The Athletic Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers

by Lucy McConnell

  A daunting task indeed, Dad.

  * * *

  The flight landed on time in Las Vegas and Harper was met by a short, round man who bore a striking resemblance to Danny DeVito. He wore a Redrocks ball hat and polo shirt. “Thomas Malone at your service, ma’am.” He held out his hand.

  Harper took it, appreciating his firm grip. “Thanks, Mr. Malone. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “Please, call me Thomas.”

  Harper liked him already. “I will. What is your position with the team?” she asked as he led the way out of the building and to a car waiting at the curb.

  “Oh, I’m not with the team.” He opened the door and motioned for her to get in. “I look over the house as well as drive you wherever you need to go. If you need something, I’m the one you send.”

  “That’s a lot of work for one person.” Harper had three employees back home who took on those responsibilities.

  “It’s no trouble.” He shut the door behind her and loaded her luggage before climbing behind the steering wheel. “The drive to St. George is about an hour and forty-five minutes.”

  Harper checked her phone for the local time. Having a major airport a bus ride from stadium was a bonus—one that the mayor of St. George had touted when perusing the possibility of an MLB team. Mayor Ron Spike wanted to turn St. George into a major metropolis—a family-friendly version of Las Vegas with plenty to do indoors and out. The Redrocks were a major part of that vision and Harper anticipated meeting with Mayor Spike sometime soon. Speaking of meetings, she had one scheduled with the general manager, vice presidents, and the coach—if he could make it. The team was in the middle of a series in LA.

  “Don’t worry, I’m never late.” Tomas weaved in and out of vehicles, gaining access to the I-15 freeway rather quickly.

  Harper ducked her head into her work and finished up her review. She didn’t want to bring up her worries in the meeting today—it was supposed to be a meet and greet. But she had some major concerns about the future of the team.

  The Redrocks’ main offices were adjacent to the stadium. Ticket holders entered at home plate or third base to see a game. Those who worked for the Redrocks’ organization and visiting teams entered on the third base side of the complex. The locker rooms were housed under the seats and connected by a series of tunnels while the offices were stacked, going three floors up and one floor down. The basement offices were for the grounds crew and maintenance. Harper’s office, along with the VPs’, were on the third floor. Marketing, HR, and accounting were on the second floor. The first floor was for scouting and IT as well as the press room.

  Before she knew it, she stood at the door to her dad’s office—her office now. She didn’t want to take possession of the space and have his name removed from the door. Her fingers graced the letters. His name would stay for as long as she was in charge.

  Smiling, she took in the stadium that spread out from the plate-glassed window. Straight across from her, the red cliffs rose up, challenging batters to knock one over the top. Having built the stadium right into the cliff was aesthetically stunning. The green grass of the outfield against the red rock provided a picturesque atmosphere.

  “Miss Richmond?” asked Lauren, the secretary. “Payton Adams is here to meet with you.”

  “The manager?” Harper blurted before righting herself. Her meeting with the front office was in fifteen minutes. Payton was supposed to be part of it. His desire to meet beforehand raised the hairs on the back of Harper’s neck in warning. “Show him in, please.” She turned back to the window.

  “All right,” burst Payton Adams as he came into the room. His voice scratched off the glass, making Harper cringe.

  Harper turned around to see Baldy from the LA airport rubbing his hands together briskly as his eyes roamed greedily around the office. His spirits had improved. Gone was the demanding lowered brow; in its place was a set jaw and an indulging smile.

  Clamping her jaw tight, Harper cocked her head, waiting for him to recognize her as the “chick” who should be bumped from the flight to accommodate him.

  “You’re probably pretty overwhelmed right now,” said Payton. If he realized he’d offended his new boss, he skipped right past the apology.

  I’m overwhelmed, all right.

  “I’m going to make this as easy as possible for you, sugar.”

  Sugar? Harper folded her arms. “How’s that?”

  “What you need is butts in those seats on game day, am I right?”

  Nodding, Harper waited for him to continue. She purposefully didn’t offer him a chair, and yet he took one anyway, crossing one foot over the other knee and lacing his fingers behind his head. Eyeing him warily, she made sure the door was open.

  “I can get you those butts. I have it on good authority that New York wants to dump Luis. We’ve got one big-name pitcher, but we could use a bat—fans love home runs. Luis is that bat. I’ve seen him play and the fans horde him.

  “We could trade a couple guys, but I say we buy his contract outright. We’ve still got a couple months before the trade deadline.”

  His overconfidence sent up several red flags. First off, the manager wasn’t involved in negotiating trades. He had to work with the guys on the roster. Not that he was left out of the process, but Payton smelled of overcompensation like a sleazy car salesman.

  Not to mention, she’d seen the numbers; they couldn’t afford another big contract. We can’t afford the contracts we have now. Curious, Harper asked, “What makes you so sure they’d sell to us?”

  Payton smirked. “Between you and me, honey, New York’s GM is in a tough spot in his marriage right now.” He wiggled his phone. “I ran into him and a—shall we say friend—and took a few pictures. Now if we work it right—”

  Harper’s blood ran cold. Dad wouldn’t have stooped to blackmail, nor would he have entertained the notion. Yet Payton acted like this was business as usual. Maybe he thought he could steamroll her and take control of the team. If that was so, then he was highly mistaken. She narrowed her eyes and held up a hand. “You can stop right there. I don’t need to hear anymore.”

  “That’s a girl.” He got to his feet. “I’ll make the call.”

  Working to keep her voice calm and even, Harper said, “That won’t be necessary.”

  Payton’s shiny head wrinkled. “What? Why not?”

  This one’s for you Gerald. And for me and every person who has ever had to put up with this guy. “Because you’re fired.”

  Payton sputtered, his face turning the same shade of red it had in the airport. “You can’t fire me. I am this team.”

  “Exactly. I may be just a chick—” She glared. “—but I think I found the problem with the Redrocks and I’m getting rid of it.” The words rang with truth even as they flew from her lips. Liberated by the confirmation singing in the air, Harper’s resolve strengthened.

  His face paled. “You can’t do that in the middle of the season.”

  Harper rubbed her hands together. “I can and did.”

  “I have a contract!” he bellowed.

  There’s the real Payton. Harper shrugged. “I have great lawyers.” Mr. Walker, don’t fail me now.

  “You’ll be paying me not to work.”

  Harper marched to the open door and signaled the secretary. As Lauren hustled over, Harper turned back to Payton. “I would gladly pay you to never set foot on my field again.” Turning to Lauren, she softened her features. “Will you call security and have them escort Mr. Adams to his car, please?”

  Lauren’s eyes went huge behind her glasses. “Yes, ma’am.” She hurried back to her desk and was on the phone in seconds. Didn’t even have to look up the number. Harper did a mental fist pump. Lauren’s awesome.

  “You’re throwing away your biggest asset,” growled Payton.

  “No, I’m throwing away an a—”

  “Security is here,” interrupted Lauren.

  Payton smacked the wall as he left, making Laur
en jump. Harper didn’t flinch. When he was gone, Lauren gave a quick nod to Harper. “Will there be anything else?”

  “Not at this time. Thank you.”

  Lauren nodded and went back to her desk.

  Harper sank into the chair Payton had vacated. Now that the moment had passed, the reality of the situation hit hard. “What have I done?” she whispered. Firing the manager in the middle of the season was a stupid move at best. She meant what she said: the Redrocks had major issues and one of them was mismanagement. When Dad was healthy, he was all about the team. He held out hope that he’d be able to pick up where he left off. They all hoped for the best and put off major decisions and just sort of got by. Payton was one of the few decisions made while Dad was in the hospital, and Harper wasn’t sure how aware he was when he hired the jerk. One thing she was sure of was that Payton’s fat salary drained the organization.

  Harper pressed her fingers to the bridge of her nose. She’d be paying Payton for at least two more years not to work for her. She’d have to go over his contract with the lawyers. Perhaps there was a clause they could use to reduce his payouts or spread them out over time.

  A light rapping on the door brought Harper’s head up.

  Lauren stood in the doorway once again. “The meeting is about to begin.”

  What’s done is done. Harper shook off her worry, pretty sure she’d pick it up again before she left for the day. She joked, “They can’t start without me.” Digging her laptop out of her purse, she squared her shoulders and walked into the boardroom. She was pretty proud of that posture, considering what had just taken place and the backlash she was about to take. Fourteen pairs of eyes looked up at her entrance.

  Lauren took the chair to Harper’s left and opened her laptop to take notes.

  Harper released a breath. These were some of the smartest people in baseball and she was about to tell them what a half-wit she truly was. Fake it till ya make it. “Ladies and gentlemen, let’s begin.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Payton?” asked one of the few women at the table. “I thought I saw him come in earlier.”

  People nodded.

  “Mr. Adams will not be joining us.” The eyes were back. Here we go. “He is no longer a part of the Redrocks organization.”

  “What?” asked Max Carter. Harper had met the executive vice president of business operations at an opening day soiree she’d rather forget. Not that Max had been the problem. It was at that party that she’d met a handsome, talented ballplayer who had dragged her through the gossip columns. That guy, she’d like to forget.

  “Is this some kind of scare tactic?” asked Senior VP Stew Nugget.

  “No, I assure you, I don’t enjoy dramatics. However, Mr. Adams held a view of this team and how it should be run that is in conflict with what my father would have wanted.”

  “It’s the middle of the season,” pressed Stew. “Who is going to manage the team?”

  Harper kept her voice even. “I’m working on that. In the meantime, I’d like to go around the room and get an overview from each of you. Let’s begin with our chief baseball officer, Mr. Blackwell?”

  The overview went about as well as her meeting with Payton. Harper distinctly felt the sharks closing in around her. No one sugarcoated the issues facing the team and the franchise. They tossed the numbers and problems at her feet as if she were personally responsible for this hole they were in. She wasn’t. Dad was at least partially to blame. He had the habit of throwing money at a problem until it went away. That was fine, if you had pockets as deep as his. But the team needed to stand on its own two feet, and this one hadn’t even learned to crawl. The Redrocks were like toddlers in a room full of beefy teenagers. They were getting run over.

  She knew how they felt. The meeting trickled to an end and she headed back to her office, keeping the door open to show she was approachable.

  By the time the evening sun warmed the wall of red rock behind the stadium, Harper was fried. Lauren set a sheet in front of her. “What’s this?”

  “My notes.” She checked her phone. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head home.”

  Harper waved her off with a sincere “Thank you for everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Harper stared out the window a bit longer, wishing she could enjoy the sunset like it deserved. Finally, she glanced at Lauren’s notes. A bullet point list of the major issues facing the team stared back at her. Squinting, she noticed the letters next to each line. Bless her heart, Lauren had prioritized them for her.

  Feeling extremely grateful, she read the first item on the list with a bold letter A next to it.

  Hire a manager.

  She let the paper drift back to the table. She knew what she had to do. The problem was, she had no idea how to do it. They weren’t a network-sponsored team. There would be cutbacks, and cutbacks were never popular.

  Deciding the more she knew, the better prepared she’d be, Harper gathered folders and envelopes to review after a hot shower. Her eye fell on a sheet of paper, the Walker, Hall & Clark Attorneys at Law logo across the top. Mr. Walker was her dad’s attorney. He had the fun job of telling Harper she’d been cut out of managing the family trust, which made him her attorney now. There was a photocopy of a business card for Pamela Jones, BMB in the middle of the sheet, and Mr. Walker’s fine script saying, “If you need help finding a manager, call Pamela. She’ll have exactly what you’re looking for.” Not ready to call in the cavalry, she stuffed everything in her purse and headed for the exit.

  Thomas waited in front, the car door open and welcoming. “It’s great to see a friendly face, Thomas. Thank you.”

  “My pleasure.” He shut the door behind her and climbed behind the wheel.

  “Do you believe in miracles, Thomas?” she asked.

  “Yes, I do. I’ve seen a fair share of them in my time.” He flipped on the blinker. “Are you looking for a miracle?”

  “Nope, I’m praying for one.”

  “That’s usually the best way to find them.” Thomas chuckled.

  Harper leaned against the cool window. She’d made a hard decision today. It was the right decision; nevertheless, it would haunt her. She could feel it hovering out there like a specter. Rubbing her hands down her arms to ward off the chill, she wished she wasn’t going home to an empty house.

  Empty being the operative word.

  Mom hadn’t gotten a chance to fill the St. George house with furniture, knick-knacks, or a sense of family before Dad passed away. There was a living room with two couches and a table full of cup-rings since Dad hated coasters. The bedrooms had beds, dressers or armoires, and a chair. The sparse accommodations, though grand, were lifeless and lonely. However, decorating would have to wait until after the team was situated.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror, Thomas must have seen her downcast face. “I’ll pray for one too. Two prayers are better than one.”

  This time Harper chuckled with him.

  3

  At least the view is great.

  Harper leaned forward in her plush seat in the VIP box as the Redrocks’ closing pitcher, Blake Rygs, checked the runner on third and then exploded into a beautiful sinker.

  “Strike,” called the umpire, his voice coming from the big screen television off to the right.

  “What a throw!” exclaimed Redrocks announcer Bobby Frunds. He went on to extol the virtues of a sinking pitch and how it fooled even the great Cris Carmadia.

  The strikeout was a lot of fun to watch, but they were down by seven moving into the bottom of the eighth. Harper had spent the three days the team was on the road to soak up every molecule of information she could on baseball. What she found was that she liked the game. What had always seemed like an easy sport revealed itself as a complex organization of talent, drive, athleticism, and strategy.

  Pressing her palms together, she brought her fingers to her lips. “Come on,” she whispered.

  How many miracles could a girl pray
for before she ran out? Harper spent the last four days begging for holy intervention and had come up short in her efforts to fill the empty manager’s position. She’d interviewed men from all parts of the country. One had barreled through the conversation as if she weren’t speaking. Another had scoffed at her need to cut the budget. And the last candidate had propositioned her. Harper turned him down and shut the door in his face.

  She’d met opposition in business before. Her dad had warned her early on not to get attached to other women at conferences, board meetings, and during negotiations. When she asked why, he said, “Women have a need to socialize and make contacts. They’ll grab on to you and not let go.”

  “So?”

  “So you’ll be stuck talking to middle managers. All the top dogs are male.”

  As much as she hated to admit it, Dad was right. The country liked to pretend that women and men were equal, but when it came down to trusting someone with a couple billion dollars, people chose a man almost every time.

  Harper had cultivated respectful relationships with dozens of powerful men in the world, including bank presidents, old money, new money, a sultan, and couple Middle Eastern princes. This lack of respect from a bunch of ball players was really starting to tick her off. They’d let female journalists into the locker room, but it seemed no one was ready to open up the owner’s club.

  The inning changed and the Redrocks’ bottom of the lineup struck out in an embarrassing eleven pitches. Heads hung low as the VIPs exited the booth. Harper stayed in her seat, watching the fans stream out of the stands, their empty Cracker Jack boxes and soda cups left behind. The grounds crew brought out the wide rakes and worked the infield dirt.

  Gathering her feet under her, Harper slowly made her way out of the suite and down the hall. With a fortifying breath, she pushed the handle and stepped into a mess of reporters and photographers, their cameras flashing. They called her name and one even called her an unflattering name. When she turned to him, jaw hanging open, he snapped her picture. His grin was as smug as if he’d just stolen home base.