Clutch Hit Page 3

  Mateo wondered what Alicia thought about the choice. He would have loved to get her take, but if this afternoon was any indication, with her unwillingness to give him the time of day, she seemed to have no interest in getting to know him better.

  Supper at Rique’s did nothing to quench his need to talk to her. In fact, watching the mating dance that Rique and Fiona were doing made him long for a woman he could hold close. One woman. His. When Seb offered him a bed for the night, he pounced on it. He didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts, and he didn’t want Seb to be alone with his.

  It didn’t take Seb draining a half bottle of scotch for him to understand the anxiety. There was more to his inner conflict than met the eye, and he had a suspicion as to what it was, or rather who, when he said, “They cannot choose Mac Calipari. They just can’t. I’ll be back in Cranston before the crow flies. Will this thing with her never end?”

  The tone suggested regret, not anger. Frustration, rather than discontentment. Mateo had a feeling Seb hadn’t moved on as easily as he’d suggested. Wanting to dig a little deeper, he asked,

  “Tell me about Casey.”

  It was the woman Seb had left behind after high school, who also happened to be Mac’s daughter.

  Seb shot him a glazed look. His eyes held memories, the kind that could not be relinquished.

  “She’s pretty and smart and kind.”

  He closed his eyes, as if bringing her back into focus.

  “She had it rough. Not many knew that. Everyone thought her life was so easy. Daughter of a baseball great, and a stylish decorator who could turn any house into a home. Both so well established but she was lost most of the time. She never thought she measured up.”

  “But in your opinion, she did.”

  “She’s the heart of the family. The center. They’d be lost without her. It didn’t surprise me that she took over the complex. Like I said, she’s smart.”

  Seb had a far-away look in his eyes. “She’s always been his right-hand person. Even when she was little. He’d take her with him as much as he could. He liked her; you could tell.”

  He sat up straight, tugging the bottle he held in his hand along with him.

  “But not in a weird way. I don’t want you to think there was—”

  “I’m not.”

  Seb slouched back again, raising the bottle and taking a long gulp.

  “She always thought he did it because she was alone so much, and he felt bad for her. She didn’t make friends easily. Everyone wanted something from her, like tickets to a game or her father’s autograph. That’s why Allie is one of her best friends. She didn’t need anything from her, so Case could just be herself.”

  Mateo’s interest perked right up.

  “They were friends when you were dating Casey?”

  “Yeah. Had been for years by then. Allie’s dad is a sportswriter for Yakker Magazine. He’s been following the Greenies since he started out, and he’s good friends with Mac.”

  “Yakker?”

  That was a strange name for a sports magazine.

  “Yeah it’s slang for a curveball with a big break. I think it’s a play on breaking news, breaking ball.”

  He didn’t want to let the opportunity to learn more about Alicia go, and it looked like Seb was fading fast. Wanting to gather as much information as possible regarding the woman who was creeping under his skin, he asked, “What was Alicia like when she was younger?”

  Seb wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Why do you call her that? It takes me a couple seconds to figure out who you mean. She’s always been Allie. Anyway, she’s always had a one-track mind. She can rattle off all the stats of Greenliners living and dead, can call what kind of pitch is being thrown as soon as it leaves the pitcher’s hand, advised the infield to shift before the shift was a part of the game. She’ll be a Greenie for life and she’s currently on the ladder of choice, climbing faster than anyone thought possible. For a woman.”

  “For a woman? What does that mean?”

  “There used to be a glass ceiling in baseball. Female reporters weren’t even allowed in the locker rooms not so long ago. Now it’s a matter of course for them. Allie’s the one who broke through the one in the Greenies’ front office.”

  He felt a flicker of pride flame in his chest.

  “Mac knows this?”

  “Better than anyone.”

  “So, if Mac gets the job, Alicia…Allie…will have already established a rapport with him.”

  Seb slouched down farther into his chair, his eyes heavy-lidded. Mateo knew it wouldn’t be long before he was snoring. He handed over one last piece of data.

  “Yes. The team will benefit from their combined efforts. We… You just might go all the way.”

  Had he already decided he wouldn’t make the cut? Mateo didn’t bother asking. Seb had drifted off.

  Mateo got up, took the bottle out of his hand, and secured the top before placing it on the table.

  He clicked on the TV for some background noise, found a sports station where three people at a desk sat analyzing each team’s prospects for the coming year.

  The consensus was the Braves would finish last. Beyond that, each had a different pick on which team would finish first. One picked the Brewers, from the Central division, who were bringing back the core of their roster, giving them a razor-thin edge. The second was picking the Dodgers to repeat and possibly bring the trophy to LA this year. The third forecast a definitive win by the Greenliners, explaining that they’d picked up the handful of new players who would improve their infield. “Both Enrique dos Santos and Mateo Alvarez will redefine the way they do business. Each brings a strong arm and quick reflexes and can turn any play on its ear.”

  It felt strange to hear his name being broadcast. It felt even stranger to be the subject of a critique.

  The guy in the middle was questioning his ability to adjust.

  “Alvarez has just arrived from Cuba. With the millions of dollars in bonuses and signings wasted on other Cubans, there’s no guarantee he’ll make the difference at third.”

  “Nilsson does her homework. She’s done some amazing things since she got the job and I’m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt on this one.”

  He clicked off the TV, letting that last remark take root. He’d have to work even harder to prove she’d made the right call about him. Both on and off the field.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The next day, after very little sleep and a lingering hangover, her night spent with one of her co-workers and housemate, at a bar drinking, Alicia found herself standing at the doorway of Dan DeLorenzo’s office. Her mouth was more of a pinch than a scowl.

  He’d just told her he wanted her to move Mateo and monitor his assimilation.

  “You’ve got to be kidding?”

  The wheel of fortune had taken another spin around, one she wasn’t sure she’d survive.

  She studied him, looking for the punch line. He looked younger than the forty-five-year-old businessman he was. Bright smile when he used it, shark’s teeth when he needed them. If it wasn’t for him, she’d be a lot farther down the ladder than she was. He’d had faith in her ability to do the job. Today, the job wasn’t going according to plan.

  Dan was leaning against the windowsill, the backdrop the ice-stained harbor. Meeting her eyes, he said, “Because of this latest development, you’re the one I want on this. It doesn’t hurt he already knows you.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “I know handling ballplayers is part of my job description, but this is taking it a bit too far. Must I remind you he already ruined my vacation, possibly my life?”

  “You started the ball rolling. Now you’ll get to finish it.”

  He hadn’t been happy about that Skeet-Ball throw down the alley, which was one of the reasons she’d omitted telling him it was part of her plan. Even though it had hit the jackpot, she could tell from the tone of his voice the
irritation was still festering. She should probably be more conciliatory but…

  “I don’t want to finish it. I didn’t even mean to start it. It comes down to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “I disagree. I might not like your methods, but they worked. He’s a hell of a third baseman which is just what they Greenliners were looking for and you got him here.”

  With Keith’s legal expertise, she’d gotten Mateo his papers, and she was the reason he had a visa. Had she honestly believed that would be the end of it?

  Dan walked back to his desk, pushed a set of keys on a Greenliner ring toward her. It was the same one she’d handed to him a few hours ago, once the lease was signed.

  “Move him this afternoon.”

  There was a gut check to the solar plexus. She stared, not willing to fight him outright but what did that leave her? Acquiescence? Her silence might have told him he had it.

  He checked his watch, picked up the TV remote and powered up the screen. “There’s been a running marathon of the press conference, interviews, and the conjecture of who’s taking over is all everyone is talking about. It will only end when we have a new story for them.”

  He looked over at her. “The meeting’s at two. We both know who they’re leaning toward. Once the decision’s been made, there’ll be a lot of work ahead, but it won’t include practices. They’ll be canceled and everyone will have a few days’ reprieve to be with family and friends. Mateo will be alone to stew or worse. You know he was at the field when it happened. I want someone with him until he leaves for Sanford.”

  She did know. Farina had dropped dead after a heart attack a few hours after she’d dropped in on the practice. It had come as a shock to all of them. They’d been counting on Farina to take the team all the way this season and now… who knew what the hell would happen? Upper management was scrambling, spring training only a few weeks away, and the meeting this afternoon would finalize his replacement. They didn’t have time for indecision or for an in-depth review of who was available. Her father had called her after the news broke, looking for an inside scoop. She’d had nothing to give him. She had her own opinion, as did Dan, but until management voted, no one knew for sure who’d take the helm and she wasn’t putting anything out there until they did.

  She had her own problem on her plate, and it made her cringe. Dan wanted someone with Mateo until spring training. That was close to three frigging weeks. Then the full import of what he’d said hit her.

  “You don’t expect me to live with him, do you?”

  “I do.”

  Those words had a way of sneaking under her skin and making it crawl.

  “He’s made friends with dos Santos and Layden. Can’t one of them stay with him? The place where he’ll be living is certainly big enough.”

  “Rique told me he’s going to Brazil for a couple of days after the funeral and Seb might not be in the right mind-set if Calipari gets the nod. They have their own lives.”

  Pointing out what he already knew, she countered, “So do I.”

  “And that life includes taking care of the players. He’s all yours at the moment. And I want him out of the hotel. Today.”

  “You’re not giving me a choice on this?”

  “Allie, I’m sorry if it’s problematic. You could have found another solution.”

  “I…”

  He was right. She could have but she hadn’t had much time to consider the alternatives. When she’d found the man in question, he’d been at a dead-end road, until she’d interceded. That she didn’t want him to get away had put her on the path to perdition. She’d tried different options, but it didn’t matter who she talked to, Mexicans, Americans, embassy officials, homeland security representatives, she’d learned the odds of getting Mateo to Boston in time for the season were slim to none. There were two ways of getting him in the country: a two-year wait time for Mexican residency to kick in, with no guarantee he’d be granted permission to enter the country, or she could marry the man and he could apply for a spousal visa. She’d done what she had to do. She’d thought she’d be able to extricate herself out of her dilemma as soon as they’d landed.

  She’d been wrong.

  She felt the flare of anger spike as she walked away from Dan’s office, glanced down at the key ring in her hand. Seemed like she was back on the hot seat. She did not want to be in Mateo Alvarez’s company. Did not want to move him out of the hotel and into the condo she’d leased for him, using the funds that had come from his signing bonus, and she didn’t want to handle him for the next few weeks until he was acclimated. When he’d been signed, she’d known the Greenliners and upper management would want someone to introduce him to the culture. Shit, she’d been the one to suggest things like that. Her guys were her top priority and she wanted to make the move to the big leagues as stress free as possible. She’d begun to fly in the families of players making their big-league debuts so they’d have their own rooting section. Bringing a Cuban on board carried extra weight. Some of the defectors who’d come before had buckled under the weight of affluence, impacting their effectiveness. No one wanted Mateo to be one of them. Dan had just assigned her the task, and it would be up to her to make sure Mateo didn’t fall prey to abundance.

  What she wanted was an end to the hair-brained scheme she’d come up with to get the job done.

  She couldn’t deny she acted impulsively at times, never thought to justify her actions to anyone else. She couldn’t in her position. Fans were always second-guessing the moves made to strengthen the team. She’d been getting flak about the new closer she’d brought on board, but everything told her Milo Buzzley was the right man for the job. She’d had to develop thick skin along the way and didn’t look back very often. She couldn’t afford to do it now.

  Nor should she. It wasn’t as if she’d been pining for a man, aching for a wedding ring. She’d decided years ago not to go the traditional route. A husband and family would have slowed down her forward progress. She almost laughed out loud. She certainly hadn’t taken the conventional path. What was worse was she’d attached her wagon to an athlete, something she swore she’d never do again.

  Didn’t matter. She’d done the unthinkable, discussing the only plausible option to Mateo over lunch while in Cancun. While Zamoutto was negotiating a deal with DeLorenzo, his proposition a contract for the third baseman, her proposition had included marriage.

  She’d explained that if he agreed, they’d fill out the necessary forms to bring him into the country as her spouse. She’d been quite clear about the reason and the rules. They’d be married in name only. No affection, no living together, and absolutely no sex. He’d balked at the idea initially, argued against it, and then appeared to examine it more critically. After arriving at the conclusion it was his only choice, he’d relented. She probably should have let him go the third-country residency route, but she wanted to win this year, not two years from now. And there was an underlying reason, the one that made it dangerous. There’d been a pull and it wasn’t sympathy for a man alone, in a foreign land, trying to escape a limited future. That he was a gorgeous specimen of manhood had played a part. In fact, it was the spark that got the whole damn thing detonated. Bottom line: her beloved Greenliners needed him and the day she’d accepted the job, she’d promised she’d put the team ahead of all personal sacrifice. If it hadn’t been for the ramifications, it would have been an easy decision. She couldn’t remember a time when baseball wasn’t an essential part of her life. While she was growing up, Sundays weren’t for friends and family, they were dedicated to the game, a ritual that took place at home or at Bogs Field watching from the reporters’ box. Her father, a writer for a national sports magazine, had been on the Greenliner beat since hired there. He’d spent thirty years following the team, which had been a roller-coaster ride of winning seasons and losing ones. They were no longer only in her blood. Today they were also her bread and butter.

  She was relieved when Keith had
arrived within twenty-four hours of the exchange of vows and had taken over for her. He’d whisked Mateo off to Brazil to wait for the paperwork to go through. Reid Jackson had in-laws who lived there, and they’d offered the Cuban temporary housing, along with a companion to stay with him while they were attending the World Series in Boston. The visa approval hadn’t taken long. It was actually a matter of course. What helped was the agreement reached between the countries in December that allowed for the release of contracts in exchange for money. They’d covered all their bases. Mateo Arteaga Alvarez had a job and a sponsor and had paid all the fees required.

  She’d flown down to Rio when he was ready to travel, played the loving wife as they passed through the passport checkpoints, stuck close at the gate, and sat with him during the flight east. On landing, she handed him back over to Keith and she’d gone right home, not giving him a backward glance.

  That wasn’t exactly true. She’d peeked. The jolt that had hit her when she met his staring eyes created a tremor she hadn’t been able to control. What the hell was it about him that made her heart mush? There was even a moment when she was saying the vows, in Spanish, that had planted a seed that had taken root. She didn’t know him, couldn’t love him, didn’t even know whether she liked him. But she’d sworn to love and cherish him for all the days of her life.

  As if that wasn’t bad enough, she now had to take his hand and lead him through the land of plenty.

  She buttoned her coat against the winter chill as she walked toward her car. January hadn’t dumped its usual amount of snow on the town, but the cold had been arctic over the last couple of days. She refused to wonder if Mateo was getting used to the frigid temps. Coming from an island in the Caribbean, he was used to sunny days and balmy nights.

  She refused to wonder anything about him at all.

  Then why does he crop up from out of the blue a hundred times a day?