Last Strike

It's Ms. Mason To You

Elizabeth’s POV:

Why did I agree to take this job? When I read the headlines this morning, my phone immediately started ringing, and I shouldn’t have answered. Yet, here I am three hours later, fresh off the plane from Atlanta, cursing at myself mentally for saying yes.

I stepped off the elevator and instantly caught a whiff of that all-too-familiar scent: sandalwood mixed with a smell that was distinctly his, Ashton F*cking Tate. I straighten my shoulders and push a loose strand of hair behind my ear. I whispered to myself, ‘You can do this, Lizzy. He’s just like any other athlete.”

Now, as I head towards the office they’ve set up for me with him following behind, all I can think is ‘Sh*t. Sh*t Sh*t.’ The moment he turned, and I saw those eyes, the color of chocolate that looks almost black when he’s angry or horny, I instantly regretted my decision. I’ve seen plenty of images of him over the past five years, with his face constantly plastered on billboards, magazine covers, and celebrity gossip sites, but seeing him face-to-face is entirely different.

The smug a*shole has only grown more handsome with his chiseled jawline, muscular arms, and those thin, smooth lips. ‘What’s up with the facial hair?’ That only makes him look more sinful. Damn it!

I drop my bag next to the desk and brush off the chair before sitting. I looked over to see Ashton leaning against the door frame, looking everywhere but at my face. I gesture towards the empty chair. “Sit, Tate.” He mumbles something under his breath and reluctantly sits. When he runs his hand through his dirty blonde hair, I mentally scold myself for remembering how I used to love playing with those soft strands.

He clears his throat before asking, “Why are you here, Lizzy?”

That name rolling off his tongue makes me snap. “Don’t call me that. You lost the right to use a name reserved for friends and family five years ago. You will address me as Elizabeth or Ms. Mason.”

A smirk spreads across his handsome but smug face. “So not a Mrs. yet?”

I fought back the profanities and locked eyes with him. “Good luck with your court date and finding a new team next season, Tate. You might want to consider the minor leagues or maybe even Japan. You’re free to leave.” I pushed the chair back, crossed my legs, and motioned towards the door.

Ashton lets out a loud sigh and begins to rub his hands over his face aggressively. I reach for my phone and start scrolling through notifications while I wait for his response. Thankfully, this isn’t my first go-around with an arrogant athlete who thinks they don’t need my help. I’ve made quite a career out of redeeming bad boy athletes, and right now, Ashton Tate is THE bad boy of baseball.

Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I see him chewing on his lower lip while tugging on his hair. If he were a cartoon character, I would expect to see steam pouring out of his ears right now. I must admit that seeing him so frustrated at this moment brings me a slight sense of satisfaction. Ashton has always taken pride in handling situations his way. I know he’s battling with his pride, and I’m just waiting to see who wins.

While reading through yet another headline about his arrest, I could feel his eyes on me. He sighs and utters “F*ck” under his breath. I look up to see that intense glare; the color of his eyes looks darker, which tells me that he’s angry. He’s waiting for me to back down.

These guys always think they can bend me to their will. It’s not going to happen. I need him to realize that I’m the one in charge.

So I wait.

He pushed up from his seat and began to pace the room. “Liz- f*ck Elizabeth, say something!” He repeatedly clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

I casually look up from my phone. “Be sure to send me a letter from prison.”

WHAM!

The sound of his fist colliding with the wall resonates throughout the office, followed by a stream of anguished cursing. His pride is winning the battle at the moment, and I’m torn between intervening to help expedite the resolution or allowing him to conquer his demon. If it were anyone else, I would step in now, but this isn’t any ordinary man. This is a man I once loved, who chose to toss me aside without a second thought.

After more angry pacing and mumbled swearing, he returns to the chair with a look of defeat. He refuses to make eye contact with me, but that doesn’t surprise me. His pride has taken a substantial beating. I finally hear him speak, “What do I have to do?”

I tuck a few loose strands back up into my bun and brush invisible dust off my pants. “Ashton, I need you to realize that I’m not the enemy. I’ve been hired to help you, but you must be willing to accept that help. If you care as much about your career as I believe you do, you will have to follow my instructions, because management has made it clear that this is your last chance. I can help you, Tate, but I’m not going to put up with any of your sh*t. We play by my rules. Do you understand?”

I watch him as his shoulders slump down in resignation, and he reluctantly nods in agreement. When he clenches his fist, I notice him wincing. His knuckles appear to be swelling from having punched the wall. I softly speak, “Ashton, go ice your hand. You have a game this afternoon. We can discuss all of this after the game.”

He briefly glances back at me as he walks out the door, and I can’t decipher the look in his eyes. Is it anger, maybe pain, or regret? I silently watch as he vanishes down the hall. Before I can get lost in my thoughts, a subtle knock on the door frame captures my attention. I looked up to see Jacob staring at me apprehensively, and I already knew what he was going to ask.

“How did it go?”

I chuckled to keep from venting my frustrations. “He’s pissed, but he’ll get over it. “

Jacob nods in understanding. “The game is at 2:00. You’re more than welcome to watch from the owner’s suite.”

“Thanks, but can you snag me a seat along the third baseline in the lower deck instead?”

He gives me a questioning look before responding with a simple “Sure,” as he takes his leave.

I pulled up Ashton’s stats on my phone. Let’s see if we can figure out what might be causing his recent bad behavior, and that starts with watching him on the field.