The Athletic Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers

by Lucy McConnell

  One of the biggest disappointments was knowing she would miss out on pillow talk with Isaac—and she’d been so looking forward to the closeness, the whispered conversations. This trip she’d made sure they had two queen beds, mentioning that Logan might join them for a night or two. Now all her planning was for nothing and she was standing at the bottom of the stairs, feeling like a forgotten foul ball.

  She shook hands with the guys and staff as they boarded the plane. “How’s Maddie and Tayson?” she asked Brian Tuttle.

  A proud-papa smile spread across his face. “They’re doing good. They have hiking camp this week, so we’ll have tons to video chat about in the mornings.”

  “That’s fun.” Tuttle had been through his own version of hell, but the situation seemed to be leveling out.

  After a few more handshakes, Isaac was next. He stopped for a moment, one foot on the bottom step, staring down at the blue treads. “Call me if Logan needs anything, will you?”

  “Of course.” She blinked back the sting of tears from the indifference in his voice. He wasn’t uncaring; the sea of turmoil in his eyes said so much more than his stiff back. She wanted to fix things between them, but there was a part of her that needed to be fixed first. She just wasn’t sure how to go about making the change.

  “’Kay, I’ll see you when we get back.” He stepped up.

  “Isaac.” She put her hand on his arm, and a familiar sense of being loved tingled across her skin. His eyes, so full of disappointment, met hers. She swallowed.

  “Yeah?”

  Brock Mattock shuffled behind him. He had his earbuds in, but Harper had no idea if he could hear them or if his music played. “Good luck.”

  “Go Redrocks,” he echoed. And then he was gone.

  Harper continued to shake hands and wish the team good luck, but the faces were all a blur. She may have told the pilot to have a good game and the steward to play hard. In a fog of sorrow, she stumbled back to the car.

  “Where to?” asked Thomas.

  Without the team at the stadium—no, without Isaac at the stadium, Harper had no desire to spend the afternoon there. The empty building would only echo the beats of her hollowed-out heart. “Take me home.” There was a pint of yucky almond milk ice cream with her name on it in the freezer.

  The ride back to St. George passed without interruption or distraction. As the car pulled up the drive, Harper let out a gusty sigh. The concrete steps were longer than ever and the front door held a sense of finality.

  She didn’t have to push it open, though, because Logan opened it from the inside. “The car’s here, Nana,” he said over his shoulder.

  Harper stopped. Nana? Mom was supposed to be in Scotland—on her grieving tour. Taking in the sights and gaining inspiration for painting. Harper scrunched her nose. “Mom’s here?” she asked.

  Logan grinned. “She got here right after you left. I was going to text you, but Ashley called.” His cheeks pinked. “We just hung up.”

  Her mom bustled out of the house wearing her chino golf pants, a pale pink polo shirt, and a sun visor. “Harper, darling. What are you doing home?”

  “I, I—” Came to devour ice cream and feel sorry for myself.

  “Doesn’t matter.” Nora waved her hands. “You go change and I’ll tell the club we have a foursome.”

  The last thing Harper wanted to do was golf with her mom this morning. No offense to her mother; she was really glad to have her around, but she didn’t want a heart-to-heart about all the things going wrong in her life right now. All she wanted was a spoon and that watery ice cream in the freezer.

  Logan pulled the door wider. He wore his blue plaid golf outfit—which Harper was not allowed to call an outfit out loud—and a toothy smile.

  “No, you all go ahead. I’m going to stay home.” She was halfway to the stairs before her head caught up with her. “Wait, who else is going?”

  “I am.” Mr. Walker grasped the handrail and huffed as he climbed the last few steps to the top floor. “If I can get there without passing out.” He mopped his red face with a handkerchief from his back pocket.

  Harper scratched her neck. The last time she’d seen her father’s lawyer, he’d delivered some bad news. Well, she thought it was bad at the time. But things had worked out pretty well, for the most part. Not including the iceberg between her and Isaac. “It’s good to see you, Mr. Walker.”

  “You too.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out an envelope. “I came to deliver this in person.”

  Harper accepted the letter. Her name was on the front in her dad’s block script. She pulled it to her chest, needing to hold a part of him close.

  “That is the letter your dad wrote to you when he changed his will. It had been moved with some of his other papers to a safe deposit box and Seth and I found it yesterday. I’m sorry it’s taken so long to get it to you. He wanted you to have it right off and I’ve messed that up.”

  “It’s okay.” She felt the familiar sting behind her eyes that appeared every time someone spoke kindly of Jake Richmond. “I don’t plan to sue you or anything.”

  Mr. Walker’s belly bounced as he chortled. “Good thing I’m a darn good lawyer.”

  Harper laughed.

  Mom clasped her hands. “Are we ready?”

  Logan shrugged. “Yep.”

  “Then let’s go.” She shooed the guys out the door. “Love you.” Mom kissed her cheek.

  “Love you too.” Harper waved goodbye and shut the door behind them.

  Still holding the letter to her chest, she made her way to the library and sank into the overstuffed couch. She brushed her fingertips over her name. It touched Harper that her dad had taken the time to pen the letter himself instead of dictate it to one of his many secretaries. The month before he—she gulped—died, he’d been weak. Any effort sapping his energy. With careful movements, she opened the envelope, slipped out the sheet, and began reading.

  Dear Harper,

  I have loved being your dad. You were our miracle baby. After Seth, the doctors said Nora would never carry another child and yet, you came. You have always been a determined spirit.

  You’re going to need that determination as you take over the Redrocks. Owning the team isn’t for wimps. It takes a sound business mind to make the hard decisions, an advanced understanding of finance to make it profitable, and—most importantly—a heart. Remember that. If a team doesn’t have heart—it’s just the Yankees. (That’s a bit of baseball humor I hope you’ll get one day.)

  Harper laughed through the lump in her throat.

  To you, my prized daughter, I have left my most prized possession. Please, do well with the team. They’re more than players, they are men with hopes, families, talent, and doubts. I hope you can see past their salaries and yes, even their egos. Though this team was my dream, it’s yours now. You, and only you, can take what I started and make it soar.

  If you run into trouble, call Pamela Jones. Her methods are unconventional, and you’ll probably wish you could dig me up and smack me for sending you to her, but she will deliver—that you can count on.

  He was right. Pamela had delivered exactly what she needed. Not just a coach, but a husband who had her back. One who was far away at the moment, both geographically and emotionally.

  If I make it to heaven, then I’ll be watching the games.

  Love, Dad

  Tears flowed freely as Harper finished reading. Dad believed in her. He believed in her. Not Jackson Kimber and not Seth. Putting Seth in charge of the family trust had freed her to focus on the Redrocks, which is where he’d needed her the most.

  Harper thought of the horrific press interviews and rude reporters, she ran through all the awful interviews she’d conducted before hiring Isaac, and realized that the majority of that had gone away. Sure, she still conducted interviews, but they focused on what happened on the field. The jokes about her owning the team had all but disappeared as their record slowly improved. According to Isaac, sh
e had a higher win/loss ratio than her dad. Seeing concrete results from the decisions she’d made was satisfying.

  Besides her STATs improving, Harper liked the environment. Her staff was full of intelligent people who worked towards a mutual goal—that alone made going to work every day a good experience. She’d hate to think of what would happen to the main office if she sold the team. Players weren’t the only ones with limited contracts. Where would Jeff Hickman go? Or Stew Nugget? She wouldn’t walk away from them.

  And she really loved baseball. There was something about watching a guy step into that batter’s box and face off against a pitcher. He’d coil up, ready to strike, the bat moving faster than the naked eye could track. And the sound that echoed through the stadium when wood connected with leather was a whole symphony in one note.

  She’d worked hard to help the team succeed, creating half-price days for local school kids, planning fireworks displays for the 4th and 24th of July, getting the players out in the community and sponsoring little league teams. She’d built the team into what her dad always dreamed they could be.

  Well, almost. She stared at the paper, the words swimming before her eyes. They weren’t the team he pictured, because they weren’t acting like a team. Strike that. Most of the guys were performing or improving. One player was not. And she and the manager weren’t on speaking terms. In those areas, she was failing.

  Taking one problem at a time, she focused on Jackson Kimber.

  If she looked at the Redrocks as her team, would she keep him?

  An internal struggle ensued.

  Dating Jackson was the biggest mistake of her life, but keeping him on the team out of fear compounded her lack of judgment.

  If she was honest with herself, she’d acted as much out of fear as she had out of the need to hold on to a part of her dad. However short and disastrous their relationship had been—she didn’t want it to come to light. Few people knew they’d dated and fewer knew why they’d broken up. If she kicked Jackson out of the clubhouse, he could tell the press it was because he’d broken her heart and he had enough selfies of them to back up his case.

  She thought she’d cared about Jackson, but what she’d felt for him was a pale shadow compared to what she felt for Isaac. Her and Jackson’s breakup was hard because it was humiliating to be cheated on and because she was embarrassed that she’d put up with his manipulations for as long as he had. However, Jackson’s lying, cheating heart was not her fault. She hadn’t driven him into the arms and beds of other women—she knew that now. A real man marshaled his impulses. She and Isaac had shared close quarters for a month, and not once had he tried to take advantage of her.

  A small smile played at Harper’s lips. For Isaac, she might not play all that hard to get. They were married, after all.

  Shaking her shoulders, she came back to the problem at hand: Jackson.

  With a definitive nod, she got to her feet. It was one o’clock local time. She hoped Peter Glick was in the office today; they had some work to do.

  27

  Isaac hurried out of his hotel room and towards the elevator. Another call from management complaining about the noise from Jackson’s room had him scrambling. The manager didn’t usually deal with these situations, but they had Harper’s name on the reservation and she’d asked to be notified of any problems, which meant that, for the fourth night in a row, Jackson had ruined his sleep.

  They had lost their first game and won the last two—he should be sleeping like a champ. Instead, he stared at the walls, wishing he were home with Harper. Wishing he’d kissed her goodbye. Wishing he could swallow his pride and call her.

  He’d been hard on her. Too hard, maybe. It wasn’t like her dad had been gone that long. She’d shared several sweet memories about her childhood. The more Isaac learned about Jake from Harper and her family, the more he respected the guy. And if Jake could raise kids to turn out like Harper and Seth, who could run billion-dollar companies and still care about people, then he was a pretty wonderful father.

  Jackson’s room was right next to the elevator. Management had given Isaac a key the night before and he used it to go inside. Jackson was on the bed, dancing with three women in oversized Redrocks T-shirts and nothing else. The music was loud enough that none of them heard him enter. Isaac found the Bluetooth speaker and turned it off, the music echoing into silence. The girls screamed and jumped to the far side of the bed like he was going to attack them.

  Isaac pointed towards the door. “Time to go.”

  Jackson bounced onto his backside like he was on a trampoline and not a hotel mattress. “You suck!” he spat at Isaac.

  “You’re starting tomorrow night—get it together,” Isaac fired back. The half-empty liquor bottles on the desk clanked when one of the girls bumped it while shimmying into a pair of tight pants.

  Isaac averted his eyes, grateful Harper wasn’t here to see this. At least there was one bright spot in this otherwise dismal road trip.

  No one spoke until the girls filed out. Then Jackson exploded, throwing pillows against the window. He grabbed a lamp and yanked, but it was bolted to the table.

  “I hate this team!” He tugged and grunted, but the lamp didn’t budge. “I can’t do anything.” He rounded on Isaac. “My contract leaves me one pastime and you just kicked that out of my room.” Jackson scrambled off the bed.

  Isaac shifted his weight and balled his fists, ready to defend himself if necessary.

  Jackson glared, maintaining eye contact, measuring Isaac’s resolve to stand his ground. “Where’s Harper?” he demanded. “I want to talk to Harper.”

  “Harper’s not here.” Isaac folded his arms, hating the way Jackson used her first name. And hating more that Jackson felt he had the right.

  “Too bad. She was always something warm to hold on to.”

  Bile rose in Isaac’s throat at the thought of Harper anywhere near this pig. He couldn’t imagine a woman of Harper’s character and grace falling for the false charms of a guy like this. “Harper is way out of your league.”

  Understanding spread across Jackson’s smug little face. “She never told you, did she?” He fell back on the bed, his arms behind his neck. “Man, that’s got to sting.”

  Jackson had done and said some pretty dirty things since Isaac started, but this was the lowest. “You’re not getting in my head, Kimber.” He stormed to the door. “Get some sleep.”

  Once in the hallway, Isaac rolled his head around to loosen up the muscles in his neck. Despite what he’d said, Jackson had gotten under his skin. He shuddered, hating the image of the two of them together.

  Harper said she loved Isaac. And the way she responded to his kisses, she wouldn’t fake that—couldn’t. But maybe what she felt for him wasn’t strong enough to overcome whatever Jackson had done to her, especially if she wouldn’t let go of the pain.

  He slammed his palm against the wall.

  A professional marriage indeed. There was nothing professional about the way he wanted to storm back in there and beat the smile of Kimber’s face.

  If anyone was in his head, it was Harper. In his head and in his heart.

  He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t love her like he did and not have all of her. The same house, the same office, the same car … they shared everything except what was most important, and being that close to her and knowing she didn’t feel the same was too hard. He’d struck out and it was time to walk away.

  Yes, his baseball career would be over. No one would touch him after this.

  And he didn’t care. A life without Harper might as well be a life without baseball, because from here on out, everything about baseball would remind him of her.

  28

  Harper smiled across the speakerphone at Peter Glick. “We appreciate your time this afternoon.” She spoke loud enough that the Seattle head of scouting would be able to hear clearly. “I’ve got Peter Glick, and Jeff Hickman, here with me. We’re interested to hear what you have to say.”

/>   “We’ve been looking at Kimber all season.”

  “Really?” asked Jeff, the sarcasm only in his facial expression. “We hadn’t noticed.”

  Harper grinned. Isaac’s plan had gone around and around the front office, picking up supporters each loop. Harper had no idea there were so many people in the get-rid-of-Jackson-Kimber club. They each had their reasons but had kept them behind closed office doors. Being open to discussing this trade had opened up other conversations, too. Conversations she should have had months ago. It seemed that pulling Jackson out, making this big move on her own, established her as an active owner.

  Once she’d mentally taken ownership of the team, stepping into the game changer role was as easy as sliding on her favorite pair of ballet flats.

  Did she love being a team owner? Yes, she did.

  If everything went well with this phone call, she’d be able to welcome Isaac home with a new pitcher and a hearty apology for not standing behind him when she should have—which would hopefully lead to making up.

  She liked making up with Isaac.

  She would have called, told him how right he was all along, but she couldn’t bring herself to explain everything over the phone. There was too much to express in words. She needed arms and hands and lips to get the full apology across and planned to take advantage of all the tools at her disposal.

  The idea that she needed to fix herself was spot on. She’d been trying to live in her father’s shadow because she believed his shadow was all that remained. What a farce that turned out to be. When she assumed command, several people commented on how much she reminded them of her father. Isaac was right: the best parts of Dad were inside of her. She’d just been too timid to look for them.