She glanced at her father, who never took his dagger stare off of Lucas. Seamus waved distractedly, as if they were annoying mosquitoes. “Fine, find him a place to squat. For now. Don’t get comfortable, Wainright. My daughter may not have stood up the commissioner, but I won’t tolerate this invasion.”
Lucas smirked and stood up. “Go ahead and call Roger. Call all of the owners. It won’t change the outcome.”
He gestured to Miranda to precede him out of the room and followed with one last level stare at Callahan.
*
Lucas strode downthe hallway for the executive offices, amazed at Callahan’s stubborn refusal to admit to the problem. First, he ran the team into the ground with delusions of grandeur and unreal expectations. Then, he was too obstinate to accept assistance, after having no problem taking a financial loan from the league. Well, Lucas had dealt with worse. He just needed to find the right leverage. If only Callahan wasn’t so involved in the team. Miranda might be more amenable to changes, provided they could work together.
He hadn’t expected the rush of desire when he’d first seen her. It went well beyond her beauty to the flash of intelligence in her ice blue eyes, the husky timbre of her cool southern accent. He’d felt the irresistible tug of attraction the minute she spoke, her voice shooting sparks of desire into his icy calm. It was rare to deal with a woman at senior levels in baseball; it was still very much a boy’s club. So he never had to deal with being attracted to his colleagues in previous assignments. Hopefully, they could both remain professional and, possibly, work together to get the job done.
Thoughts of Miranda reminded him that she was following him down the hall, her heels clicking on the floor in a rapid staccato beat. Hell, he didn’t even know where he was going. He stopped to let her catch up. Pictures of important people lined the hallway. Seamus Callahan. A couple of players. The last picture stopped Lucas in place. The balding head. The kindly hazel eyes. The gentle smile. His eyes burned as he gazed at the picture of his father.
Miranda stopped next to him, also looking at the picture, lips curved in a small smile. “He always had a praline for me when I came to visit. I wasn’t supposed to have candy. It wasn’t on the pageant diet plan but I loved them. I’d sneak into his office before a game or when Dad was here for a meeting and Uncle Jacob would always stop what he was doing and spend time with me.”
Lucas swallowed thickly. “He always had time for everyone.”
“Is that why you’re here, Mr. Wainright? Revenge?” she asked quietly, casting him a sidelong glance.
“Are you questioning my ethics, Ms. Callahan, or my motives?” He countered, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“I would never question your ethics, Mr. Wainright. But clearly your motives are much more complex than simply doing your job for major league baseball.”
“Much more complex indeed.” He turned to face her, a teasing note entering his voice, deflecting the emotion coursing inside. “Since we’ll be working closely over the next few months, shouldn’t you call me Lucas? It’s not like we don’t know each other. We practically grew up together.”
She flushed, her face turning a bright red. “I wasn’t sure if you remembered.”
“You were very cute back then, not at all awkward. I had heard you were Miss Georgia a few years later. Major bragging rights for a young guy, telling his friends he knew a beauty queen.”
She straightened and pursed her lips as if the memory was not as pleasant for her. “That’s in the past. I’ve earned my position.”
“Whoa, princess.” He held up his hands. “I meant no disrespect. You don’t get an MBA if you’re stupid. I only question how much control you really have as president, or do you stand in for your father?”
The answer to the question was critical to his plan. If she was her father’s mouthpiece, then his job would be exponentially harder. However, if he could convert her to his side, then he’d have an ally and a foothold. He stepped closer, crowding her slightly against the wall, intentionally in her personal space.
Her eyes narrowed and she stepped to the side, away from his neat cage, just as she sidestepped his question. “You’ll find that we’re a team here, on and off the field. I’m sure we’ll find a way to work with you, if your ideas make sense. Your office is down this hallway. It’s all I could get ready on such short notice, Mr. Wainright.”
“Lucas.” He didn’t know why it was so important that she called him by his first name but it was. He refused to move, waiting for her.
After several moments, she finally murmured, “Lucas.”
After if her words broke a spell, he started walking in the direction she had indicated. “Excellent. I’m sure it will be fine, Miranda. Let’s get to work.”
He hadn’t missed the sudden flash of attraction in her eyes, just as she put distance between them. He’d have to be very careful working with Miranda.
*
Lucas deliberately ignoredMiranda, perched on the edge of the chair opposite the desk. After their heart-to-heart in the foyer by his father’s portrait, he needed to put space between them to recover some of his senses.
He had been expecting a pampered princess, a mouthpiece for her strong-willed father. His first mistake was expecting her to be the same beauty queen he remembered as a teenager, a little spoiled and pretty but not yet grown into a woman. In the intervening years, she had grown into the promise of the beauty that had been lurking under the teenager, adding a maturity and a brain that was a killer combination in his book.
She had proven her smarts by arguing with her father. Too bad she had backed down when pushed. Not a great beginning. He had hoped he could get her on his side, assuming everyone else was too intimidated by Seamus to argue. But she seemed just as cowed by her father. Now, he’d have to work harder to convince the staff to make necessary changes to truly help the Knights. If they chose not to work with him, then the Knights were doomed.
He glanced at her, sitting ramrod straight, hands folded in her lap. She was studiously ignoring him, stiff, not filling the silence with inane chatter or shifting in her seat. If he hadn’t noticed the telltale quiver in her hands and the downcast eyes, he would have thought she was confident and calm. He frowned and closed the folder.
“So, what do you think?”
She looked up, her gaze steady and sure. “We have troubles, sure. We need to do better. But we’re not a lost cause. Not completely.”