In Her Own League — 3 Emmett

3

EMMETT

“Do you think if I went down a size in my uniform pants, it’d give me a better range of motion?” Cody, our first baseman, squats down into a deep stretch.

Isaiah laughs. “Range of motion? Really.”

Cody’s smile turns cheeky. “Might make my ass look better too. I don’t know.”

“Is that really the most important thing on your mind just before we start the final game of this series?” I ask, arms crossed over the dugout railing.

“Don’t worry, Coach. My head is fully in the game. Been keeping a close eye on number seven over there.”

Kai tries to hold back his laughter, but it slips out. “Yeah, I’m sure you have been.”

Cody, our first baseman, and Travis, our catcher, are Isaiah’s two best friends. And though I don’t tend to choose favorites, Isaiah and Kai are basically family so Cody and Trav have become an extension of that.

Kai and Travis have always been my responsible, level-headed guys, while Cody and Isaiah are my two wild cards, always down for a good time.

I’d only admit it if they needed to hear it, but I really do love them. They make my job fun.

“What do you guys think of Natalie?” Travis asks of our new athletic trainer.

The three players are on the grass stretching, while Kai and I rest our forearms on the railing that separates us in the dugout.

“Seriously, Trav?” I ask. “Not you too. Opening pitch is in ten minutes.”

“Innocent question.” He holds his hands up. “She seems like a nice girl.”

“She seems like she’s good at her job. Don’t try to distract her from it.”

“We don’t need another Kennedy and Isaiah situation,” Kai says.

“What Kennedy and Isaiah situation?” Kennedy asks, joining us in the dugout.

“There she is.” Isaiah beams, bending over the railing to give his wife a kiss.

“The ‘I’m obsessed with our athletic trainer’ situation,” Cody fills her in.

Kennedy’s attention swings to Travis. “Leave her alone, Trav.”

“Leave her alone?” Travis’s tone is laced in disbelief. “We told Isaiah to leave you alone for three years then you went ahead and married him.”

“Yeah, well. Blame that one on the tequila.” She turns to her husband.

“Great mistake, though, huh?”

“Best mistake,” Isaiah adds in retort.

“I’m going to need everyone in the club to stop dating and marrying each other,” I cut in. “It’s starting to feel a bit incestual around here.”

“Says the guy who is letting his daughter marry my brother.”

“I don’t let my daughter do shit. Have you met Miller? She’s done exactly what she wants since the day I met her.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Kai tacks on.

“Where are you working today, Kenny?” Isaiah asks his wife.

“Bullpen. Will and Natalie are taking the dugout.”

Everyone’s attention swings to Travis, holding up his hands again. “Jesus.

Okay, I get it. I’ll leave her alone.”

Then I hear it, the unmistakable click of a pair of high heels tapping against the cement walkway behind me. There’s no need to turn around because I already know Reese is on her way out here from our visiting clubhouse.

“Hey, Reese,” Kennedy says brightly, confirming my suspicion. “Where are you watching the game today?”

I keep my attention ahead, focused on my players warming up and Cleveland’s stadium seats filling with fans. But I sense her, standing a solid ten feet away from us.

“I’ll be in one of the visiting offices watching on a screen. I have some work to do but let me know if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Kennedy says. “I should get over to the bullpen.”

“Same,” Kai adds. “I’ll walk with you.”

They both take the steps up the dugout, headed for right-center field— where Cleveland’s bullpen is. The other guys join them, leaving Reese and me alone in the dugout. Isaiah gives his wife a kiss and his brother a hug when they leave him behind in the infield.

“They’re sweet together,” Reese says, and for a moment I forget about my defenses and allow my attention to swing her way.

She’s all business today. Light tan trousers that make her legs look about a mile long. Fitted cream-colored tank that seems like it was cut specifically for her body. Gold necklace that lands perfectly between her—

Fuck me, I feel like a creep.

She’s your boss.

But regardless of her title, Reese Remington is one of the most beautiful

women I’ve ever seen.

Ruthless but beautiful.

I refocus on the field ahead of me, shifting back to the conversation at hand. “They’re a good match for one another.”

The click of Reese’s heels begins again, and out of my periphery, I can see her moving closer. My attention snags on the sharp angle of her hair just below her jaw, which could not have been a better choice of cut for her, before it trails to the elegant slope of her shoulder and down her arm. Which is when I remember to pull my eyes away again.

The soft notes of amber and vanilla from the perfume she wears invades my senses as soon as she gets close enough. And I know the scent is coming from her because it’s all I could focus on during the flight here. Reese sits directly behind me on the team plane, and it was a nice reprieve from the guy-stench that typically fills our aircraft.

“We have a press conference scheduled after the game tonight.”

“We?” I ask, skeptically. “As in, you and me? Why?”

Reese leans on the dugout railing next to me, mirroring my position, but she makes the move look a whole lot more graceful than the way my bulky frame is hunched over.

“Some of the bigger networks want to talk about our new relationship.”

I turn in her direction, lifting my brow. “Our what?”

“Our relationship,” she repeats. “Our working relationship. You know, the one where you’re the long-standing field manager and I’m the new President of Baseball Ops.”

“Well, I guess it’s going to be an awfully short press conference seeing as we don’t have much of a working relationship.”

Other than the flight, I’ve hardly seen Reese on this road trip. I think it’s obvious to both of us that we’ve been avoiding one another.

“We can fake one,” she says simply.

“It’d be better if we actually had one.” Standing, I turn to give her my full attention. “I want you to succeed here, Reese. You might not believe that, but it’s true. And this season would run a whole lot smoother if we could communicate with one another. You run the back end of baseball ops. I run the games. We have to work together. I just . . . it’d be nice if we could try to get along. I get that we may never be friends, but I respect you.”

“Do you?” Her question is almost testing in the way she asks it.

“Of course I do.”

“Then why haven’t you let one of your video coaches go the way I asked you to? It’s the end of the week, Emmett.”

Not this again.

I slightly roll my eyes. “Because I’m not fucking doing that.”

“And so much for respecting me.”

“I do respect you, Reese. But I wouldn’t respect myself if I fired a soon- to-be father after I just gave him a promotion that he needed. That his family needed.”

There’s this heavy tension living in the silence between us, and if she’s going to learn one thing about me, I hope it’s this. That I’m not going to do something that goes against my beliefs, even if it risks my job or gets me shit from my boss.

Reese straightens her spine and lifts her chin as she looks up at me.

“That’s fine. I already took care of it for you.”

The chill in my veins is instant. “What?”

“Nate. I let him go. He was the newest hire of the three. I gave you until the end of the week and you didn’t do it, so I did it for you.”

“What the hell, Reese?”

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have an ounce of remorse anywhere to be found in her expression.

It has me starting to rethink some things.

Yeah, sure, Reese is a boss. Arthur was too checked out, while she gets things done. But at what cost?

“Do you understand what this means for his family?” I ask, the desperation clear in my tone. “Exactly how heartless are you? Because I’m realizing it’s more than I assumed.”

If that hit landed, Reese doesn’t let it show. She simply turns on her heels to leave. She doesn’t throw a fit. She doesn’t call me names. She just leaves.

But not before adding one more thing over her shoulder.

“Baseball is a business, Emmett. It’d be nice if you started viewing it that way.”

You’d think that winning this series would help my mood.

It hasn’t.

I’m still pissed. Even more pissed the longer I think about the fact that Reese fired one of my guys.

And now I have to sit in a press conference and pretend as if she and I have some cordial working relationship after she just did what she did.

Almost every major sports network is here, eager to cover this interview, which is a bit surprising. It’s a Friday night in Cleveland, Ohio. We’re being interviewed on the road. Both the NBA and the NHL are winding down their seasons, heading into playoffs. Shit, even the college basketball Final Four is this weekend, and yet this is what they want covered?

Sure, it’s a big deal when one of the clubs gets a new baseball president, but I’ve never seen this much attention surrounding any previous transition.

“Should we get started?” Reese asks from the seat next to mine, countless microphones pointed in her direction.

Too many hands raise at once, but thankfully we have someone overseeing this conference who calls on the first reporter.

“Yeah, this one is for both of you. Have you two experienced any disagreements regarding the way you run the team, and if so, how has that been handled?”

I gesture for Reese to answer first because I can guarantee she’s not going to like mine.

She’s the picture of professionalism, sitting up straight, hands folded on the table in front of her. She’s even got that sharp blonde hair of hers covering the stacks of gold earrings that sparkle up the length of her ears.

Don’t get me wrong, those aren’t unprofessional in the slightest. They just make her stand out a bit from the twenty-nine old guys who run the other teams in the league.

“Of course, there are a few small things we haven’t entirely aligned on, but that’s what communication is for. We both want what’s best for the team, and any decisions we make are with that sole focus in mind.”

Polished, professional bullshit.

I don’t think I’d refer to firing someone from my staff as a “small thing.”

With my turn to answer, I lean in closer to the mics. “This is Reese’s team.”

I can sense that most everyone is waiting for me to elaborate my answer, including her. But adding “our communication consists of her not listening to me” or “she does whatever what she wants” isn’t exactly something I want to air out to the world, regardless of how pissed off and childish I feel.

But I’m also not going to lie by saying some shit about how we’re a team and we’re doing this together, so I sit back in my seat to signal that I’m finished with my answer.

Reese’s face is etched in stone, unimpressed with my response.

“Okay then.” The coordinator selects another raised hand.

“Yeah, this question is also for both of you. How do you feel the transition has been going so far? Reese, with you working so closely with an experienced and winning field manager. And Monty, for you working under someone other than Arthur Remington for the first time in your

career.”

Again, I look to Reese to answer first.

Reese gives a slight nod of her head. “It’s still new. The season started only a week ago, but I look forward to working together this year. Emmett is well-loved so I’m eager to learn why that is.”

Reese glances my way, a self-satisfied smirk on her lips.

All eyes turn my way and if Reese wants to play, we can fucking play.

“Well, it may be new but I’m quickly learning that she’s the boss, so whatever she says goes, right?”

There’s a hum of laughter among the reporters and I allow my attention to drift over to Reese. The stoic princess cracks a bit, blinking quickly and swallowing hard, before resetting into her pristine posture.

Now I’m the one wearing a shit-eating grin.

“A bit different being bossed around by a woman, huh?” another reporter chimes in, the crowd continuing to chuckle along, and that instantly grabs my attention.

I dart my focus into the group of reporters, looking for who the hell just said that.

And that’s when I realize what’s going on. That’s why they’re all here.

This massive press conference is not because the Windy City Warriors have a new president. It’s because that president is a woman.

That thought didn’t even cross my mind, that her gender was the reason for this circus.

What a stupid fucking thing to focus on. If Reese were a man, I’d be equally pissed off about the shit they pulled today.

“Who said that?” I ask. “The ‘being bossed around by a woman’ comment.”

A reporter raises his hand, and I instantly recognize him. I recognize all these reporters from various media coverages over the years.

It’s one thing for me to give her shit because she can give it right back, but no one else here is allowed to make Reese uncomfortable in her position.

I focus on him, my tone sharp. “To make it clear, the original question was how I feel about working under someone other than Arthur Remington for the first time in my career. It was not ‘how do I feel about working under a woman.’ I think you all know I raised a daughter, so don’t ever say some stupid shit like that to me again.”

Reese offers me the smallest, almost undetectable but grateful smile aimed in my direction.

Fuck it. It may feel like we’re on opposite teams most of the time, but when it comes down to it, we’re on the same one.

The press conference continues.

“Reese, as you know, there’s not many women in baseball, and there’s never been one in your position of power. Do you feel like you’re in over your head with this new role?”

I’m still fired up and about to speak into the microphone for her when Reese does so first.

“I’m not sure that your first statement has anything to do with your question,” Reese says, completely composed. “Do I feel like I’m in over my head? No. Do I feel prepared with an extensive background and knowledge in both business and baseball? Yes. Next question.”

Another reporter is called on.

“Yeah, this one is for Reese. What would you say to all the Warriors fans, and, well, most of the league, who don’t believe you’re the right man for the

job?”

What the hell?

Again, she stays entirely undeterred. “I would tell them that they’re right.

I’m not the right man for the job. I’m the right woman. Next question.”

I can’t contain the laugh that charges out of me. Lifting my hat, I run a hand through my hair before replacing it. Then cross my arms over my chest and let the cameras pick up on the proud smile on my face.

“Reese, you don’t have children or a spouse right now, but if that changes in the future, are you concerned about how you’d be able to balance your

homelife and your career?”

Fucking hell.

I sit forward again, about to lay into this guy, when Reese puts a hand on my thigh to stop me. It’s done so under the table so no one can see.

Light-pink painted nails, slender fingers, and a simple gold pinky ring. A complete contrast to my inked hand that’s resting next to hers on my thigh.

Eyes finding hers, I settle back into my seat and allow her to answer for herself.

“It’s Frank, right?” she asks the reporter. He nods in confirmation.

“Frank, have you ever asked any of the other twenty-nine owners that question?”

He stays silent for a moment and not because he’s trying to remember, but because he knows he’s about to get called out.

“Have you ever asked any one of the players in the league who are fathers and husbands that question? Have you ever wondered how they’re able to have kids and still go to work? I didn’t think so. Next question.”

“Last question,” I cut in. “Because these ones have been awfully predictable.”

Another reporter is called on. I believe her name is Kelly. She works for one of the major networks and has covered quite a few of our games over the years.

“Hi, Monty.” She smiles at me. “I’ll make this one less predictable for you. You’ve been in Chicago for quite some time now, and I’ll be in town soon to cover a few Warriors’ games. Do you have a favorite restaurant I should try?”

“Oh yeah, loads of them. I’m not much of a cook, so I’m a regular in the Chicago restaurant scene. I’ll uh . . . get someone from our front office to email you a few recommendations.”

“And these recommendations, would they be okay for someone to go alone, or is it best if I book for two? Because I’ll be alone when I go.”

“Jesus,” Reese mutters under her breath.

“Um, well, most have nice bars you can sit at. I typically go eat by myself.”

Kelly nods, still smiling my way. “Well, maybe you won’t have to when I’m in town.”

“Okay.” Reese stands from her seat. “That’s all for tonight. I hope everyone has a safe trip home. Thank you for your time.”

I’m out of my seat too, chasing after her, but she’s quick in those heels.

“Reese,” I call out, jogging to catch up to her, but then slow to a speed walk to stay at her side. “Are you all right? Those questions were inappropriate.”

“Yeah. They were. Especially the last one.”

I grab her arm to stop her because I didn’t expect to be getting my cardio in by sprinting through the visiting clubhouse.

She reluctantly turns my way and takes even more time to look up and meet my eye.

“Kelly?” I ask. “That was the question you felt was inappropriate?”

“Emmett, she was hitting on you.”

Was she? I’ve been out of the game so long I didn’t even notice.

My face must say exactly that.

“Seriously?” Reese asks, unimpressed. “You didn’t pick up on that?”

“You seem awfully bothered about it.”

She breathes a disbelieving laugh. “I could not care less. I would just prefer it if you didn’t use our place of work as your own personal dating pool.”

My smile only grows as I look down at her. The polished princess is flustered right now.

“Stop smiling at me like that,” she huffs, walking away while I stay cemented in place, watching her go. “I’ll see you on the airplane in the morning.”

There’s too much satisfaction in my tone, my cheeks a bit sore from grinning like a fucking idiot. “Have a good night, Reese.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she calls back.

I burst a laugh. Maybe this sparring thing isn’t so bad.