Chapter Two
Lucas Wainright stoodin the doorway of the main conference room and a wave of nostalgia crashed over him. Seeing Seamus Callahan at the head of the table conflicted with his memory of his father sitting in the same spot, performing much the same role. That was over a decade ago and many things had changed. He was no longer his father’s heir and expected to sit in that same chair. Now, he was an outsider, coming to the Georgia Knights as a turnaround consultant, who’s goal was to pull the team from the brink of bankruptcy. He had two options before him. Help the man who destroyed Lucas’s father, or force Seamus out, much as Lucas’s own family was ejected.
He drew upon every bit of his rumored cold-blooded management style and stuffed the emotions deep inside to be examined at a later date. Not getting personally involved was going to be harder than he had anticipated.
He strode into the room and headed for the windows overlooking the empty baseball field and stadium. Not perfect but it would do for now. He wouldn’t sit at the table, not yet, not until he could choose the right spot. Positioning for power and strength when starting a new business venture was critical and with an alpha male businessman like Seamus Callahan, it was everything.
He hiked his hip against the ledge and leveled a stare at Seamus. He’d prefer a seat at the table, where Miranda sat, establishing his position in the hierarchy. For now, he’d settle for a standing position, forcing everyone to look up at him. Biding his time. But one day soon he’d have that seat.
Seamus frowned at him and punched a button on the conference phone, ending the call. “Don’t get comfortable. You’re not staying.”
“I have papers that say otherwise. You borrowed money from major league baseball. I’m the strings that come with that loan.” He smiled, knowing the pleasant, easy-going attitude would drive the intense, older man crazy.
Seamus scowled, as if the truth was a sour taste on his tongue. “Fine. Miranda will show you to an office and get you what you need. Now, we have work to do.” He waved his hand and shuffled some papers in front of him.
“No.” Lucas pushed off of the ledge, the word falling flat like a rock in the conversation and everyone quieted immediately. “You don’t tell me what to do. I tell you what to do. I approve every order, every decision, every output of capital.”
“The Knights are my team, not yours. You lost your team years ago when your father sold shares to me.”
Lucas smiled, sensing the frustration, knowing he had the upper hand. “Don’t mistake me for my father. I won’t roll over for you, especially now with our roles reversed. Your only chance to save your team is to work with me.”
Miranda stood and walked around the table to stand by her father before Seamus could respond. “Gentleman, would you excuse us?”
The two other men in the room exchanged glances and gathered their things. Lucas settled against the ledge again, waiting as they took their time, using the opportunity to study his opponents.
Seamus had always been a bit grumpy and ill-tempered from what Lucas remembered, but the years had not been good to him. His face was craggy and deeply lined; years of bad temper and not enough smiling or rest were etched deeply on his countenance, adding to the overall negative impression. He had replaced the team photo with a picture of himself in front of the team. Not surprising, the photo was his own deluded view of himself, the hardscrabble team owner demanding perfection in everyone around him.
Of course, Seamus was far from perfect himself, not that he’d ever admit it.
The differences between his father’s ownership and Callahan’s were in every line of the team offices, in every person hired, in every picture on the wall. Jacob Wainright had once counted Seamus Callahan among his closest friends. He wondered what his father would say about the current state of the Georgia Knights, the team he founded during the expansion era?
Lucas mentally cleared his mind, dispelling the thoughts. He had no time for distractions, especially the past he had thought was buried. Now, he had to focus on the present and the mess he was sent to clean up. Miranda stared at him, her face a mask of icy calm, as if his presence was irrelevant, a bother to her. He missed the lovesick teen, the former beauty queen who had crushed on him in high school yet was always out of reach, mostly due to her age but also her father’s insistence that Lucas was not good enough for his daughter. Had any man ever made the cut with her father, or with Miranda?
Miranda had certainly grown into the beauty her junior pageant days promised. Her blond hair was twisted up in a smooth, chic style, emphasizing her calm image. Where was the bouncy young woman he remembered, dancing around the owner’s box on game days, chattering like a blue jay and bringing sunshine into every situation? He caught himself smiling at the memory of her exuberance and unabashed joy at life, a joy that seemed not only dimmed but completely crushed by her father and life. What would it take to catch a glimpse of the child inside? Was she even there anymore?
She arched a cool eyebrow at him, clearly trying to let him know he didn’t belong there and she did. She studied her perfectly manicured nails, avoiding him as if he didn’t exist, and he realized the happy girl was gone, buried in the beauty queen image her mother had been impressing upon her for years.
He grinned. She was a minnow in her little pond. Tougher people than her had tried to fight him and lost. He’d win. He always won. Despite the attraction, he had a job to do and only one question when it came to Miranda Callahan. Was she a true president or a figurehead, a pretty mouthpiece for her father and face of the team? And how much of an impediment to his plans was she?
Finally, the room was clear. Miranda lowered into the chair next to her father and gestured for Lucas to sit across from her. Instead of taking the seat, he strode to his preferred seat– the one she had vacated. Consternation flashed across her face, as if she knew she had lost the advantage.
But she recovered quickly. Kudos to her for that.
“Now, let’s discuss this rationally, please? Dad, we don’t have a choice. Martinelli assigned Mr. Wainright to help us and, frankly, we could use it.” She spoke low, but her voice still carried the length of the table.
Lucas waited patiently for Seamus’s response. He didn’t have to wait long.
“We don’t need his help. Once we sign Mendoza, we’ll have the big name we need at first base. Our fans will show up and everything will be fine.”
“You’re delusional.” Lucas leaned back, projecting every ounce of the confidence he felt to his core. “The reason you don’t have a first baseman; the reason your general manager can’t make a trade; the reason your farm league can’t help you is because you drained it. Drained the farm team of talent. Drained the team of capital. Drained the patience of the entire management and board with your rush to sign big-money players with no return on investment at all. Bad business decisions placed you where you are today. And you have no one to blame but yourself.”
Seamus’s face turned purple in his rage. His mouth opened and closed multiple times, completely unused to people speaking to him in any tone but agreement or mollification.
Miranda leaned forward. “That’s enough. Is it your plan to come in here like gangbusters and make enemies? If so, we don’t need or want that kind of assistance.”
He turned to her, coolly studying her. “Oh, you need me. You need me to clean up the mess you’ve all made of this franchise.” He cocked his head. “Trust me. I know your situation. If it was good, you wouldn’t have me on your doorstep.”
Satisfied he’d made his point, he stood. “I’d like a chance to review the financials and talk with each of your department heads before we discuss any next steps. And, yes, that includes signing any new players or trades. Now, where is my office?”