“This was my proposal a few years ago. I’m on board, although I have doubts that it can really affect our bottom line as quickly as we need to.”
“I’m concerned that we’ll cause more problems by not implementing this right because we don’t have time.” Jason said, resignation in his voice and slumped shoulders.
“Lucas?” Miranda caught the flash of irritation that crossed Cole’s face. “What are your thoughts?”
Lucas stared at the table, seeming to ignore everyone in the room. Finally, he straightened and turned abruptly into the sharp businessman she had expected. “I think you need to make changes. You can’t remain stagnant. You need new blood on the team and make it look like you’re trying. Not making any moves when everyone knows your team is weak only discourages your fans and makes it harder to win them back. So make a goddamn decision and stick with it.”
The last words were gritted out between clenched teeth, although Lucas’s face remained otherwise calm, only his eyes betrayed the frustration. The rest of the group sat in the silence, stunned.
Miranda finally cleared her throat. “Will everyone leave the room, please?”
Slowly, everyone filed out, even Cole who looked questioningly at her. She avoided his gaze and remained fixed on Lucas.
When the door finally closed, he shrugged. “I won’t apologize for saying what was necessary.”
“How was that remotely helpful?”
“You’re sitting here asking everyone for their opinions, but you need action. You’ve been circling the drain, trying to make everyone happy, even your father, and it won’t work. Either take command of this team or watch it fail.”
“Here I thought you wouldn’t want me to do anything, conserve money, be safe.”
He leaned forward, eyes boring into hers. “You have an MBA. You’re smart. What do you think you should do? What are you so goddamn afraid of?”
She nibbled her lower lip, answers to that one question eluding her. Her brain was stuffed with her father’s thoughts, her advisors’ recommendations, and even the shock jocks on sports radio. But what she did want to do? For so long, she had been trying to please her father, get his attention, make him happy. Now, he was out of commission and it was up to her to save his team, only what she had to do might actually be the direct opposite of what he wanted. It was so much easier when dealing with the day-to-day operations. None of that played out on the front page of the newspapers or radio programs for all of the fans who considered themselves bench coaches after the fact. And, to be honest, her father never really cared about that side of the business as much as on the field.
Lucas snorted and stood, walking around the table to brace his hands on the arms of the chair where she sat, pinning her in place. “You’re afraid, Miranda. You’re scared you’ll be wrong and the fans will rip you to shreds. Well, guess what, sweetheart, you’ll never make everyone happy. Someone is going to be pissed off at your decision. They’ll be pissed if you don’t make a decision. So, you can’t win. Accept it and move on. Or give up the damn team and save us all the trouble of trying to salvage it.”
He pushed off her chair and stalked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. Miranda flinched at the loud noise, stunned at his harsh words. She lowered her head into her hands. Was he right? Was she afraid? Most of the old-time baseball guys working for her father barely tolerated her, sounding like Sam and his accusations. Her father had his own plans and her ideas were a direct counterpoint to what he wanted. Her loyalties were torn– the team who needed something to revitalize them and her father, a man who was too stubborn to change his point of view.
As team president, she had a responsibility to the team, the employees, and the fans. As a daughter, she owed her father her loyalty, not to mention the fact that he was her boss. But what to do when her boss’s ideas no longer benefit the team? Where does that leave her?
She restlessly tapped her pen against the wood of the conference table, the tapping keeping time with the thoughts whirling in her brain. Lucas was right about one thing. It was time to shit or get off the pot.
*
A few hourslater, Miranda looked up at a knock on her door. Lucas stood framed in the open doorway, one eyebrow arched.
“Working late? Not going up to the hospital?”
She shook her head. “My father is in the cardiac unit now, not in ICU. Mom thought it would be less stressful if I didn’t stop by so often.”
“Less stressful for whom?” He stepped further in the room to stand in front of her desk, hands buried in his pants pockets.
“I thought my father, but now I think it was more for me.” She sighed and leaned back in her chair, resting her head against the back of the chair. “I think my mother knew I couldn’t do what I had to if I was running to report to him on everything. And she knows that we have to do things differently and my father will be furious.”
He sat on the edge of the desk, leaning one arm on his thigh. “So what are you going to do?”
“Fake it until I make it.” She laughed, a mirthless sound. “I authorized the trade for Prosser today. You were right. I was waffling, trying to please everyone. When my father comes back, he might fire me. But I did what I thought was best for the team.”
He stood. “Good. Stick to your guns, Miranda. If Seamus can’t see the value, then shame on him.”
She glared at him. “I could have used some support in the meeting today, you know.”
“I’m sure you could have. But if I had stepped in and made the decision, it would have weakened you, leaving you in exactly the same position you were in before. You need to take charge and make the team your own.” His words were matter of fact, spoken without emotion.
“So you were helping me? Thanks, I think.”
He grinned at her disgruntled tone then held out his hand. “Look, it’s late and we’re both tired. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten since lunch.”