“Hi,” he said. “I’m—”
“Mr. Dorsey. You’re early.” Before he could respond, she added, “She’ll like that.”
He relaxed a fraction and nodded. Seeing a trio of gray chairs lined up against the wall outside of the office door, he walked over and sat in one. As he did, the assistant pressed an intercom button and announced his arrival. A female voice responded that she would be ready in a few minutes.
“I’m Millicent, by the way,” the assistant said. “Can I get you some water or a soft drink?”
“No, thanks.”
He expected her to try and chat him up, maybe question why he was there. She didn’t, though. She must have already been briefed by her boss, he guessed.
Her long nails clicked as she typed on her computer keyboard. Outside of that, it was unusually quiet in this part of the stadium. He heard some conversations happening in the larger hallway outside of the lobby where he sat, and people occasionally walked past, their paces brisk and their attention focused on what they were doing. Somewhere in the distance, a copier hummed and a series of clanks indicated a vending machine was in use. It was much like any other set of corporate offices in stadiums around the country he’d visited over the years.
So why was this one so intimidating?
The office door opened. He got to his feet and turned to face Caroline Sanderson. She was smaller than he’d envisioned in light of her reputation. The couture power-red suit she wore conveyed the image that preceded her, though. Her shoulder-length dark hair was lightly peppered with silver and framed her face in a flattering style. Her most compelling feature, however, were her intense dark eyes.
“Ms. Sanderson,” he said, extending his hand. “Evan Dorsey. It’s nice to meet you.”
Her grip was warm and strong as she accepted the handshake. “The same to you, Mr. Dorsey. Please, come in.”
She stepped aside so he could pass. He walked in and sat in one of the two guest chairs across from her large mahogany desk. Behind the desk stood a wall of floor-to-ceiling bookcases decorated in everything from trophies and awards to framed autographed pictures. Everything about it served to convey that Caroline Sanderson knew what she was doing in this business.
Closing the door, she walked to the padded leather chair behind her desk. The light scent of flowery perfume followed her. It was the only hint of delicacy about her.
“I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me, Ms. Sanderson,” he said as she sat down.
Folding her manicured hands on top of the desk, she met his gaze and nodded. “You’ve intrigued me, Mr. Dorsey. You’ve been in this profession long enough to know that your approach is highly unorthodox.”
He sure did. When his agent found out about this meeting, he’d have a coronary.
“With all due respect to the system,” he said, “it doesn’t always move at a pace I find convenient.”
“I see. You feel that you’ll have more success negotiating with me directly as opposed to going through Wayne or my team’s typical channels.”
This was hazardous territory. The wrong response would make him look unprofessional, something he knew wouldn’t fly with Caroline Sanderson.
“Wayne’s great at his job,” he said at last. “But I’m only one of his clients, and he has a lot on his plate with the trade deadline coming up. I’m just trying to help both of us out. And while I know you rely on the advice of your general manager when making staffing decisions, I also know you have the final say. This approach works around the middlemen, so to speak.”
She sat back in her chair and nodded once. “Well handled, Mr. Dorsey. All right. Tell me why you flew across the country to have this meeting.”
The short answer was that he was doing this to honor his mother’s memory. He wanted to play at least one game in the city that meant so much to her. After that, he told himself, he’d move on.
Knowing that wouldn’t sway her, he’d spent the entire flight that morning preparing well-crafted responses to that question. He intended to talk about how he was a great asset who would help get her team into the playoffs. He figured he’d bring up his history in the city to convey a sense of stability in this town, something he hadn’t shown during his career up to that point. He had developed all kinds of detailed, thought-out responses.
Instead, he held her gaze and said, “I want to play for Atlanta, and I figured you’d have a harder time saying no to my face.”
One corner of her mouth lifted. “Do you still feel that way?”
“No, ma’am. I suspect if you didn’t want to speak with me, you’d usher me bodily out of this office with your own two hands and tell me not to let the door hit me on the way out.”
“Excellent. So we’re clear.”
She got to her feet, walked over to a filing cabinet, and pulled out a thick manila folder. When she returned to her desk and opened it, he saw a photo of himself from a couple of years ago. He supposed it didn’t surprise him that she was so well prepared.
“You have an interesting history, Mr. Dorsey. You started with St. Louis at the age of eighteen, spending two years in the farm system before your bat and glove got so hot that management gave you a shot at the Bigs. You did even better in the Majors the year you turned twenty-one, hitting over three hundred and earning Gold Glove and Rookie of the Year awards. Since your contract was up with St. Louis, Wayne negotiated you a spectacular deal with Washington. We wanted you back then, by the way.”
“You did?”
“Absolutely. Unfortunately, the payroll budget and the timing of our existing player contracts didn’t allow us to pursue you. But I digress.” She looked again in his file, though he could have told her anything she needed to know. “Your transition to Washington didn’t go so well. Your average slumped into the low two hundreds.”
Her gaze lifted to meet his. He felt as though she could read every secret in his brain. Somehow, he sensed that she knew the reason his performance suffered.
“Doug Tickner is an ass,” she said in an unruffled tone. “I don’t know how he continues to hold down a management position at this level. My guess is that he has a relationship with someone in the owner’s suite…but that’s merely gut instinct.”
“You have solid instincts, Ms. Sanderson,” he murmured.
“I know. So now we’ve come to your trade to Los Angeles after your single season with Washington. Since you didn’t have a no-trade clause, Wayne got you the best deal he could. In your time with L.A., you’ve done well enough. Your average is on the rise and your fielding percentage is nearly flawless.”
He said, “You want to know why I want to leave L.A., right?”
“No. L.A. is going nowhere, and they’re looking to unload you before the trade deadline. I know very well why you want to play for my team. My question is why should I take your request any more seriously than the many others I receive every day?”
He appreciated her confidence. It didn’t come across as conceited, just self-assured. She’d been around the block and had come out a champion numerous times. She could afford to say such things.
“You need a third baseman,” he began. “Matt Jensen is a talented veteran, but he’s been suffering from frequent injuries that come with the wear and tear of this sport. Hamstring and groin pulls, elbow sprains, knee trouble. I saw the game in Denver last week when he went down rounding second. He’s going to be out for at least a month, maybe more.”
“We have other players who can field well enough at third base.”
“Sure, but can they replace Matt’s missing bat in the rotation?”
When she didn’t reply, he knew he was making progress. She knew that he’d been performing well so far that season. A glimmer of hope sparked within him.
Sitting forward, he said, “Look, Ms. Sanderson, I’ve made no secret about my desire to play for your team. I lived here for years. Cole Parker and I went to high school together. It would be great to play ball with him again. On top of that, I know how
well-run this ball club is. My motivation to play here is high. I really feel like I’m the perfect fit for the hole you’re trying to fill before the trade deadline.”
All of that was true as far as it went, he told himself.
“I haven’t confirmed anything you said about Matt,” she warned.
“No, ma’am.”
She sat quietly for a moment, her gaze never leaving his face. It was all he could do to not hold his breath. He hadn’t realized just how important this was to him until right then. All at once, he was terrified she’d say no, and equally terrified she’d say yes.
“There are still details to discuss before anything can be decided,” she said.
“Of course. Why don’t we chat about those, since we’re here and all?”
By the time they hammered everything out to where he suspected Wayne would be satisfied, Evan knew he’d be playing for Atlanta within the next two weeks. He felt a pang of regret for leaving the young players in L.A. behind, but he just didn’t have it in him to carry the team. At least with Atlanta, he’d be working with a crew who knew what they were doing.
As they were getting to their feet so he could head back to the airport, his gaze fell on a photo in a silver frame resting on her desk. It faced her, so he hadn’t seen it from his previous angle. In the photo, Caroline and Michael Sanderson sat on a sofa with a few other people. A large group stood around them, making funny faces and symbols with their hands. Judging by the décor in the background, they were celebrating someone’s birthday.
Right in the center stood the blonde pixie he’d been thinking about for more than six months. Her hair was much longer in the picture, but it was definitely her.
“Is this your family?” he asked.
Following his gaze, she nodded. “Yes.”
“I remember meeting her at Cole and Everly’s wedding,” he said, pointing to the pixie.
“My niece remembers meeting you, too. You must have made quite an impression. She speaks of you often, asking me to get updates from Cole whenever I can.” She reached out and touched his shoulder. “I was sorry to hear about your mother’s passing.”
He gave a brisk nod to acknowledge her sympathy, but didn’t say anything. That was the last conversation he wanted to have right then.
“She never told me her name,” he said.
“It’s Sierra,” Caroline said as she emerged from behind her desk. “Sierra Stratton.”
He nodded again. After studying the photo and Sierra’s dimpled smile for one more moment, he followed Caroline to the door.
“You’ll have to have Wayne contact me so that we can finalize everything,” Caroline said as she reached for the handle.
He winced. She saw the reaction.
“You didn’t tell him you were coming to speak with me, did you?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Well, then. That should be a very interesting conversation.”
Chapter 5
On the thirteenth of June, Sierra sat on top of a stone picnic table waiting for the client her aunt asked her to meet and show around one of the apartments she owned. Being an updated, top-floor loft in a much-desired area of the city, this particular apartment boasted a substantial rent. It had been vacant for months. Sierra couldn’t help but wonder who the possible new tenant was. Her aunt’s text hadn’t given her a clue, and when she tried to get more information so she knew who she was looking for, she never got a response.
It wasn’t a big deal, though. She’d gone into viewings blind before. Her aunt was busy, and there was a reason Sierra got to live rent-free. She could suck it up.
Although it wasn’t yet ten in the morning, the sun was blisteringly hot. She adjusted the spaghetti straps of her sundress in hopes of avoiding a bad tan line. Her hair was long enough now to be secured in a short braid, but a few curls had already escaped and were slowly getting plastered to her face with perspiration. Wishing she had thought to wear a hat, she pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose and fanned herself. She started reconsidering the idea of meeting the client in the air-conditioned apartment. It was a secure entry building, though, which made meeting outside easier.
A butterfly landed on the edge of the picnic table. She stilled and watched its wings bend gently in the warm breeze. Shades of blue and iridescent purple blended into a gorgeous pattern.
She had to capture it.
Easing her hand into her bag, she pulled out her camera. She carefully brought it up so she could look through the viewfinder. After snapping a few shots, she dared to move to get a better angle. Fortunately, the heat seemed to have made the insect lazy, as it didn’t flutter off. She was able to get a few more before it finally took flight. She captured those images, too.
Smiling, she looked at the camera’s digital display. These would blow up nicely. She’d have to add them to her available stock images on all of the major retail sites.
The sound of a loud engine caught her attention. She looked up as a guy pulled into the parking lot on a motorcycle across the courtyard from her. Judging by the sound, the shiny chrome, and the distinctive lines of the bike, it was a classic Harley-Davidson.
Her camera lifted of its own accord. The guy oozed sex appeal, even from a distance. When she used her zoom and saw the guy more closely, she realized why.
Evan Dorsey.
As she pressed the shutter release multiple times, she considered what this meant. Her aunt had something up her sleeve, she was sure of it. She supposed, since this decision made her particularly happy, she wasn’t going to complain.
Putting her camera back into her bag and hefting the bag onto her shoulder, she left the picnic table and made her way across the grassy courtyard used as a common area by the building’s tenants. She watched Evan pause after he dismounted from his bike to look up at the trio of red brick buildings that comprised the complex.
Did he see the complex like she did, as buildings with tons of character? Did he look at the large, white wood and brick balconies and think about how they overlooked the park across the street and the city beyond? Did he like how there were only a limited number of units, which helped foster a sense of community among the tenants?
Well, if he didn’t, he would after she gave him the walk-through.
He started in her direction, then abruptly stopped walking when he saw her. She gave him a welcoming smile.
“Hi, Evan,” she said, stopping a couple of feet from him. “It’s so nice to see you again. You look great.”
He looked spectacular, actually. He’d put on some weight since the wedding. His cheeks no longer looked gaunt, and his muscular biceps were nicely displayed by his navy blue T-shirt. As she had noticed when she was with Everly at the stadium, his brown hair had grown. Now a few wavy locks fell into his eyes and brushed his collar in the back. It had lightened a shade or two during the spring. The shadow of stubble lining his powerful jaw made her want to run her fingertips down the side of his face and then kiss his sinful lips.
“Your aunt didn’t mention that you’d be the one meeting me,” he said.
She couldn’t read anything in his tone or expression. His aviator shades hid his eyes from her, too. That made her smile again.
Evan Dorsey was an enigma.
“Yes, well, she’s like that sometimes,” she said. “We love her anyway.”
Linking her arm with his, she started walking toward the gate leading into the correct building. It pleased her that he walked with her rather than pulling away.
“I help manage the properties for my aunt and uncle,” she explained as they stopped at the keypad beside the gate. “One of my duties is showing available apartments to interested future tenants.”
He didn’t respond as she pulled a card out of her bag and scanned it, releasing the gate. When she started to open it, he reached around her and did so before she could.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling and walking past him. “Let’s give you the grand tour. Do you have any pets?”
&
nbsp; “Yes.”
He didn’t expound. She didn’t let his silence break her stride. In this line of work, she’d interacted with all kinds of people, including the strong-and-silent type.
“Well, this complex welcomes up to two pets under fifty pounds each, as long as the breeds aren’t on the restricted list.”
“They aren’t,” he said.
Mentally confirming that he wasn’t going to be very chatty, she just nodded. They walked through another small courtyard, which she explained was great for walking dogs if the weather didn’t allow for crossing the street into the park. She mentioned that most of the tenants also had pets and were quite friendly.
She led him through the building’s main lobby, which was quiet since it was in the middle of the week and most people were at work. Evan took off his sunglasses and looked around. Hardwood floors led to a long, marble counter that served as the reception area. To the right was a sitting area with comfortable furniture, rich wood accent tables topped with fresh flowers, and a flat panel television hanging on one wall. His gaze stopped on the glass door leading to the building’s gym.
“Each building has its own fully-equipped gym,” she explained, “but there’s only one pool, shared by all three buildings. Since there are only thirty units altogether, it rarely gets crowded.”
He didn’t respond. She saw one of the building’s employees, Oliver Werner, sitting behind the counter and crossed the lobby to greet him. He got to his feet, towering over her by more than a foot.
“Hi, Oliver.”
“Hi there, Ms. Sierra. Nice to see you.”
She winked at him. “This is Evan Dorsey. He’s checking out 4-B.”
“Is that right?” Oliver held out his hand and Evan shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dorsey. Can’t find a better place to live in this city, I assure you. We’ll take real good care of you here.”
“I like what I see so far,” Evan said.
Sierra wondered if it was a coincidence that his dark blue eyes shifted to her after he said that. In either case, her pulse quickened. What harm could there be in fantasizing about a compliment from a hot ballplayer? It was healthy, really.