Big Leagues Page 8

  “Why didn’t you take Kaufman out when his pitch count hit one hundred?”

  “Ron, was the bullpen short tonight?”

  “Did you feel Kaufman was the best choice against their cleanup hitter?”

  “Were you aware of Garcia’s ten-game hitting streak?”

  When it appeared the smoke had cleared, Cat shot off one of her own. “Ron, did you consider walking Garcia to get to the less dangerous Warren?”

  The fiery manager’s eyes flashed.

  Uh-oh.

  “Well, of course I considered that. What do you guys think I’m doing in the damn dugout, playing with myself?”

  Cat watched the veins in his neck bulge like the busted seams of a baseball. Her skin began to warm as his voice rose.

  “Newsflash for the news hacks. If I’d walked the bases loaded and Warren comes through with a single, then they wouldn’t have tied the game but instead been two runs up on us. Then I’d have to field questions like, ‘Ron, why’d you walk him?’ and ‘Ron, did you consider not walking him?’ Kaufman got out of there with the game tied and our offense came through in the end.”

  Cat accepted his tirade with a short nod and scrunched down in her seat.

  Ron shook his head in angry astonishment. “Did I consider … please. I do plenty of considering. Maybe you all should consider a job that doesn’t involve crapping on mine.”

  Cat scrawled gibberish onto her notepad, anything to keep from making eye contact with the irate manager. She shook her hair forward to cover her face and disguise her mortification, but she knew her rusty locks were no match for the clashing scarlet flush that must be staining her cheeks.

  “Ooooh, that’s a swing and a miss for the rookie reporter,” Dustin hissed from the row behind her.

  She stiffened and shook off a response.

  * * *

  Ron Bouvier’s oversized serving of public humiliation notwithstanding, Cat considered the evening a success. She perfected her game summary with quotes from the team, sent the article off to her editor and milled around the office, refusing to leave until she’d verified her very first Web publication. Minutes later, there it was, her first headline.

  CHIPS RALLY IN THE EIGHTH by Catriona McDaniel, Senior Beat Reporter

  Her heart swelled. She wanted to print out a thousand copies and wallpaper her entire apartment with the beautiful words. She scanned the article once more, proofreading every paragraph for the twentieth time.

  “Your cup of coffee, my liege.” Dustin entered the office and plopped the mug down on the desk. “Is there anything else I might do to serve you?”

  She moved the mug to a coaster and ignored his sarcasm. “Actually yes. I forgot to tell you earlier, but I met Deidre Derhoff today.”

  “Brad’s wife? I didn’t know she was in the building.”

  “She was. Do you know her?”

  “Of course. I told you Brad and I were—”

  “Close, I got it. Anyway, she said some strange things. Did you know the Chips had hired another reporter before Brad?”

  He raised his eyebrows over his dark frames. “That’s news to me. I thought Brad and I were the only team reporters in Chips’ history.”

  “And me.”

  Dustin gave her a smirk and she knew their brief truce was over.

  “Well, we’ll see. It’s been one day.” He pointed to the mug. “Enjoy your coffee, I’m out of here.”

  Cat perused the rest of ChipsBaseball.com, resisting the temptation to read her article again. Dustin’s Rumor Mill feature caught her attention. Her eyes flittered through the first paragraph and stopped. She reread the words and mouthed the last sentence aloud. Looking out the open floor, she saw he was still at his desk and stormed out.

  “Dustin.”

  He glanced up for only a second and returned his attention to the newspaper on his desk.

  “Dustin, I read your latest column in the Rumor Mill.”

  “Oh goody. Well I’ll sleep easier knowing you’re a fan.”

  She crossed her arms. “No, not exactly. Isn’t it a little risky to voice your two cents like that?”

  Dustin shrugged. “Everybody’s a critic.”

  He spun in his chair so that his back was to her. Cat stepped around to the other side of his desk.

  “I’m serious. Our job isn’t to decide if we need a new starter. Our job is only to report if we have a new starter.”

  Dustin yawned and rested his head on one hand, flicking his nails on the other one.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m just trying to help you avoid a reprimand down the road.”

  “Thanks so much for your concern,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

  “We’re not here to be opinion columnists.”

  He had no reply, so she left, holding her tongue with some difficulty.

  Well, Ron Bouvier and Dustin notwithstanding, the day had been a success.

  She packed up her belongings and closed her door, blowing past Dustin’s desk without so much as a goodbye.

  The elevator doors opened to the clubhouse level and Cat took off at a brisk pace. The lower level was full of action during the day and around gametime, but it was tomb-like after hours. The suffocating gray tunnel made the short hairs on the back of her neck stand up. And the not-so-short ones on her legs, too, which reminded her not to skip the leg shaving tonight.

  15

  “Hey you!”

  Cat stopped in her tracks at the vicious bark, praying it wasn’t directed at her. So far, her second day had been going so smoothly. Another ballgame and another win.

  She turned around to see the brawny outfielder known by the fans as Rage Head charging toward her. His tattooed armed shoved a newspaper in her face.

  “You see this?”

  “Uh …” Cat juggled the newspaper with her digital recorder and coffee mug. “Ray Hedd gets pulled over for DUI?”

  “I did get pulled over last night but I passed the sobriety test.”

  She handed him the paper back, her hand shaking as she did so. “Okay, but I didn’t write that.”

  “Yeah well, I know where they get their information.”

  “Ray—”

  “It’s Mr. Hedd to you, got that? You don’t know me.”

  “Okay …” her shaky voice betrayed her false bravado. “Mr. Hedd—”

  “I know how you people are, sticking your nose in everybody’s business. I’m letting you know now that I’ll be watching you, so don’t even think of that sneaky spy crap Turd-hoff liked to pull.”

  “I can’t help what problems you and Brad had or what the Daily News says about you, but I’m here to help the team. I don’t want to have any problems with anyone.”

  He took a large step forward, backing Cat into the wall. “I hope so. As far as I’m concerned, that prick you replaced is where he belongs.” His eyes bored into hers. “Got it?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was barely audible.

  He stepped to the side and Cat seized the moment to move past him, hurrying down the hallway. She slowed as she reached the elevators, just in case she met any curious coworkers. Even if he was known as a hothead, she didn’t want the confrontation to get back to Erich. If the big man was forced to choose between the outfielder with twenty mil and two years still left on his contract or the two-day old employee, she had no doubt she’d lose. Once on the elevator, Cat hugged herself in an unconscious gesture of self-protection.

  An hour later, she was sitting at her desk, rubbing her eyes. Her work had been done for the last half-hour but she purposely dilly-dallied, hoping enough time had passed that Ray had gone home or wherever he went when he wasn’t lurking in the clubhouse. She gave her postgame recap one more look before hitting the print button; then she popped out of the leather chair and strolled to the shared workstation to pick up her prized creation. A pretty young woman was leaning against the copier, twirling a strand of long black hair around her finger. She shuffled away from the machine as Cat approac
hed.

  “I’m sorry, am I in your way? Or do you need me to copy something for you?”

  Cat shook her head. “Oh no, you’re fine. Just here for a pickup. My second Chips article.” She grabbed the paper out of the printer’s tray and, with a proud smile, showed her.

  “Ooh la la.” The girl grinned. “Congrats.”

  “Thanks.” Cat folded up the article and stuffed it in an envelope. Upon seeing the girl’s curious gawk, she pursed her lips. “It’s for my grandmother. She’s in Illinois and not exactly a webmaster, so I snail mail her a copy.”

  “Aw, that’s so cute.”

  Cat paused. “Forgive me, I’ve met so many people in the last two days, have we been introduced yet?”

  “Nope. I’m Kiara Choi.” She rolled her eyes and sighed dramatically. “Intern.”

  “Catriona McDaniel. You can call me Cat.”

  “Fun! You can call me Key.”

  “Key? I like that.”

  Kiara pulled a chair out from a nearby vacant desk and plopped down. “It must be so awesome being the team writer. I swear, media relations intern is, like, code for corporate slave.”

  “I’ve been there.”

  A short blonde girl came through the door and Kiara’s hand shot up, fluttering through the air.

  “That’s Lydie. Poor thing. She’s an intern on the third floor with the nerd patrol.” Kiara stood and turned back to Cat. “Hey, we’re going out tonight, wanna come?”

  Cat hesitated and Kiara quickly added, “Unless you already have big plans.”

  Cat rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah, big plans. Let’s see … Dustin and I are heading to the Strip to get married by Elvis and then we’re going to consummate our wedding vows on the Stratosphere.” Kiara’s eyes widened, and Cat shook her head. “Teasing. I’ve got to go to the drugstore.”

  Kiara giggled. “The drugstore? On a Tuesday night? You know every Tuesday is Ladies’ Night at half the bars in town, right? Free Jell-O shots and half-price margaritas. You can’t miss out.”

  “Tempting. I’ve got to get travel supplies for the road trip. Those little hotel bottles of shampoo don’t quite cut it.”

  Kiara tilted her head. “Are you sure? It’ll be fun. I swear.”

  Cat shook her head and smiled at the two girls, who were inching their way toward the door.

  “I’m sure. Go on, get out of here. Next time, okay?”

  “I’ll remember that. Later!”

  Cat scanned the office for anything she might have forgotten. Her laptop was in her bag, her office door was locked, the copier was on standby, the coffeepot was off and, with the flip of one switch, the lights would be, too. She trotted to the elevators and examined her chipped nails while waiting for the doors to open. Stepping onto the elevator, she bumped into a figure, gasping as she looked up the tall body.

  “Oh uh, Mr. Snow, you scared me. I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be on here.”

  “Expect the unexpected, ain’t that what they say?”

  “I guess. I thought I was the last person in the building.”

  “Not tonight.”

  Cat sank into the corner. Otis’ frame took up nearly half the elevator and the stench of stale cigarette smoke filled the rest.

  She broke the awkward silence. “I think you were here when I came in this morning. That’s a long day.”

  “Ain’t kidding. You’re one to talk. Weren’t ya here last night until nine?”

  “Yeah, I just want to make sure everything’s perfect. I don’t like to leave until I’ve got everything lined up for the next day.”

  “A real perfectionist, huh?”

  Cat nodded and watched the lights change from floor to floor. She looked back up at the tall guard. “What keeps you here so late?”

  “The boss. He runs me like a thoroughbred one race away from the glue factory.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not that I mind or nothing. Just glad to have work. Say, what was that all about with Deidre Derhoff yesterday?”

  “Oh, uh, I don’t really know. I turned around and there she was, standing in the press box.”

  “I’m sure you figured this out, but she’s cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.”

  “Well, she just lost her husband. That’d make anyone a little crazy.”

  “Maybe.” He bent his head down like he was preparing to tell her a secret. “Between you, me and the elevator, she never really had a full bowl.”

  The elevator opened on the bottom floor. He stood up straight, once again towering over her.

  “Well, Red, that’s our stop. Ladies first.”

  She tossed a smile at the looming guard as she exited right for the parking lot’s tunnel.

  “Oh, the weather outside is frightful …”

  Cat belted out the Christmas carol in her off-key voice and hiked up the concrete stairs with her tote bag. “… And since we’ve no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it—”

  She halted upon seeing the door across the hallway wide open. With a giant grin, Benji angled his head out to the corridor. She was sure he’d heard every note. He sauntered outside and leaned on his door frame, a twinkle in his scrutinizing eyes.

  “Couple things, neighbor.”

  She brought her bags up to her chest and clutched them protectively.

  “First off, this is Las Vegas. I know you’re new here, but there’s a better chance of the city being swallowed up by the Grand Canyon than Frosty stopping by for a cup of hot cocoa.”

  She smiled meekly.

  I could go for the former right about now.

  “And two, it’s July.”

  She cleared her throat. “I uh, h-heard the song on the radio. It was stuck in my head.”

  “The radio?”

  She owned up with a sheepish smile. “Well, last December.” She sat her bags down and leaned against the stucco hallway wall. “So what, were you just camping out here, waiting to witness my next bout of humiliation?”

  Benji put his hands up defensively. “Hey, what do you take me for? I swear, I came out here with good intentions. I stayed for the humiliation, but first, good intentions.”

  He held his index finger up, turned around to grab a small package from his entry table, and presented it to her atop his two flattened hands.

  “I happened to arrive at the mailboxes at the same time as our friendly neighborhood mailman. Saw this package for you had a fragile sticker so I saved it from inevitable mutilation.” He extended his arms proudly, and she peeked at the return address.

  “Oh, it’s a shot glass from my grandma!”

  Benji’s forehead scrunched up as she tore open the package. “A shot glass? That’s nice. My nana usually sticks with knitting me sweaters and the occasional scarf, but hey, I’d probably get more use out of a shot glass.”

  “No, it’s not like that. See? Souvenir.”

  Cat held the tiny glass in her hand so Benji could view the Atlantic City logo. As he leaned in, she closed her eyes and stole a sniff of the scent of his warm, citrusy cologne. Hoping he didn’t notice, she took a step back.

  “Grams brings them back for me from vacation. Except I don’t think she knows they’re for liquor. Last time I was at her house, she filled them with barbeque sauce and served them with chicken nuggets.”

  “Well, they’re definitely for sauce.”

  “I didn’t have the heart to tell her.”

  He chuckled, and she smiled. “Thanks for the rescue mission. That was really decent of you.”

  “Hey no problem.” He shrugged. “At least my graphic novel didn’t lose its value in vain, right?”

  Cat grinned. Comic book, she thought.

  “Well,” she said, “let me help you forget that traumatic loss. How about tickets to the Chips game tomorrow night?”

  “The Chips?”

  “I’m the new team reporter; that’s one of the few perks I get to throw around.”

  He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his blue jeans and rocked back
on his heels. “Chips … that’s baseball, right?”

  She nodded slowly. His eyes squinted beneath his disheveled black bangs. “The one with the bats and balls? Three strikes, that sort of thing?”

  “Last time I checked. I take it you’re not much of a fan?”

  Benji’s mouth twisted grimly as he looked down at his sandals. “I’ve never told anyone this. It was my mother. She took me to a game when I was six and there was … an accident.”

  Cat placed her hand on her chest. “An accident? What h-happened?”

  His voice dropped. “It was before the game even got started. Her finger—actually her whole hand, it was destroyed. There was nothing anyone could do.”

  “D-destroyed?”

  Benji took a deep breath. He brought his piercing stare up to meet her wide eyes.

  “It was ripped off her body.”

  Her eyebrows knitted in confusion. He raised his own brows comically above an expression that shifted suddenly from disturbed to delighted.

  “Wait, did I forget to mention it was one of those foam fingers?”

  He beamed, and Cat groaned. She gave his shoulder a gentle slap. “You’re kind of an ass, aren’t you?”

  He snickered and raised his palms up. “I’m sorry. Bad joke. I just never really got into our national pastime.”

  She lifted an eyebrow. “Never? Let me guess. You’re allergic to apple pie, too?”

  “Oh no. I’m afraid that’s an equally tragic story that involves my father, an apple seed and an emergency trip to the dentist.”

  She giggled again, and their eyes locked together. Cat’s pulse surged as her laughter trailed off. She wondered if his eyes had gotten bluer since she last saw him. She broke the stare and pretended to examine the shot glass.

  He cleared his throat. “It would be nice to—you know, catch a game or something with you. I just can’t tomorrow night. I’ve got a night class.”

  She perked up. “Oh, are you in school?”

  “Kinda. I’m an assistant professor in evolutionary ecology, uh, biology, that is.”