“Snug-Bugjustwent into the dryer, Sail. He’ll be nice and clean by the time we get home.”
Her eyes fill with tears, and she gives me the goddamn pouty lip that makes my heart tear to shreds every single time.
“How about a cookie?” I scoop her up, succumbing to bribery. With Sailor on my hip, I open the pantry and use one hand to pop the lid on the plastic container full of Oreos. Her little grabby hands swipe it from me, so I grab another, sticking it between my teeth, then shift one to the hand I’m holding her with.
With Sailor distracted, I bolt to the front door, stopping only to pick up my backpack and lock the house up. When I’ve finally wrangled my daughter into her car seat, I haul ass through town—safely of course, but as fast as I can.
She isn’tsupposedto come with me, but since my nanny quit last night, my only option is to bring her.
The sound ofMs. Rachelfloats through the car from her tablet, and I hope to God the device keeps her busy during this meeting.
Today is not a day for no screen time.
Traffic is light, thankfully, and I pull into a parking spot adjacent to the stadium and hang my parking permit with minutes to spare. It leaves me enough time to get us into the conference room that overlooks the ballpark.
Depositing her into a leather office chair that engulfs her tiny frame, I prop her tablet in her lap, lay her favorite blanket next to her, and hand her the last Oreo. She doesn’t even look up at me by the time I’ve frantically situated her, but I can’t say the same for the audience I now have.
When I take my seat, all eyes are on me.
Considering this is only my second meeting with the executives, my heart is hammering. Hopefully, I’m not canned for bringing my kid.
“You brought your kid?” Blake Bradley, the team’s owner, scoffs, ironically echoing my thoughts. His eyes scrutinize me,but I hold my head high. He's not much older than I am, but he’s the one looking out of place, wearing a three-piece suit at a ballpark. Fuckin’ billionaires.
“My nanny quit on me last night.” I lean back, draping my arm over the armrests of mine and Sailor’s chairs.
“Oof. That’s a toughy.” Clive, the team’s accountant, taps his pen against the lined-yellow notepad in front of him.
“I’ll find another.”Eventually. I’m not holding out hope that this will be a speedy process.
The conversation gets cut short when Blake begins speaking about the upcoming season, potential trades, and finances.
Around the oblong conference table sit the most important men behind the scenes for the Bridge Point Bears: the owner, the in-house lawyers, our accountant, and, of course, the coaches, myself as the head coachandmanager, and my four assistant coaches.
Our team is the strongest we’ve ever beenbehind-the-scenes, and if we secure the trades Blake’s hoping we do, we’ll be a force on the field as well.
For years, the Bears have been the underdogs in the majors, but since Blake Bradley bought the team two years ago, things have been looking up significantly. With loads of cash at his disposal, he’s dumped it into higher salaries, better trade offers, and incredible upgrades to an already brand new stadium.
My promotion came at the perfect time, and I’m grateful for the previous coach’s glowing recommendation prior to retirement. I was a shoo-in, having worked for the Bears since I was eighteen. Baseball’s been my life since I was four and started Little League. It’s in my blood. In my DNA.
I eat, sleep, andbreathebaseball.
Just being a player for the Bears, or any other team, would've never been enough for me.
I wanted itall. I wanted to coach. Be thehead coach.
And now I am.
An hour and a half, and a pissed off three-year-old later, we’re all clearing the room, done for the day.
“Hey, Lane, you got a moment?” Clive pushes his wire-framed glasses further up his nose, stepping around the table closer to me.
“That’s not Daddy’s name. Daddy’s name is Declan.” Sailor's nose scrunches, then she looks back down at her tablet, now blaringBluey.
Clive chuckles, shifting his shoulder bag while smiling down at my girl. “Yes, yes, you’re right, little one. Sometimes we call your dad by your last name, though.” His eyes meet mine. “I might have an answer to your nanny problem.”
“Oh?” My backpack hits my shoulders roughly as I toss it on, listening while preparing to leave.
“Why?” Sailor looks up at Clive with confusion. I pick her up and settle her in my arms.
