Page 25 of Sweet Spot

“You’ve never had a one-night stand,” I laughed.

“No. No I have not.”

One of the things I liked about Isaac was that he was himself through and through. The man I met at The Red Tourist was the same man I saw in the dugout, and the same man on the phone with me now. “I actually haven’t either. I get too nervous thinking about all the things that could go wrong.” Bad chemistry, awkward moves, infections, pregnancy, follow-up conversations…just thinking about it made me anxious.

We talked for nearly two hours before I began nodding off. “I think I should let you get some sleep,” he said softly. Like he was lying in bed beside me, about to cup my cheek and kiss me goodnight.

I liked that thought very much.

“Good night, Isaac.”

“Good night, Kate. Save my number. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

9

Kate

The “front office” was where all the people who weren’t ball players worked. Sort of. It was an oversimplification but the details didn’t really matter. The important part was that these were the people who kept the wheels turning, from the accountants to the marketing team to the executives upstairs.

And none of them were happy.

Not one. No matter who I talked to, they were miserable. Mostly because Eli Stirling had turned their job into a hellscape.

“Normally at this time of year I’m busy,” a woman named Nora said. It was her job to book sponsors for concessions and paper products around the stadium. “But this year I’m exhausted.”

“How many hours a week do you normally put in once spring training starts?”

“Sixty?”

“And now?”

Her face fell. “I came in at six and I won’t leave until nine tonight. No days off.”

“And why is the workload higher this year?”

Her face pinched. She didn’t want to say anything that might get her in trouble. Now it was my job to convince her I was a friend and not the enemy. It was why I dressed casually. I didn’t want to appear on the same level as Eli Stirling. The last thing I wanted was for any of them to equate me with the problem when I was supposed to be the solution.

So I lowered my voice and made it sound as soothing as possible. “Nothing you say will be attributed to you.” I showed her my tablet. My notes listed her as Interview 0078 and nothing else. “No one is pointing fingers or looking to blame anyone. We’re trying to restore the balance.”

She huffed. “It started with the ownership change. Most of our usual sponsors were already locked into contracts for the big items, but the annual sponsorships were not. And they spooked when the team was suddenly in new, untested hands. And then Mr. Stirling personally submitted a new plan for sponsorships and a whole new pricing structure. I’m working day and night to meet his demands.”

“Wait, is he keeping tabs on this?”

“Yes!” She threw her hands in the air. “I haven’t been this micromanaged since I got my first job out of college! I’m suffocating! And then he didn’t sign some of our biggest players! No one wants to touch us at these prices!”

I was starting to think Eli Stirling was a vampire. He never slept, was always everywhere at once, and was sucking the whole team dry. It was the same everywhere I went. Even the parking lot attendants were grumpy. Stirling—I started calling him by his last name like Isaac—changed the way they were hired and paid. He also wanted to change how it was laid out and when the parking lots opened. Their bursting pride in their home championship team had fizzled into despair.

I didn’t understand Eli Stirling at all.

My phone vibrated with a text message from Isaac. Or, rather, a photograph of him practicing with the team and everyone wearing scarves and eye patches while Isaac wore a pirate hat.

Isaac: Thanks for all the hard work. We’re making progress down here.

I put my phone away feeling a little less stressed than I had a moment earlier. There had to be a way to make Eli’s leadership style jive with the Mantas. I just had to find the solution. The solution always presented itself. This time would be no different. As I scanned the list of employees I wanted to speak with sooner rather than later a name jumped out at me.

I knocked on her door. “Would you happen to have some free time to talk with me today?”

Eve Spencer was the Director of Fan Experience, but more importantly, she was a longtime Mantas employee and baseball royalty. She looked as tired and stressed as everyone else. “Have you eaten lunch? I’m starving.”

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