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The Saints had only ever won the World Series once. Over a century ago. “You think you can win the World Series?”
“Not right away. Maybe not even for a few years. But this team can be great again.” He was leaning forward, his expression determined and excited, green eyes intent on her.
She wanted to lean in and hear more. Damn the man. No doubt he could sell snake oil to snakes. She made herself sit back. “You sound like you’ve got it all figured out. You don’t need me.”
“I do. So here’s a proposition. Come and work with me … at least until we’re into the season.”
“Doing what?”
“Whatever I need. Talking to the players, to the press.”
“My degree is in management, not public relations.”
“I’ve seen you do PR pretty well. You’ve been doing it your whole life. Don’t you want this to work out?”
“Quite frankly, no. I’d rather see you go far, far away and leave me and the team alone.”
“Well, that’s honest. But it’s not going to happen. And, at this point, if we go down in flames, then the Saints will go down too. It’d be a pity to see over a hundred years of history come to an end because you’re too damned pissed at me to help out.”
“I thought you said there were other investors.”
“Honestly? Anyone else who buys the team is going to move it.”
She almost dropped her glass, the words hitting her like a gut punch. “Move it?” She hadn’t even considered that possibility.
He shrugged. “The field’s old and small, which means the gate’s not that good and the TV deals aren’t great. Plus we’re the third wheel in New York baseball. It makes more sense to move somewhere else where you can make more money.”
That sounded as though he’d thought about the idea a little too much. Which didn’t help the ache in her stomach.
“So why aren’t you moving it?”
“I told you. The three of us love this team. Right here in New York. We want to see if we can make it work.”
“What if you can’t?”
“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. But I don’t plan on having to do that. So, if you want the Saints to stay the Saints, then you want to be on my side.”
Was he bluffing? She thought again about the vote and the possibility of the other owners vetoing the sale. Surely her dad would see the light if they did? He wouldn’t let the Saints be relocated, would he?
You thought he’d never sell the Saints. You don’t know what he might do.
“And if I say no?”
His eyes narrowed. She got the feeling not many people said no to this man.
“That wouldn’t be my preferred option. It would be harder on the team. And mean I’d have to make some tough decisions.”
Her stomach lurched. “What do you mean?”
“Like I said. The Saints are in trouble. There are going to be some cuts.”
“I thought you were richer than God.”
“Hardly. And even if I—and my partners—were, that doesn’t mean we’re going to throw good money after bad. We’re not a blank check. There are lots of big-ticket items around here that need to be covered.”
“Such as?”
“The stadium needs a refurb—an expansion would be even better. And a complete security upgrade if Mal’s telling me the truth. The IT system here stinks and the tower needs some structural work too. We need to upgrade the press facilities if we want any chance at a better TV deal.”
