Covering All the Bases (For the Love of the Game)

by Jody Holford

  Josiah did another round of introductions, explaining the role of each of the men and women around the table. Years of working for her father and graduating magna cum laude did nothing to prepare her for the number of people involved in making a baseball team work. There were more vice presidents and executives in this room than there were in five of her father’s operations.

  “What you need to know, Isla,” a gray-haired, thickly mustached man said, “is we run this team for you. We’re your people. We’re good at our jobs, and if you continue to let us do them, as your grandfather did, things will be fine.”

  Isla nodded, racking her brain. Scott Targan. Senior Advisor. “Thank you, Scott.”

  “Most of us have been working for your grandfather for years, and we know what it takes to make this team work.”

  Isla looked over at the blond woman. Attractive, probably late forties, her hair pulled back tightly from her face. Candace Warren. Vice-President of Major and Minor League Operations. God, she wished Addie were here taking notes. She’d need to think about how to make the offer sweet enough to get her best friend slash best assistant ever to Nashville.

  “I appreciate that, Candace, and I’ll definitely be relying on your expertise.”

  “We need to discuss the roster and who we want joining us for spring training,” Bruce said, his tone not nearly as cordial as the others. He folded his beefy arms on the tabletop and clasped his hands together. “This is going to be our year if we do things right.”

  Isla thought about that and tried to recall what she’d read about Bruce’s role in the organization. It seemed that the people in this room were suggesting she let them maintain the status quo, and from the research Addie had sent, that wasn’t what Isla was after. This team ranked lower than they should. They had potential and had even made it close to the playoffs last season. Still. Regardless of their years with her grandfather, something wasn’t working. If they wanted to improve their standings, she might have to shake things up.

  “Isla has a press conference in five minutes,” Ethan said, standing abruptly.

  She glanced at Josiah. He nodded. Looking at the faces around the table, trying with all her might to commit them to memory, she gave a professional smile. “I look forward to working with all of you.”

  Ethan was at her side, ushering her out of the room and down a hallway. “You did well. Breathe.”

  Isla shot him a sardonic glance. “I might need help with names and baseball terms, but I can remember the simple things like pulling air in and out of my lungs.”

  Ethan’s lips quirked. “No wonder Cruz likes you.” He shook his head and then guided her into another room. “Stick to the script. I’ve preapproved the questions from specific reporters. I’ll call on them.” He gave her a once-over that was clearly all business, then met her gaze again. “Stick to the script.”

  She smiled. “Got it, boss.” Lights flashed before she took her first step inside and more people pushed forward, clipping mics on her, fixing her hair, chatting in her ear, and all but carrying her to the podium.

  She’d given press conferences before. She’d made major announcements and highlighted power plays such as the Conroy merger. She could do this.

  Blinking against the glare of more lights than she’d ever seen, Isla stepped behind the podium, her hands gripping the sides like a lifeline.

  Stick to the script. Simple as that.

  She hoped.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where was she? It had been hours since the press conference, and technically, it was none of his business. Nothing about this feels technical.

  He was going crazy inside trying to figure out where she might have gone, what she was doing. If she was okay. He’d tried casually calling Ethan and asking some questions, but it’d gotten him nowhere. If he was telling the truth, the PR director had no idea where she was, either.

  Somehow, after things had blown up on television, Isla had managed to slip away unnoticed.

  He looked back at the TV and couldn’t turn it off. Like watching a train wreck or trying to stop a fall with your arms restrained.

  Talia winced as the sound bite image showed again, on ESPN: We’re friends. The announcer’s voice grated over Liam’s skin like sandpaper.

  “Some more off-season news for the Nashville Slammers,” the guy said with a goofy grin on his face, as if the story hadn’t already been shared a dozen times on different stations.

  “New owner Isla Bennett is causing quite a stir and no, not just because she looks more like she’s here to sing country music songs than run a baseball team. Apparently flustered by the barrage of questions that got a little out of hand, Ms. Bennett fit both feet snugly into her mouth.”

  “I think this is so typical,” the woman announcer beside him said, frowning deeply. “If it were a man who said something stupid—which happens all the time—you wouldn’t suggest he pick up a guitar.”

  They played the clip again, and Isla’s beautiful face, her cheeks tinged pink and her eyes wide, filled Liam’s screen as questions were hurled at her.

  “Ms. Bennett, what are your intentions for the team? Will you replace Bruce Gains? Will you keep the team in Nashville?”

  “Will you sell? Rumor has it your father would be willing to give you top dollar if you transfer the team to him.”

  Ethan appeared beside Isla on the screen. “Knock it off, Russell. We’re not answering conjecture. We have preapproved questions, folks. You were notified of this, and we intend to keep things civil.”

  First chance, Liam was buying Ethan a beer. A case of beer.

  “You’ve worked for your father for years, and his corporation has grown, but you’ve never ascended to a higher rank. Why is that, Ms. Bennett?”

  Because her father is an ass. Isla ignored the question, fielded another.

  “Are you aware that the will is being contested by your own father?”

  “What can fans expect from the team now that you’re at the helm?”

  “Ms. Bennett, the Slammers are a mid-grade team at best. What’s your plan to pull up their rankings?”

  Isla leaned forward, glanced down at something in front of her—probably Ethan’s damn cue cards. “I’ll listen to the people being paid to help me make these decisions until I feel comfortable enough making them on my own. I’ll work closely with my management to build a strong roster that sets us apart right out of the gate.”

  Pride filled him. Cue cards or not, she had started out holding her own. Until.

  “You sound confident. Like it’s a breeze,” the same guy said.

  She shook her head. “I don’t mean to. I know it’s a challenge, but I welcome it. Like everyone else, I want this team to have a shot at the playoffs and maybe even the cup.”

  Liam dropped his face into his palms, unable to watch again. Loud snickers were heard above the din of voices. His heart actually twisted in his chest for her.

  One guy in the back whom Liam didn’t recognize yelled out, “The cup? Do you mean the Commissioner’s Trophy?” More snickers and chatter. Vultures.

  Isla looked at Ethan, who leaned in to say something in her ear. Nodding, she turned back to the podium. “I do. I’m sorry. I’ll be honest, this is my first press conference of this magnitude.”

  And while that might endear her to some, mostly, it opened up for the sharks to swallow her whole. Which was exactly what happened next.

  “What about Liam Cruz? What are your plans with him?”

  She blinked then put her hand to the necklace he’d bought her, her back stiffening. “Liam and I are friends. Nothing more.”

  The crowd actually went silent. It was as if the screen or time froze. He could only imagine how she’d felt, standing there, facing hundreds of people and being goddamn attacked. In his career, he’d been there, but he knew how to deal with it. Ethan stepped forward and slipped something in front of her.

  Isla laughed with clear embarrassment. The red of her cheeks deepened so it n
early matched her hair. Before she could speak, questions erupted.

  “Do you have a relationship with Mr. Cruz?”

  “Did you know him before?”

  “Are you married?”

  “Have you slept with Liam Cruz?”

  “Are you joining the long list of ‘Cruz Cuties’?”

  Liam’s fingers curled into fists. He hated that there was a stupid nickname for the group of women who followed the sport and were very vocal about their feelings for him on whatever form of social media they preferred. They didn’t even know him.

  Ethan nudged Isla aside. “Either you all stop now or this is done.” He looked at the guy who’d asked the question. “Repeat the question, Eddie.”

  Eddie, a decent guy and a good reporter who hit every press circuit, nodded. He cleared his throat before he spoke into the mic. “How do you plan to utilize Liam Cruz on the team?”

  Isla looked down and then up, took a visible, deep breath. “Cruz has a well-known reputation for turning a team around, and we expect no different here in Nashville, where he’s always wanted to play. He was brought here to make a difference, and my plan is to see that he does.”

  Ethan nodded at her.

  “I feel so bad for her,” Talia said behind Liam, who just couldn’t sit down. All he could do was watch. He checked his phone again, but Isla hadn’t called. He’d left a stalker-ish amount of messages despite his intentions to give them both some space.

  “Your father was a ballplayer—why not let him have the team?”

  “How does Jonathan Conroy feel about your relationship with Liam Cruz?”

  Liam swore and muted the television. Who the hell was Jonathan Conroy? And why is that the first question on your mind?

  Talia’s phone rang, and she turned away to answer it. Sighing, Liam flopped onto the couch as his sister moved toward the kitchen.

  He was considering pouring a drink when she came back and stood in front of him. Smiling. “Thanks, James.”

  She slid her phone in her back pocket and smirked at Liam. “Don’t sit now. You have to go out.”

  “What now?”

  “James said there’s a visitor at the apartment over the bar.”

  Liam straightened. “No way. Why would she go there?”

  “Who cares why? Go. The poor girl must feel so lost and alone.”

  He stood up. “She’s strong, Tal. Like you.”

  Standing, she patted his arm. “Strong or not, big brother, I’d want a shoulder to cry on after a stoning like that.”

  Liam nodded. “Right. You’re right. Okay.”

  He scooped up his keys and was headed for the door when she shouted out, “And chocolate. I’d want a shoulder and chocolate!”

  Liam laughed as he got into his Land Rover. Chocolate. Then Isla. For the first time since he’d picked up a baseball at six years old, the sport wasn’t his immediate concern.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Isla stepped out of the shower and dried off. Pulling on cozy pajama pants and a tank top, she kept her hair twisted up in a clip. Despite the heat of the shower, it’d done nothing to wash away the day. What an absolute nightmare.

  She’d been so worried about her father and brother undermining her—sabotaging her—she hadn’t considered her ability to do it herself. The barrage of questions looped through her mind.

  Moving out to the kitchen, she thought about calling down and ordering some food. Between running out of the press conference, catching a cab to the apartment only to be met by her dad and Ian, she hadn’t eaten.

  Biting her lip, she considered her options and was picking up her phone from the counter when a knock sounded. She glanced at the screen and saw Liam had called and texted several times. She’d been avoiding everyone. But not him. She just hadn’t felt together enough to reply yet. He had every reason to be angry with her, but he couldn’t be madder than she was at herself.

  Pulling the door open, prepared to greet James, who’d taken pity on her when she’d shown up at the bar, her eyes widened at the sight of Liam. Without thinking, she launched herself at him, and he caught her in his arms. Wrapped tightly against him, she let him step into the apartment, kick the door shut behind him, and continue to just hold her as she buried her nose in his neck.

  Tears filled her eyes, and all he idiotic moments of the day replayed like a horrible gag reel in her head.

  “It’s okay, Red. It’s going to be okay,” he soothed, his lips at her ear.

  She sniffled and pulled back, glad her tears didn’t fall. “Why did you knock? You own the place.”

  He laughed, cupped her cheeks, and stared into her eyes. Just his look, his touch, settled all the pieces inside her that were running around like toddlers high on sugar. Everything just…slowed. She breathed in and out, loving the scent of his cologne and him.

  “It makes me happy that you came here. That you felt like you could come here, but sweetheart, why didn’t you come to me?” Liam stepped back, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it on one of the hooks beside the door.

  He nudged her toward the couch and, to her disappointment, sat across from her when she craved the closeness. At least one of them could think logically.

  “You know I couldn’t do that. I was supposed to stand there and be professional. I said I could hold my own, and I ended up looking like an idiot. I needed time to think. It was so embarrassing, and I wasn’t sure if you’d be mad. I panicked and went to Josiah’s apartment first. My dad and Ian were there. My father had papers drawn up—he wants the team and is willing to cut me a deal. I couldn’t handle talking to him, so I just got back in the taxi, and this was the only place that came to mind. It’s just…it’s all so much, and I felt so stupid.”

  She lowered her head, wanting to curl into him and rest it on his chest, but she refused to wimp out. She met his gaze again.

  Liam’s fingers linked together, and he dropped them between open knees as he looked at her with furrowed brows. “Why would I be mad?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Uh…hmm,” she said, her tone edging toward sarcasm. Holding up her fingers, she ticked off the reasons. “One, I made it seem like we have a personal relationship. I may not know a lot about sports, but I know a guy is likely to get razzed about dating the owner of a team. The new owner who made it clear how little she knows. You’re like, this paragon of baseball. And I…I called it a cup. Two, I embarrassed you and myself and the team on national television. Three, they now all see me as one of your groupies more than the owner. Four, you have a very commendable reputation built around making smart choices and staying out of the tabloids. If this isn’t tabloid fodder, I don’t know what is. And lastly…you believed I could pull it off, and I blew it up instead.”

  Liam shifted on the couch, his body moving nearer making her ache with want. She knew they couldn’t go anywhere. But God, she wanted him. His closeness, his tenderness, and his strength.

  Angling his body, he reached out a hand, setting it beside her hip on the couch but stopping short of touching her. “You didn’t embarrass me. At all. You could absolutely never be a groupie, so don’t say that. And you did pull it off, Isla. You handled yourself, and yeah, a few things went sideways, but you walked out with your head high, and I’m damn proud of you. I wish I’d stayed and been there for you afterward.”

  That he’d even thought of that made her want to sink in to him and push everything else away. She started to put her head down on his shoulder, but he stopped her. One hand came to her jaw, and he moved his thumb over her bottom lip. Like tripping a live wire, her skin buzzed to life.

  He dropped it suddenly, like he hadn’t meant to touch her.

  “And finally,” he said, his voice lower, his face moving nearer. “As much as we’re both trying to deny it, we do have a personal relationship. It was an honest mistake, Isla. You can’t beat yourself up over it.”

  Right. Nor could she do anything about the fact that Liam was awakening a part of her soul she didn’t even kn
ow existed.

  “I wish…” She bit her lip.

  “What? What do you wish?”

  Her eyes burned with tears, and her heartbeat echoed in her ears. “I wish things were different.”

  She lowered her head and tried to squelch the feelings overriding whatever common sense she had left. Liam’s hand came to her chin, tipping it up. The look in his eyes mirrored everything she felt, and she wondered what kind of cruel twist of fate made her feel like she’d found the perfect man in the one she couldn’t have.

  Her heart thumped quicker against her rib cage when his breath grew shallow. “Liam. We can’t.”

  He closed his eyes, and she took the moment to study his features, the slightly crooked tilt of his nose, the strong jaw, the thick, dark brows. Another time. Another place. If she believed in soul mates…

  Don’t finish that thought. How could it hurt so much when they’d never even been together?

  When his eyes fluttered open, she knew he’d reminded himself of all of their reasons. “It’s hard to be around you and not touch you. It’s impossible to not want to kiss you.”

  She nodded, and he dropped his hands. She felt the loss of them, and it piled onto the sadness she already felt.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, still watching her.

  “Me too. You have no idea how much.”

  His grin made her belly jump. “I think I might have some idea.”

  Isla gave him the smile she knew he’d been hoping for. He adjusted himself on the couch and leaned back. “Can I do anything? The slipup in the conference will go away. Try not to fixate on it. Ethan will make sure they have other sound bites.”

  Isla nodded and tried to mirror his relaxed pose. “He’s been great. So has Josiah and his daughter, Jennifer. And of course, I’m hoping to bring Addie here.”

  He reached out, then pulled his hand back, curled it into a fist on his lap. “I hate the thought of you being alone.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried to give him a sardonic smile. “I probably won’t get much alone time over the next little while.”