“Need a hand?”
“Yes, please—” she stops abruptly. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s you.” I can’t help myself. “The woman from the airport. And the lobby. And the stairwell.”
“Yeah, I work here.” I can practically smell the fumes wafting off her. “Notherehere. For the Firebirds.”
“I play for the Firebirds.”
“Oh! Do you?” She bats her wide-set eyes pointedly. “We’ve established that,buddy. That’s why you’re ‘so freaking rich,’ remember?”
“So you repeatedly insult me to my face and I crack a joke, and somehowI’mthe bad guy?”
“You’re the bad guy for treating the sport like it’s a joke.”
It’s my turn to fume. “Baseball purists.”
I turn to find Marty. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have an open spot near him, so I look for the woman’s tumbler with its absurdgeek in the spreadsheetsmessage and pick the seat farthest from her.
An older woman stands and helps the obnoxious woman. A presentation flashes on the screen. The pretty pest sits down, and the older woman clears her throat.
“Thanks for being prompt,” she says. “I’m Kathy Coleman, Director of Baseball Analytics.” This is her department, so she’s clearly introducing herself for my benefit. “We’re excited to welcome Marty Mercer, Director of Scouting, and the team’s new special assistant to the GM for scouting, Mr. Cooper Kellogg.”
The excited people clap. I like them.
Pretty Pest doesn’t. Which is fine, because Idon’tlike her.
“We have an hour, people, so let’s make the most of this. Coop is out for the season, and we need to determine the best way to fill the gap he’s leaving next year, among others. And, as always, we need pitching.”
“And we need to do all this on a reduced budget,” Pretty Pest says looking atme.
Kathy gives a slow nod that screamsduh.“We all understand the assignment, Liesel.”
HA! Take that,Liesel.
Liesel. That’s a pretty name. Too pretty for someone who wants to set fire to me with her eyes.
“Of course, jersey and season ticket sales have also increased dramatically,” I say. “So that should help the budget.”
“Uh, yeah. We’ve taken that into account,” Kathy says with the sameduhin her voice that was directed at Liesel. Liesel shoots me a triumphant look that makes me want to pull a Mason and stick my tongue out at her. “Let’s dive in.”
Liesel nods, and the projector starts sharing her screen.
Marty and I give each other a glance when we see their top draft pick. We talked about this kid at lunch. Marty juts his chin toward me, gesturing for me to speak.
“The kid’s a ticking time bomb,” I say.
“Excuse me?” Liesel asks. Why use such polite words with such a waspish tone? Sort of contradicts the whole thing. “He’s a top fifteen college player. His college stats are as good as Derek Jeter’s.”
“Yeah, but Jeter didn’t break his bat four times in a single season after striking out. And his mommy didn’t hug him after games and threaten to give the Big Bad Umpire a piece of her mind.”
Silence answers me.
Yeah, maybe I got a little waspish, too. “But you’re right,” I add hastily. “The guy’s got great stats. If he can fundamentally change his personality, he could dominate.”
Liesel doesn’t just want to set me on fire with her gaze, she wants to scatter my ashes afterwards.
“Marty?” Kathy asks. The steely scout nods.
