Page 238 of Pucking Around

“I’ll send your waiter over to you now,” the hostess chimes as she waltzes away.

I stand there at the corner of the table, watching as Mr. Talbot reclaims his seat. He glances up at me, dropping his napkin back in his lap. “Won’t you sit?” He gestures to the open chair. “I hope you like tuna tartare.”

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Heart in my throat, I take the seat opposite Mr. Talbot. Glancing around, the truth sinks in. This is a table for four with places set for two. My guys aren’t coming. They lied to me. I have a feeling Mr. Talbot is about to tell me why.

“Have you been here before?” he says, taking a sip of his iced tea.

“No,” I reply.

“Well, I ordered a few things. We can graze as we chat.”

As if on cue, the handsome waiter comes forward and presents an artfully arranged plate of tuna tartare. The marinated pieces of fish are balanced atop a bed of diced avocado, garnished with green onions and sesame seeds.

“Can I get you something to drink, Miss?”

“Just water,” I murmur.

“You can order anything you want,” says Talbot. “Wine? Cocktail?”

“Water will be fine,” I repeat.

The waiter floats away, leaving us alone at the table.

“Well, let’s dig in,” says Talbot, helping himself to the tartare. “Do you not want any—”

“I want to know what’s going on,” I reply. “Sir, I came here expecting to meet…someone else.”

“You…oh, hell.” He huffs a laugh, setting his fork down with a rattle. “Those sneaky assholes. Did Compton trick you into coming here? God, that explains why you’re being so damn weird.” He sighs, shaking his head with another laugh and I relax a little.

I say nothing, waiting.

“Well, then let’s forget about the damn tartare for a minute,” he says, shoving his plate to the side. “I can see from the haunted look on your face that you’re not going to eat a bite until you know why the hell I’m here.”

I nod, hands clasped tightly in my lap.

“Well, Doctor Price. The long and short of it is that my house is on fire, and I’m ready to do anything to put it out.”

“Fire, sir?”

“Yes,” he replies, those dark eyes glued on me. “My team. My organization. In the past five days, we’ve been rocked from top to bottom. Ever tried putting out a house fire, Price? I can tell you now that it’s not any damn fun.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you? This all started with you, Doctor Price. I think you’re the only one who can end it.”

“End what?”

“The madness that has taken hold of my team,” he says with a wave of his hand. “In the last five days, I’ve had over half my players in my office threatening to quit on me. The other half are asking to be traded. They’re making demands, holding my feet to the goddamn coals. I’m ready to cry uncle. So here I am, talking to you.” He taps the table between us.

This is about me? The whole team is involved? That doesn’t make any sense. “Ask me anything, and I’ll tell you, sir,” I say.

“I really only have one question for you, Doctor Price,” he replies. “Do you like working for the Rays?”

“I…yes, sir,” I murmur. “I love it. I love the team. I love the support staff, the camaraderie. I loved the idea of being part of something new, of building something lasting from the ground up.”

He nods slowly. “And what’s your five-year plan, Price?”

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