Chapter Fifteen

Where was she? It had been hours since the press conference, and technically, it was none of his business. Nothing about this feels technical.

He was going crazy inside trying to figure out where she might have gone, what she was doing. If she was okay. He’d tried casually calling Ethan and asking some questions, but it’d gotten him nowhere. If he was telling the truth, the PR director had no idea where she was, either.

Somehow, after things had blown up on television, Isla had managed to slip away unnoticed.

He looked back at the TV and couldn’t turn it off. Like watching a train wreck or trying to stop a fall with your arms restrained.

Talia winced as the sound bite image showed again, on ESPN: We’re friends. The announcer’s voice grated over Liam’s skin like sandpaper.

“Some more off-season news for the Nashville Slammers,” the guy said with a goofy grin on his face, as if the story hadn’t already been shared a dozen times on different stations.

“New owner Isla Bennett is causing quite a stir and no, not just because she looks more like she’s here to sing country music songs than run a baseball team. Apparently flustered by the barrage of questions that got a little out of hand, Ms. Bennett fit both feet snugly into her mouth.”

“I think this is so typical,” the woman announcer beside him said, frowning deeply. “If it were a man who said something stupid—which happens all the time—you wouldn’t suggest he pick up a guitar.”

They played the clip again, and Isla’s beautiful face, her cheeks tinged pink and her eyes wide, filled Liam’s screen as questions were hurled at her.

“Ms. Bennett, what are your intentions for the team? Will you replace Bruce Gains? Will you keep the team in Nashville?”

“Will you sell? Rumor has it your father would be willing to give you top dollar if you transfer the team to him.”

Ethan appeared beside Isla on the screen. “Knock it off, Russell. We’re not answering conjecture. We have preapproved questions, folks. You were notified of this, and we intend to keep things civil.”

First chance, Liam was buying Ethan a beer. A case of beer.

“You’ve worked for your father for years, and his corporation has grown, but you’ve never ascended to a higher rank. Why is that, Ms. Bennett?”

Because her father is an ass. Isla ignored the question, fielded another.

“Are you aware that the will is being contested by your own father?”

“What can fans expect from the team now that you’re at the helm?”

“Ms. Bennett, the Slammers are a mid-grade team at best. What’s your plan to pull up their rankings?”

Isla leaned forward, glanced down at something in front of her—probably Ethan’s damn cue cards. “I’ll listen to the people being paid to help me make these decisions until I feel comfortable enough making them on my own. I’ll work closely with my management to build a strong roster that sets us apart right out of the gate.”

Pride filled him. Cue cards or not, she had started out holding her own. Until.

“You sound confident. Like it’s a breeze,” the same guy said.

She shook her head. “I don’t mean to. I know it’s a challenge, but I welcome it. Like everyone else, I want this team to have a shot at the playoffs and maybe even the cup.”

Liam dropped his face into his palms, unable to watch again. Loud snickers were heard above the din of voices. His heart actually twisted in his chest for her.

One guy in the back whom Liam didn’t recognize yelled out, “The cup? Do you mean the Commissioner’s Trophy?” More snickers and chatter. Vultures.

Isla looked at Ethan, who leaned in to say something in her ear. Nodding, she turned back to the podium. “I do. I’m sorry. I’ll be honest, this is my first press conference of this magnitude.”

And while that might endear her to some, mostly, it opened up for the sharks to swallow her whole. Which was exactly what happened next.

“What about Liam Cruz? What are your plans with him?”

She blinked then put her hand to the necklace he’d bought her, her back stiffening. “Liam and I are friends. Nothing more.”

The crowd actually went silent. It was as if the screen or time froze. He could only imagine how she’d felt, standing there, facing hundreds of people and being goddamn attacked. In his career, he’d been there, but he knew how to deal with it. Ethan stepped forward and slipped something in front of her.

Isla laughed with clear embarrassment. The red of her cheeks deepened so it nearly matched her hair. Before she could speak, questions erupted.

“Do you have a relationship with Mr. Cruz?”

“Did you know him before?”

“Are you married?”

“Have you slept with Liam Cruz?”

“Are you joining the long list of ‘Cruz Cuties’?”

Liam’s fingers curled into fists. He hated that there was a stupid nickname for the group of women who followed the sport and were very vocal about their feelings for him on whatever form of social media they preferred. They didn’t even know him.

Ethan nudged Isla aside. “Either you all stop now or this is done.” He looked at the guy who’d asked the question. “Repeat the question, Eddie.”

Eddie, a decent guy and a good reporter who hit every press circuit, nodded. He cleared his throat before he spoke into the mic. “How do you plan to utilize Liam Cruz on the team?”

Isla looked down and then up, took a visible, deep breath. “Cruz has a well-known reputation for turning a team around, and we expect no different here in Nashville, where he’s always wanted to play. He was brought here to make a difference, and my plan is to see that he does.”

Ethan nodded at her.

“I feel so bad for her,” Talia said behind Liam, who just couldn’t sit down. All he could do was watch. He checked his phone again, but Isla hadn’t called. He’d left a stalker-ish amount of messages despite his intentions to give them both some space.

“Your father was a ballplayer—why not let him have the team?”

“How does Jonathan Conroy feel about your relationship with Liam Cruz?”

Liam swore and muted the television. Who the hell was Jonathan Conroy? And why is that the first question on your mind?

Talia’s phone rang, and she turned away to answer it. Sighing, Liam flopped onto the couch as his sister moved toward the kitchen.

He was considering pouring a drink when she came back and stood in front of him. Smiling. “Thanks, James.”

She slid her phone in her back pocket and smirked at Liam. “Don’t sit now. You have to go out.”

“What now?”

“James said there’s a visitor at the apartment over the bar.”

Liam straightened. “No way. Why would she go there?”

“Who cares why? Go. The poor girl must feel so lost and alone.”

He stood up. “She’s strong, Tal. Like you.”

Standing, she patted his arm. “Strong or not, big brother, I’d want a shoulder to cry on after a stoning like that.”

Liam nodded. “Right. You’re right. Okay.”

He scooped up his keys and was headed for the door when she shouted out, “And chocolate. I’d want a shoulder and chocolate!”

Liam laughed as he got into his Land Rover. Chocolate. Then Isla. For the first time since he’d picked up a baseball at six years old, the sport wasn’t his immediate concern.