Stealing Home by Becky Wallace

Author:Becky Wallace
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Page Street Publishing Co.
Published: 2019-05-28T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

Sixteen

ADVANCED MACHINING HAS A COMPLEX OF ALUMINUM BUILDINGS hidden behind a brick and stone office front. I’ve been here twice before with my dad, to drop off-season ticket packages. He doesn’t usually deliver them personally, but Advanced Machining is one of the biggest employers in our town. It drives him nuts that he’s never been able to sell them on sponsoring a giveaway or having an outfield sign. Sure, people in our town aren’t exactly Advanced Machining’s target market, but most companies are looking for ways to build “community partnerships.” The last time I was here, Dad pitched a whole bunch of ideas, but according to their CEO, “Baseball isn’t the right fit.”

Maybe tying their business to a stadium renovation will be. Could they see value in providing the ceiling beams that support the new events center’s roof? Or having an entire wing designed to showcase their craftsmanship?

I’ve pushed yesterday’s incident with Ollie and Pearson to the back of my mind. Okay, fine. Not quite to the back. Every now and then Ollie’s face peeks into my brain’s peripheral vision, and I’ll rehash the whole thing for a minute before I can shift focus.

I’ve got to get my game face on. Campbell and I spent most of Monday afternoon preparing a really informal one-page proposal of what we’re hoping to accomplish with an addition to the facility. No numbers. Very few specifics.

Dad calls meetings like this “fishing expeditions.” You throw out all sorts of bait and see what it’ll take to make a potential sponsor bite. If I can get verbal interest, a promise for a second meeting, I can take that back to my mom. And eventually my dad.

When we pull into the parking lot, Campbell gives me an encouraging grin. “They’re not going to say no.”

“Of course not,” I say, trying to ignore my shivery nervousness. I let him lead the way into the building, while I handle the boxes of bagels, cream cheese, and sandwiches. The marketing director, Jim Stein, didn’t have time to meet me for an outside lunch, so I brought food to him.

Bonus points, please.

The receptionist shows us to the conference room where Jim will meet us. Everything in the building has a cabin-y feel, but the conference room takes the decor to a whole different level. It has dark exposed beams, a stone fireplace that has definitely never been used, and a table that looks like it was made out of an enormous tree trunk. I can even see the tree rings under the high-gloss shine. I set down the boxes, and Campbell sits in one of the leather armchairs on the table’s right side.

Jim comes in a minute later. He’s probably in his early fifties, with steel-gray hair and a gut that suggests he really enjoys Thirsty Thursdays at the ballpark. His eyes immediately fall on Campbell, who jumps back to his feet.

“In all the years I’ve been meeting with the Buckley Beavers and watching y’all’s games, I haven’t had a chance to meet a first-rounder.

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