The Athletic Groom: Billionaire Marriage Brokers by Lucy McConnell

Author:Lucy McConnell [McConnell, Lucy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Orchard View Publishing LLC
Published: 2017-02-25T18:30:00+00:00

* * *

The Redrocks took the field in the bottom of the fifth inning to a smattering of half-hearted applause. Normally, Isaac enjoyed the crowd, but today’s ticket holders were less than enthusiastic about their home team. Many of them openly cheered when either side had a good play—as if they were there to watch a game but didn’t particularly care who won. That wasn’t good. Passionate fans were what kept a team going in the off years. So far, all the years had been off years for the Redrocks. Isaac wanted to change that as much as Harper.

Jackson was throwing like a high schooler out there. They gave up two runs because of his lackluster performance on the mound. He had the talent to outsmart the batters, but he was lazy. Nothing boiled Isaac’s blood hotter than laziness. With each run for the opposing team, Isaac’s frustration grew.

Jackson’s next pitch went wild and the runner on first stole second.

Isaac ground his teeth and marched out of the dugout. “Time,” he called to the umpire.

Jackson dropped his glove to his side and slouched. The infielders began trotting to the mound, but Isaac waved them off. The pitcher’s attitude was bad enough for the team; he didn’t need them to pick up any more of it, as he was sure this wasn’t going to be a friendly discussion.

From home plate to the mound was 60 feet, but the distance might as well have been twice that length for how quiet the stands had gotten and how long it took to get there.

All the while, Isaac’s thoughts played out like an announcer on the radio. Uh-oh, folks. Looks like the new manager, Isaac Wolfe, is headed out to mound to have a talk with his star pitcher Jackson Kimber. Team owner and Isaac’s wife, Harper Richmond, has forbidden him from ruffling Jackson’s feathers. Let’s see what happens …

Isaac climbed up the red dirt and stood directly in front of Kimber. He studied the guy for a moment, seeing every punk kid he’d ever coached all rolled up into this one grown man who wasted his talent, wasted the team’s money, and was wasting the fans’ time.

He needed to coach. Just like a batter, when he stepped into the box, had to clear his head of all distractions, Isaac needed to coach like that now. He couldn’t think about what this looked like on television, he couldn’t imagine what was going through the stands, and he couldn’t think about what Harper would say if she were here. Right now, he was a coach and he needed to act like one. “Where’s your head today? ’Cuz it’s not in the game.”

“I’m just not feeling it.” Jackson shrugged.

Isaac glared. “What are you saying? It sounds like you want to be taken out of the game.”

Another shrug. “I did my part. I filled the seats—let me relax.”

“Relax?” Isaac’s hands went to his hips and his feet spread apart. If I could shake him, I would. Drawing on every ounce of patience he could muster, Isaac managed to keep his voice down.

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