Clark raised a single brow, his proverbial feathers seemingly ruffled over the idea of having to listen to Daxton…or Dax, as he preferred to be called…considering he was only twenty-seven. But he didn’t have a choice. Clark Buckley may have been President of Operations, but Daxton was one of the owners, here to represent not only his interests, but also his parents’, who owned the remaining interests in the team. As such, he could fire anyone here.
Including Clark.
“We’re always more than happy to take your position into account,” Clark said with a fabricated smile.
“Wonderful.”
He stood, resecuring the button on his jacket, everything about him exuding wealth and class. His suit probably cost more than most people made in a month. His blond hair was slicked back. Even his nails were neatly manicured.
I was one of the highest paid pitchers in the history of professional baseball. But my five-year contract for $100 million was peanuts compared to the billions of dollars Dax’s family was worth.
“As part of the management team, your job is to look at numbers and make a decision based on the empirical data,” Dax began, leisurely walking around the table. “Earned run average. Batting average. On-base percentage. Slugging percentage. On-base plus slugging percentage. You’ve got notebooks upon notebooks filled with this information. All black and white. No gray area.” He stopped walking, addressing Clark directly. “Believe me, I hate the gray area, too. But life isn’t so simple, I’m afraid.”
He began pacing again, an air of authority about him as he spoke to this group of men who easily had at least ten or fifteen years on him.
“I may be young, but I know we’ve all made our fair share of mistakes we regret. That we’d do anything to take back.”
He stopped in front of James Baker, the team’s general manager. “Didn’t you start an on-field brawl that resulted in only a small fine, even after breaking an umpire’s nose?”
“I was having a bad day behind the plate,” he explained remorsefully. “Let too many balls get past me.”
“And on that day you let too many balls get past you, had you just…I don’t know…experienced a loved one’s sudden and unexpected death?”
“No, I hadn’t.” Baker lifted his gaze to mine again, a silent apology within.
I gave him an appreciative smile, a glimmer of hope filling me that maybe there was some sort of light at the end of the tunnel. That I wasn’t on the brink of kissing the rest of the season, possibly my career, goodbye.
“How about you, Aaron?” Dax walked behind the table, patting our first base coach’s back. “You took a curveball in the knee and stormed the mound, landing the pitcher in the hospital for a week. And, if I recall correctly, that pitcher retired the next year.”
Aaron nodded solemnly. “He retired because of long-term effects of the injuries he suffered as a result of the fight. I’ve never forgiven myself for that.”
“Were you suspended for any games?”
“No.”
Dax grinned, satisfied that his point was finally coming across. “I didn’t think so.”
He shifted his focus to Clark. “And how about you, Mr. Buckley. You were once a player yourself. A left-handed pitcher with a hell of a curveball, just like Mr. Hale here. I seem to remember you punched your coach after he took you out of the game because you’d given up too many runs. Does that ring a bell?”
Clark squeezed his eyes shut. “It does.”
“If my research is on point, and it usually is, your coach required reconstructive surgery on his jaw. Correct?”
He reluctantly nodded.
“And how many games were you suspended for?” Dax pressed.
Clark hung his head. “None,” he answered softly.
“I’m sorry.” Dax put his hand up to his ear, pretending he couldn’t hear. “How many?”
“Zero,” Clark said, louder this time.
“Exactly.”
He looked around the table, gaze stopping on each man. “Every one of you has been in some sort of scuffle. Some sort of fight that caused injury to another. But you were never suspended for a single game. And you only lashed out because your ego got the better of you. That’s not the case here.”
Dax moved to my side of the table, placing his hands on my shoulders.