing, she deflated.
“Here you are.” Gerald handed over a boarding pass. “I hope your trip is smooth.”
The man twirled away and was halfway down the gangplank before Gerald said, “For everyone else on board.”
Harper adjusted her purse.
“Can I see your boarding pass, miss?” asked Gerald. He glared at the computer. �
��Just wanted to make sure you aren’t sitting by him.” He inclined his head toward the gate.
Harper let out a sigh. “Thank you.” She handed over her pass.
“You’re in business class and I put him in coach—by the bathrooms.” One side of Gerald’s mouth lifted in a tiny, though triumphant smile. “They’ll let you off first when you land in Las Vegas. You shouldn’t have to see him ever again.”
“That’s a relief.” Harper felt bad for those seated near the man. She went to retrieve her pass and noticed the chocolates in her hand. “I almost forgot. These are for you. I thought you handled yourself well under pressure.”
Gerald’s eyes lit up. “Really?” He took the box, the other side of his mouth lifting into a genuine smile. “That’s really nice of you. Thanks.”
Harper shrugged. “I hope the rest of your day goes well.” She nodded at the supervisor, hoping she had heard Harper’s praise and realized that the passenger was the problem, not Gerald.
“You too!” He waved as she left.
Harper shook her head as she took her seat on the plane and stowed her purse under the seat in front of her. There was no sign of Baldy, thank goodness. It was time to focus on what needed to be done. As soon as they were in the air, she pulled out her tablet and continued reading the Redrocks’ financial statements. She didn’t know how other teams operated, but the Redrocks were playing beyond their means. Several players had fat contracts and the head coach—wait, they called them managers—made almost as much as the players. That didn’t seem right.
Referring to her dad’s five-year plan, she noted that the stadium the Redrocks currently played in was supposed to be a practice field. However, due to low ticket sales, Dad hadn’t been able to move forward with the bigger, more impressive stadium on time. In order to draw crowds, he’d spent money on some big names. Big names meant big contracts. She tapped her pen against her temple. If they couldn’t bring in more revenue, they weren’t going to make it.
The Athletic Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers Page 1
