In Her Own League — 7 Emmett

7

EMMETT

Leaning a shoulder against the lobby wall, I wait.

Reese already texted me that she was running a bit behind and would just meet me in the hotel’s main ballroom where they’ve set up a bar and some high-top tables, but I didn’t have it in me to make her walk into tonight’s cocktail mixer alone.

I was surprised when her name popped up on my phone screen thirty minutes ago, because that one text is about all the communication we’ve had.

We didn’t speak on this morning’s flight to Las Vegas. We sat next to each other on the plane, but Reese had her headphones in and worked the entire time.

When we arrived at the hotel, we didn’t say a word, simply gave the receptionist our IDs to check us in. Once we received our room keys, we went our separate ways, and the conference schedule kept us apart for the rest of the day.

Reese attended a few events for the owners while I went to the get- togethers for the field managers. The commissioner spoke. We listened.

Then we all hung out, shooting the shit during our downtime.

I’ve got quite a few friends who manage other teams, which is the only part of this yearly conference I enjoy. We get to catch up without the pressure of a game looming over us. Sure, there are a few coaches who don’t exactly get along, but they’re all fairly good at faking it in these group settings.

It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense that this conference is held in Vegas every year. There are no major league teams here currently and the commissioner’s office is located in New York. Yet, every year, for twenty- four hours, we all gather here. And judging by the debauchery that I’ve seen some of these guys get up to over the years, I think I might be the only

attendee who despises having to trek all the way out to Nevada for one night.

Personally, I can’t stand this part of the job. The ass-kissing. The showing off to other teams. By the time the cocktail mixer rolls around every year, I’ve got about an hour left in my social battery before I head back to my room for the night. I can’t remember a conference I’ve attended that I wasn’t counting down the minutes until our flight out or when I could get back to my team.

So, knowing there’s only one hour that I might get to speak to Reese after more than a week of silence, I wait in the lobby for her so we can walk in together.

This level of the Vegas hotel is reserved for the conference, which is a whole lot quieter than the casino. So, when the elevator finally dings, landing on this floor, it earns all my attention.

But even if I were surrounded by hundreds of people, even if I couldn’t hear myself think, my eyes still would’ve found her as soon as the doors opened.

Reese is standing in the elevator by herself, riffling through her tiny purse for something and not realizing that I’m standing on the other side, utterly speechless.

I’ve mostly seen my boss in business attire. But tonight, she’s wearing a dress. It’s dusty blue and cut perfectly to highlight every inch of her. A dress that I can’t decide if I’d like better on her distracting body, as it is now, or seeing it sprawled across my bedroom floor.

Okay. What the hell is wrong with me?

It doesn’t matter that she and I don’t get along most of the time. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to view my boss as only my boss when I haven’t felt this level of attraction to someone in years.

Not that I’d ever act on it. I respect her too much to risk her reputation or my own job for something as minor as physical attraction.

There’s also the fact that I’m older than her and also her employee. I’m self-aware enough to admit that I already know Reese would never see me in that way.

She walks out of the elevator, still looking through her purse until she finally finds the lip gloss she was searching for. She’s got the top off and the applicator partway to her lips when she looks up and finds me waiting for her.

Leaning a shoulder against the wall, hand tucked into a pocket.

A little bit hypnotized.

“Oh,” she says. “I uh . . . you didn’t have to wait for me.”

It’s about the most she’s said to me all week, but I’m not paying much attention to her words. I’m fixated on the way her eyes trail down my body, on the way her cheeks earn a slight flush as she takes her time looking.

I typically live in my athletic clothes and baseball pants when I’m at work, but tonight, just like the other ninety or so men in there, I’m wearing a suit.

Miller was over at my apartment this morning, and I asked her to grab me a suit from my closet so I could pack. I wasn’t at all surprised when she picked my dark green one, seeing as it’s her favorite color. And judging by the way my boss is looking at me right now, I need to thank my daughter for choosing this one.

“I uh . . .” I rub my palm over my beard. “I didn’t want you to walk in alone.”

That blank expression she’s worn around me all week softens in a way she rarely lets it. “That was thoughtful of you.”

There’s a moment of silence as I replay her words.

“I’m sorry,” I tease. “Was that a compliment you just accidentally let slip out?”

I watch as the smallest tic lifts the corners of her lips, but she tries to cover it by sliding the gloss over her lips, leaving a soft-pink shine in its

wake.

“My bad. I won’t let it happen again.”

As she speaks, a bit of gloss smears just on the outside ridge of her lip and I can’t seem to help myself. Something about her not only speaking to me but bantering with me again has me pushing off the wall, closing the distance between us.

Reese’s eyes stay on mine the entire time, and when I reach her, I carefully swipe the bit of stray gloss off her skin with the pad of my thumb.

“You look . . .” Stunning. Breathtaking. Absolutely unreal. “Beautiful.”

Reese’s eyes widen only a fraction and it’s enough to tell me that was the wrong thing to say.

“Nice, I mean. You look nice. Fine. Average at best. And honestly, I wouldn’t notice otherwise.”

Reese tilts her head to the side, trying to suppress her grin. “Is that what you used to tell my grandfather when you two went to these things together? That he looked beautiful.”

“Absolutely. So don’t assume that’s something I reserve only for you.

That’s just a typical thing I like to say to my bosses.”

“Hmm,” she hums. “Glad to see you’re keeping things so consistently professional.”

That’s my new rule. If I wouldn’t say it to Arthur, I shouldn’t say it to

Reese.

I clear my throat. “Shall we?”

Reese gives a polite nod of her head and, like instinct, I reach out to place my hand on her lower back, wanting to usher her to walk ahead of me. But, thankfully, I stop myself before I make contact.

Even though we’re dressed like this, this is not a fucking date. This is a work event and the last thing she needs is to walk into a room of her peers and the commissioner of the league with her employee’s palm sprawled across the small of her back.

Instead, I shove my hand back into my pocket and just pray I find a way to get my shit together at some point tonight.

I can feel this uneasy, nervous energy radiating off her the closer we get to the ballroom door, and that’s only amplified by the way she constantly turns her head and checks her surroundings.

I’m not used to seeing Reese flustered and uncomfortable, but I did just wipe her lip and tell her she looks beautiful, so I assume what she’s desperately checking for is the nearest exit and the quickest path to get away from me.

I give her a bit more distance, staying another step behind. But when I reach out to open the ballroom’s door for her, she quickly covers my hand with hers to keep the door closed.

“Emmett,” she sighs, turning to face me. “I know we’re having some differences right now, but just for tonight . . . can we be on the same team?”

“We’re always on the same team. That’s literally why we’re here.

Because we are on the same team.”

“You know what I mean. It’s been a hard day, and I have a feeling tonight isn’t going to be any easier.”

There’s a lot more that needs to be said, mostly an apology from me for not hearing her out about trading one of my players. But that’s a

conversation for a different time.

“What happened today?” I ask.

“Nothing I didn’t expect.”

I’m not positive I know what she means but my instincts are screaming that I’m not going to like the answer when I find out.

“So maybe, just for tonight, we can call a truce?” There’s a bit of vulnerability in her voice that I’m not used to hearing from her.

I nod to agree. “Of course, Reese. Whatever you need.”

She exhales, and the weight on her shoulders seems to lighten a bit.

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” She takes her hand away from mine, allowing me to open the door. “Let’s just get this over with.”

I pull the handle inward. “That’s the spirit.”

That one and only hour I was planning to stay has come and gone.

So have an additional two.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be here. I’d rather be just about anywhere else other than here, but I’m sure as hell not going to leave Reese on her own.

I’ve only ever worked for one Major League Baseball club so I don’t personally know many of the other team owners, but I can say for certain that they’re all a bunch of pricks.

Hidden in the back corner of the bar with a bourbon in hand, because I really am done with the socializing part of today, I watch it all unfold the same as it has for the past three hours.

Technically, Reese is with all the other owners on the other side of the room, trying her best to network and include herself in the conversations happening around her. But since we’ve been here, I’ve witnessed every single one of them brush her off.

She might be standing nearby, but they’re doing their best to make sure she knows she is not with them.

It’s a sea of white-haired men in ill-fitting suits. The blonde bombshell stands out no matter where she goes but even more so being the only woman among her peers who are all at least thirty years her senior.

I’m sure they don’t think they’re being absolute dicks by excluding her, and I can guarantee at least half of them don’t even know the meaning of

the word sexist, though they’re the walking definition. But I know the way some of these guys think. Fundamentally, they believe that women should stay out of sports.

They’ll do their one female hire to dodge the scrutiny from the public, but it’s never in a higher-up position.

Then in comes Reese, equal on their level and done so without their permission.

She’s got a glass of red wine in her hand and is doing her best to listen and contribute to the conversations around her, and my heart kind of breaks watching her have to try so hard.

Eventually, Reese says something to a group of men, but then, once again, one of them shifts his shoulder slightly to edge her out of the discussion. She keeps her head held high, not letting anyone notice that being ostracized by her colleagues is bothering her. But I can tell. I’ve watched it bother her all night.

This must be what happened earlier today and that just fucking sucks.

Once again, Reese checks her surroundings, the same as she’s been doing for the last few hours. There’s this nervous energy about her tonight that’s unnatural to the Reese I’ve been getting to know.

She’s the embodiment of confidence, or at least does a good job of putting on that front. But tonight, even though she’s trying her best to seem self-assured, everything in her body language screams that she’s on edge.

As her eyes track the room, they eventually land on me. Her shoulders drop a hair, but her smile is weak, like she’s a bit embarrassed that I witnessed her being outcasted by the fellow club owners.

I nod my head toward the door, silently asking her if she wants me to help her get out of here, but she simply gives me a small, indiscreet shake of her head before focusing on her phone in her hands.

My own phone dings and I pull it out of my pocket to read the text.

Reese: You don’t have to wait for me.

Looking up, I shoot her a glare for thinking I could leave her like this.

Me: We’re on the same team tonight. Also, fuck these guys.

She chuckles, holding up the last of her wineglass in a cheers from across the room. I do the same with my bourbon before bringing it to my lips, keeping eye contact the entire time to watch her finish the last of her glass.

Me: What are you drinking?

But Reese’s phone must be on silent because she doesn’t see my text come through when she turns back to the group of twenty-nine other owners, doing her best to get involved.

“Hey,” I say to the bartender as he makes his way to the far end of the bar. “What kind of red do you have?”

He looks behind him at the uncorked lineup of wine. “We have a Cab, a Zin, and a Pinot. But if you’re wondering what she’s drinking . . .” He points in Reese’s direction. “She’s drinking the Pinot.”

“How’d you know it was for her?”

He grabs the bottle of Pinot and pours it into a fresh glass. “You’ve had your eye on her all night.”

“Yeah, it’s not like that. She’s my boss and she’s having a rough day, is all.”

He slides the wineglass over to me. “I’m not here to judge. And I signed an NDA to work this event tonight, so I’m not saying a word. Another bourbon?”

“Please.” Over my shoulder, I look back in Reese’s direction, only she’s nowhere to be found. She’s pretty impossible to miss in that blue dress tonight, so I’m assuming she ran to the restroom or something and I’ll get her this glass of wine when she comes back.

“So, is she his boss too?” the bartender asks. “Because he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off her all night either.”

He points in a different direction than I was looking, and I follow his outstretched finger to the far corner of the room. Reese’s back is to me, but her posture is tense, her shoulders lifted nearly to her ears as she speaks to someone.

I vaguely recognize the guy. If I’m remembering correctly, he was introduced earlier today as the newest assistant to the commissioner. I couldn’t tell you his name if my life depended on it, but he’s younger than me. In his thirties, if I had to guess.

To be frank, I don’t care to know anything about him other than why Reese is so nervous speaking to him.

“Thank you,” I say to the bartender, throwing a twenty in his tip jar before taking the wineglass in one hand and my bourbon in the other.

Pushing off the bar, I’m quick to cross the room.

“Monty! My guy!” Seattle’s field manager swings an arm over my shoulder, stopping me in place. “You are . . .” He stumbles over his words.

“Coming out with us.”

“No, Bill. I’m not.”

“You never come out with us. We’re in Vegas!”

I slip out from under his arm, continuing to cross the room. “That’s

because I’m too old for that shit.”

“I’m older than you!”

“Exactly!” I call over my shoulder.

Another one of the coaches steps in front of me, blocking my path.

“Montgomery. Monty,” he says, drawing out my nickname.

“Yeah?” My tone is exasperated as I look past him to check on Reese.

They’re still standing in the same spot. She seems just as uncomfortable as she did before. He’s got a smile I’d like to knock off his face.

“I gotta ask you something.”

I close my eyes in frustration. I’ve been hiding in the corner of the bar for the past few hours. He couldn’t have asked me then?

“Yep?”

He leans in closer, his voice low. “Arthur’s granddaughter.” As soon as those two words are out of his mouth, I feel every muscle in my body tense, wary to hear what else he’s going to add on to them. “What’s her name again?”

My jaw is tight as I speak through my teeth. “Reese.”

“Reese! That’s right. What’s her story?”

“What do you mean, what’s her story? She’s the new owner of the team and acting president. She took over for Arthur after last season.”

He laughs. “No, I don’t care about any of that. Is she single?”

“Seriously?” I blow past him, maybe hitting his shoulder with mine as I do. “Stay away from her,” is my only answer.

“Geez, Monty. Sensitive topic, I guess.”

Finally, I reach her, and I can feel the tension radiating off her body as I approach from behind. I put both our glasses in one of my hands, using my other to palm her mid-back. It’s an appropriate spot that no one here, especially someone who works in the commissioner’s office, would think twice about.

From behind, I bend down close to her ear. “You okay?”

Her nod is a bit stiff, but the rest of her seems to relax a bit.

Reaching around her, I steal her empty glass, setting it on a nearby table before slipping the new one into her hand.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

I’m typically one to introduce myself when someone is standing nearby, but for whatever reason, fuck this guy.

“Aren’t you going to introduce me, Reese?” he asks.

I feel her deep inhale against my palm.

“Emmett, this is Jeremy.” Over her shoulder she looks up and meets my eye, trying to silently tell me something before she adds, “My ex-husband.”