Chapter Eight
Lucas headed backto his small office and closed the door. Now that he’d be spending more time there, maybe he should consider personalizing it a bit. Of course, he hadn’t expected to be in this office, or even Savannah, for more than a few weeks. If Roger didn’t agree with his deal with Miranda, he might not be here long enough to get a comfortable chair, much less any other personalization.
He sat in his chair and studied the phone. What had he been thinking, making the agreement with Miranda? There’d be snow in Savannah in July before she met the conditions, unless she got a major infusion of cash. And who would be so foolish to invest in a team on the brink?
It didn’t matter. Seamus Callahan would never let Miranda make any changes to his team, at least no changes that would make a difference. He might be sick now and not in the picture, but Callahan was the ultimate control freak. It wouldn’t be long before he was sticking his nose in with the team. Satisfied Lucas could defend his recommendation, he picked up the phone and called his boss.
That plan didn’t work.
“Are you kidding me? Can Miranda do this, especially with Seamus Callahan in the hospital?” Roger’s voice echoed through the phone, piercing Lucas’s eardrum.
“Weren’t you the one who said to not underestimate Miranda? Maybe they can pull this off and make the payment. And isn’t that the point– to be financially viable?”
The snort of derision was clearly audible. “Look, Callahan has screwed that team. Miranda would have to be a genius to turn this around.”
“What could it hurt? You said it yourself. They don’t have a chance. So what’s the harm?” Lucas lowered his voice to a more soothing tone.
Lucas held his breath as he waited for the commissioner’s response. Only the light breathing indicated they hadn’t been disconnected. Lucas leaned back in the chair and waited, not letting Roger pull him in by letting the silence linger.
Finally, the other man sighed. “You’re right, but I don’t like this. This is our chance to be done with Callahan. He’s been a giant pain in my ass for ten years.”
“Most of the owners can be pains in the ass. Callahan is no different.”
Roger grunted. “Trust me, Callahan’s a nightmare.”
“Well, Miranda’s in charge. She’s only been president for about a year or so. She’s open to changes.”
And you’d love to get Seamus out of the League because he challenges you constantly. Lucas added silently.
But he’d heard the unspoken threat buried in the words. The alternatives were ugly and spelled disaster for the Callahans. The last team that Lucas had worked with was forced into a sale, thanks to an owner who had alienated the other teams and had placed their team in dire economic straits. Seamus ranked right up there in attitude and likeability, which was to say no one liked him either. And the business situation with the Knights made the last job look like a picnic.
“Get it done, Wainright.”
The dial tone droned in his ear, sounding like the final buzzer at the end of a game.
*
Lucas sat inthe owner’s box, gazing sightlessly out over the empty stadium. It was barely March but getting warm in Savannah, almost ready for baseball season. But the Knights were nowhere near ready, nor would they ever be if his analysis was on target.
Which made the deal with Miranda a moot point, making the commissioner satisfied for now. So why did Lucas feel so uncomfortable?
He leaned back against the seat, resting his head against the wall and closed his eyes. The box hadn’t changed that much in the decade or so since he’d last been here. Maybe a new paint job? Seats might have had new cushions. And the windows that separated the box from the masses looked new. But with his eyes closed, he could almost feel his father sitting in the front row, eagerly waiting the start of the season.
No matter what their chances, his father loved Opening Day. He said it was like a new start, a new life, and the possibilities were endless. Of course now his father was dead, almost ten years now, and there were no new beginnings. Not for him and his father. No, the last Opening Day was marred by their argument and his refusal to come to the park, standing by his father’s side for the ceremonial first pitch. He didn’t even remember what he had done that day, only that he avoided even watching the game, any game, running as far as he could from his destiny.
A soft snick had him opening his eyes to see Miranda standing just inside the box, the door shut behind her.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Her voice was soft, as if sensing the memories in the box.
She probably had her own demons here, considering her father wouldn’t make it to Opening Day and she was struggling to tread water amidst financial and team pressures, not to mention family issues.
He shook his head. “No, you’re not. I was just thinking.”
She settled in the chair next to him, traces of her subtle perfume teasing his senses and inspiring thoughts entirely inappropriate to their location, not to mention the situation they found themselves in.
Silence hung in the air for long moments as he wrestled with his past. “It’s harder than I thought it would be.”
She shifted in her chair. “How so?”