Chapter Twenty-Six

Isla twisted her hands together, squeezing them. She paced the small office she called her own, the one that she used when she needed time to think. Her grandfather’s office may have suited him, but Isla didn’t like having all of that…space. Oddly enough, she felt more claustrophobic in large spaces than small. Bruce had told her he’d meet her at the stadium, and that was fine.

She understood home-field advantage. What Bruce Gains didn’t understand was that this was her home field now. And she was tired of him pushing her and everyone else around.

Yes, he was in charge of the team. But she was in charge of him.

Isla flattened her palms against her dress pants and forced herself to take deep breaths. She could do this. After she told him, to his face, what she thought of him undermining her every move and highlighting her moments of foolishness, she’d fire him. Josiah would make it official. And then she’d be on the hunt for a GM. One problem at a time.

When she turned, intent on no longer pacing, she saw her father standing in the door way.

Or maybe more than one problem at a time. “Dad.” He kept flying out to Nashville to pressure her, and she knew, this was another thing she had to deal with. She’d thought she put him firmly in his place on the last visit. Why couldn’t he just let it go?

“Isla. You look…perturbed.” He walked into the office, took a seat without invitation.

She whirled on him. “I’m pissed off. There’s a difference. And honest to God, Dad, I don’t have time for this—for you—today.”

His smile dug under her skin like an infection, turning her stomach.

Before she could tell him to leave, Bruce came in. The two men greeted each other, and every instinct Isla possessed stood up and shouted, What is going on?

“Shut the door, Isla.” Her father’s tone was hard. She’d heard it often enough in meetings.

“This isn’t your show. I need you to leave. Bruce and I have a meeting.”

Bruce leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest. He wore a Slammers ball cap and T-shirt, a look of boredom on his face.

“I’m going to sit in on the meeting, and you’re going to want the door closed for what I have to say.”

She couldn’t afford to waste time with this. Maybe killing two birds, or taking down two arrogant asses, with one stone was the way to go.

She shut the door harder than necessary and rounded her desk to give herself some personal space.

“Have a seat, Bruce.” She gestured to the one beside her father.

Bruce ambled over and sat, crossed one ankle over his knee, chewing on something with irritating exaggeration.

“You’re fired,” she said, yanking the Band-Aid clear off.

Bruce smiled. “You might want to rethink that.”

“Are you threatening me?” She leaned forward, folded her arms, and ignored the trickle of sweat beading on her neck.

Her father unfolded his briefcase, sifted through it.

“Nope. No threats,” Bruce said. “I just don’t think that’s the way this is going to go. You see, Ms. Bennett, you’re a sweet girl and all, but this is the big leagues, and you have no business in them.”

“Regardless,” she said, her back stiffening, her eyes darting to her father. She ignored the unease prickling at the base of her spine. “I am here, this is my team, and you are no longer part of it.”

Her father took an orange manila envelope from his case and opened it, pulling something from within.

“I think you’re making a mistake, Isla,” her father said.

“This has nothing to do with you,” she snapped. Don’t be emotional. This is business. What is he even doing here?

“It has a lot to do with me. I warned you I didn’t want to play dirty. Mostly because you don’t have it in you to do the same. I’ve always tried to give you every advantage. You’re rich because of me. You’re successful and well educated and can have a life every socialite dreams of. Because of me.”

She shook her head, feeling fuzzy. “When have I ever given you any indication I wanted the life of a socialite? I don’t even know what that means.” Did he think she was striving to be a reality show star or something?

He lay glossy photos on the desk in front of her, spreading them out.

Isla’s breath froze, sending pain through her chest and lungs, halting the beat of her heart.

Her and Liam. Kissing. Making out. His hand in her hair, on her ass, hers up his shirt. Them on the field, him coming out of her apartment, her leaving his place, more of them while he showed her how to hit a ball.

How? They’d been careful. Maybe not as careful as they should have been, but the paparazzi weren’t shy. There’d been no one hiding in bushes anywhere or waiting for them at their homes.

Realization hit. These weren’t sent to her father by someone looking to make a quick buck.

Isla looked up and met her father’s gaze. It was colder than the emptiness in her chest.

“You had someone photographing me?” Her words were whispered.

“I did warn you, dear. Now let me lay out the situation. I want this team. It should have been mine. But I’m not selfish. You can retain ten percent. You’ll announce to the media that it’s simply too much, too overwhelming. You’re bringing me on as majority owner because you know your grandfather would have wanted us working together as a family.”

“No.” She continued to stare.

He smiled. “Yes. And if you don’t, I’ll create a media scandal you won’t recover from. I have people waiting to release these photos. It’ll undermine your position with your own players and your entire front office. You won’t have one lick of respect, especially with the headlines they’ve crafted. And if that isn’t enough, we’ll pull Liam’s name so far through the mud, he’ll be stuck six feet under.”

She stiffened, reminding herself she knew he’d hit below the belt. “Liam has a fantastic reputation. You can’t damage that with some pictures. And he doesn’t want to hide our relationship forever.”

The smile worked into a sneer and sent chills over her body. “True. He does have that good reputation. And maybe he’ll come out the hero in this. But most likely, he’ll be shut out by the players who will feel betrayed. He’ll be a joke. The owner’s boy toy.”

Isla’s heart beat so fast, she put her hand on it, like she could settle it in her chest. “How could you do this? Even think of doing this?”

He leaned forward. “At least, here in Nashville, Liam has a lot of fans and supporters who will rally. That likely wouldn’t be the case if he gets traded to say…Philly? I really don’t think they’d like welcoming him to their clubhouse with the kind of media storm I’m about to create.”

Her throat clogged. Liam loved Nashville. “You’re horrible.”

“It’s business, Isla. I told you I wanted this.”

She stood, slammed her hands on the desk. “You’re not a goddamn two year old. You can understand the word no. How could you threaten me like this? I’m your daughter.”

But she could see what she’d always known, and it ripped a corner of her heart off and stomped on it. It didn’t matter who she was to him. He’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted.

“Liam won’t care,” she said, her voice surprisingly strong with certainty. But the thought of dragging him through this sickened her. He was better than this. Better than her father’s games and manipulation.

“You start the paperwork for firing me yet?” Bruce had been eerily quiet, and Isla almost forgot he was in the room.

Her head whipped his way. “What?”

He made a tsking sound and tapped his ankle in a steady rhythm. “Way I see it is, you probably haven’t. You don’t know how to play the game. I do. That’s why I’ve already started that paperwork to trade Cruz to Philly. One phone call, on my way out of this office, and it’s official. There’ll be no way you can stop it before drawing up my dismissal.”

Isla sank down into her chair, worried she was going to throw up. She covered her stomach with her hand, her vision dimming. She blinked rapidly.

“Breathe, dear,” her father said. “It’s going to be okay.” The soothing, caring voice undid something inside of her.

She sat straight. “You are a monster. A horrible person, and I cannot believe I’m related to you. You are…ugly on the inside.”

“Think what you want, Isla. We don’t have to make it like this. As I said, you’ll retain a small percentage, and you can stay on as a marketing expert. That’s your speciality.”

Her pulse flicked rapidly in her throat, making it hard to swallow. “I’ve already signed paperwork with Conroy Hotels. They own fifteen percent.”

Her father leaned back, his jaw tight. Bruce swore and lowered his foot to the ground.

“Fine. So I’ll have seventy-five percent. See? I can be flexible.”

“Like hell,” Bruce said, standing. “I own five percent, like you said, or I blow this deal up.”

Her father stared at him and gave a curt nod. “Right. Isla, you’ll have ten. Bruce five, Conroy fifteen, and myself, seventy. It’s not ideal but it’ll work. You’ll draw the papers up this afternoon with Josiah, get everything started. If you don’t, if you breathe a word of this, Cruz will be traded, and I’ll still leak the photos to the media. I do understand business, Isla. You’ll do a press conference as soon as possible. You should stick around for a week or so, pretending everything is normal while we get the legalities sorted. Then it might be better for you to go home.”

He stood, collected his photos, tucked them away. “Agreed?”

She said nothing, just stared at him, but he must have read the defeat in her gaze, her body. Because he clapped Bruce on the shoulder, and the two of them left.

Isla’s mind whirred like she was stuck in a tunnel beneath rushing water. Blindfolded.

Pressing her hands to the top of her desk, she sorted through the words, the threats, and came up with nothing to fight back against. She could handle a media storm. What she couldn’t handle was Cruz getting ripped away from his team. From his home. And his family who were so happy to be close by. To have him there.

She had no way out.

Don’t say that. Don’t give up. You’re better than that. But what options did she have? If she told Liam, she knew him well enough now to know he’d take the hit for her. She couldn’t stomach him making that kind of sacrifice.

Which meant there was only one option.

…

“I don’t understand, Isla. I know it’s been a rough start, but things are already smoothing out. You’ve got amazing publicity lined up. The public is going to love the Conroy merger, and the school initiative is going to excite every kid in Nashville who loves baseball.”

She stared out the window of Josiah’s office, arms folded around herself, unable to shake the chill that seeped into her bones this morning.

“It’s too much. My father wants it so badly, it’s silly for me to widen the gulf between us by fighting him. Especially since I have no clue what I’m doing.”

Josiah shifted behind her, but she couldn’t turn. She was a lousy liar on her best day. Staring into the eyes of a man who’d given her so much more than a baseball team by believing in her grandfather’s decision that she should be at the helm, she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from breaking.

“Okay. Fine. Your father is a bully, but we can give him a small percentage. But seventy? That’s crazy.”

She turned, steeling her gaze. “I’m in charge. It’s what I want. What I don’t want is a discussion trying to sway me in the other direction. I’ve tried. I’ll bring this team down if I stay. My father will help them succeed and ultimately, that’s what my grandfather wanted and what the team needs.”

Josiah stared at her, one hand tapping on the table. “Has something happened?”

She tried to smile. “Yes. I decided this is not for me.”

“Isla.”

“Please start the paperwork.” She hated that her voice cracked at the end.

He nodded, said nothing else, and left the room, his obvious irritation following him. Isla let out a deep breath and walked to the table. Leaning on it, she dropped her head and tried to blink back tears. It’ll be okay.

At least she could lie to herself reasonably well.