Page 87 of Renegade Ruin

WILLOW: I missed you too. I’ll see you at the stadium tomorrow before you leave for Tampa.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

WILLOW

“It’s preposterous!” Benjamin Harris, our team’s GM, announces and slams the outline of my plans down on the conference table.

I’ve been back in Fort Myers less than twenty-four hours and already I’m back to public enemy number one in the organization. So much for not making waves at spring training like they’d asked.

Tucked away in their cozy high-rise offices in New York, every member of the all male executive board nods in agreement on the screen in front of us. Next to me, I don’t miss the smug smile plastered on Vaughn’s face. It had been his idea to have this meeting as soon as I got back from Miami. I had every intention of waiting to present my plans until closer to the gala when the board would be present in person. I should’ve questioned Vaughn’s insistence on being helpful, but I’d been too excited to get the ball rolling.

That doesn’t mean I wasn’t prepared for some backlash. There isn’t a world in which I thought this meeting was going to go smoothly, but I didn’t expect an all-out mutiny.

Nikki offers me a soft smile from across the large conference room. She might agree with my plans, but she doesn’t dare speakup against the boys’ club who would have her replaced as public relations manager faster than one of Carson’s pitches.

I press my lips together, silently wishing Graham was here to back me up, but he’s in the clubhouse preparing with the team to travel the few hours to their game in Tampa against the Raleigh Aviators.

Inhaling a steadying breath, I tamp back the urge to yell and force my voice to be steady. “I understand it’s unprecedented?—”

“That’s an understatement, Ms. York. You are proposing restructuring the entire financial plan for the year,” VP of Finance Justin Baker interjects, “and if I’m honest, it’s quite the misappropriation of funds. The budget has been set for months.”

“And was approved by my father. Who is no longer the owner of this team,” I point out even though everything I’ve said so far has fallen on deaf ears.

Benjamin lets out an exaggerated scoff. “That doesn’t mean you can barge in and change it on a whim. You agreed to this two months ago when we planned the draft.”

I understand their frustration. They expected me to sit and roll over. Instead, I pulled the pin from a grenade and said catch. But I believe in what I’m trying to do. These plans will make not only our team better, but it will set our organization apart from every other club in the league. We’ll set a standard, one built on putting our fans and community first instead of only our players and finances, like my father did. I want to build on what he did, and this is the next step.

We’ve gone round and round for the better part of an hour. Which is why I say for the tenth time, “I’m allowed to change my mind. If you’ll take a look, it's been meticulously thought-out and distributed over the next ten years and includes sizable donations from my personal funds.”

“If the club lasts that long.” Someone snorts softly from the left corner of the screen, and though it shouldn’t bother me, it gives light to my biggest fears.

“I’m willing to make changes and find a solution that satisfies the board, but as the acting owner, I have the final say, and this is the direction I am taking the team.”

“Your father would be ashamed.” Todd Gibson, our VP of Operations and golfing buddy of Vaughn and Ben, delivers the punch, compounding my growing anxiety.

Burning pricks the back of my eyes, and my nose tingles with the onslaught of tears. I blink them away and swallow hard to avoid letting them see me falter. I don’t want to be the babbling, irrational woman they think I am, but I can’t help the deep-seated emotion that comes with anything related to the team. I might be able to fake it till I make it most days, but it hasn’t been long enough since the crash to make me completely impervious to the grief and fear of failing at the one thing my father left for me.

“I disagree,” I declare, though my voice has lost some of its confidence. “My father wanted this organization to be a family, and while he created that within our staff and players, I want to grow that family to include our fans, new and old. Upping our social media presence, adding incentives for our season ticket holders, increasing our giveaway days and options, and creating a space where our fans can gather before and after games are ways we can do that.”

“And upping our player salary cap? The sponsored hotel you want to build at the edge of our property using team's funds? That’s going to also create a family? How about putting feelers out behind our back to bring a player back into the fold that was ousted from the league for sexual harassment and rape?”

I wince internally. This was the part of my plan I’d been most hesitant about. Hell, I’m still not sure it’s a good idea to beginwith, but something in my gut is telling me to take a chance on Mercer Cohen.

“He was cleared of those charges and is a phenomenal player. He doesn’t deserve to live in exile because he was wrongfully accused. Yes, Mr. Harris and Vaughn usually handle any and all roster changes, but this is something I feel strongly about, so I reached out to see if it was even an option.”

“It’s a legal nightmare,” the head of our legal department, Mr. Fios chimes in, pushing the glasses that are too small for his face up the bridge of his nose.

“What? That he likes kinky sex?” I blurt out. If they ever found out about the bag of toys I keep nestled away in my apartment or the fact I’ve never come harder than when Bishop tightens his hand around my throat, I’d be ousted faster than I could count to five.

Vaughn’s face twists in disgust. “He was accused of rape.”

I pin a narrowed glare in his direction, challenging his allegation. “And it was found that the woman making the accusations staged the whole thing to extort him. Should he be punished for that? His livelihood taken away? All because one woman thought to take advantage of him? Should Bishop then also be banned from the league because his ex accused him of knocking her up and deserting her, even though a paternity test confirmed it wasn’t his child?”

“It’s entirely different.” Vaughn huffs.

“Maybe, but we aren’t here to judge what happens behind closed doors. We’re here to build a team, and I want that team to be a legacy. I want champions both on the field and in the stands. I believe both those men are part of that vision.”

“Bishop we can stand behind,” Benjamin sneers, folding his arms across his chest like his word is law, “but no one will stand behind Mercer Cohen.”

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