Love From Left Field Signed Paperback

The Georgia Knights are one bad season away from losing it all, and Miranda Callahan is running out of time to turn things around. The last thing she needs is a league-appointed consultant meddling in her business. Especially when that consultant is Lucas Wainright—the man who once had a claim to her family’s team and has every reason to take it away.

Lucas didn’t ask for this assignment, but if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s fixing what’s broken. And the Knights? They’re a disaster. But the real challenge isn’t the team—it’s Miranda. The sharp-tongued, determined woman who refuses to back down. The woman he should be keeping at arm’s length, but who’s suddenly all he can think about.

Their chemistry is undeniable, their fights explosive, and the stakes higher than ever. In baseball, it’s all about playing the long game—but what happens when the real competition is the one happening off the field?

On any other day, Miranda Callahan would have brushed off the threat being hurled at her through the phone like a fastball—high, tight, and nothing she hadn’t seen before. This was baseball, after all—a man’s game built on ego and bravado, where threats were as routine as fly balls. But this wasn’t any other day. And this wasn’t just any threat.
“You have no choice, Ms. Callahan. Our consultant will be there today.”
The words landed like a cold slap. They weren’t just sending someone—they were invading her turf. Her team. Her legacy. They were coming in to tell her how to do the job she’d bled for, the job she’d carved out for herself despite the shadow cast by her father, Seamus Callahan—Managing General Partner of the Georgia Knights and her overbearing boss. He’d watched last season slip through his fingers and, with barely concealed disappointment, handed down her marching orders for spring:
Get the Knights to the World Series.
She exhaled, long and sharp, then leaned back in her scarred leather chair. It let out a low, ominous creak, like it too was tired of holding up under pressure. “We don’t need a consultant, Commissioner,” she said, her voice clipped. “And you have no right to take over our team like this.”
“I’m not taking over your team,” Commissioner Roger Martinelli replied, calm as a surgeon mid-operation. “Just putting a consultant in place to assist you in getting back on your feet.”
“Tell that to Los Angeles, whom you steamrolled and forced into a sale. No thanks.” Her tone iced over. “We can handle our situation without outside interference.”
She was proud her voice didn’t waver. It couldn’t. Not now. Not with the weight of the franchise on her shoulders.
“You’re dangerously close to defaulting on your loans, including those backed by Major League Baseball,” Martinelli said, the words as brutal as a bat shattering against a pitch. “You’re a small-market team playing like you’ve got Yankees money—buying your way to playoffs, gutting your farm system. That strategy doesn’t work anymore. The game has changed. You can’t compete this way. A consultant can help.”
His tone softened, but it didn’t dull the blade. “And we do have every right. There are plenty of teams who’ve needed guidance—Texas among them. You’re part of a franchise system. The other owners are raising concerns about your financial stability.”
Miranda’s jaw clenched. She didn’t need a lecture; she knew exactly how close to the edge they were skating. Her conviction wavered, if only for a heartbeat. Around the league, small-market teams were finding ways to compete—through analytics, player development, discipline. Small ball. Not flashy, not easy, but it could work. Had worked—almost—for the Knights last season.
But Seamus Callahan didn’t do patience. He wanted fireworks. Names that would sell jerseys, grab headlines. It didn’t matter that they couldn’t afford it. He’d thrown money at aging stars and risky contracts, and now the coffers were almost dry. Worse, the fans were drifting. Even a surprise playoff berth hadn’t been enough to reignite belief. Too many key players had walked. And those left behind were talented but green—promising kids, not yet heroes.
Miranda felt the weight of it pressing down on her chest: dwindling ticket sales, sponsor anxiety, a city starting to root for that other Georgia team—the one whose name Seamus had declared unmentionable in the Knights’ offices.
Maybe a consultant could help. Maybe, just maybe, another voice—one not tied to her father’s pride—could steer the ship differently. They’d almost had something last season. If they’d listened to Cole Hammonds, their data-driven GM, maybe the team wouldn’t be in freefall. But Seamus had shut him down, insulted free agents with lowball offers, and chased others away with his volatile temper.
They were left patching critical holes: first base, catcher, a reliable starter, middle relief. No budget. No draw. No plan.
What she didn’t need was another suit poking around, acting like they had the magic solution.
What she needed… was a miracle.
“Miranda?”
She smothered her irritation at the use of her first name. It was a deliberate choice, a tool in his well-polished playbook. She’d grown up under Seamus Callahan’s roof; she recognized a tactic when she heard one.
“Thank you, Commissioner Martinelli,” she replied, the edge of steel unmistakable in her voice. “But I think we’ll be fine.”
There was a beat of silence. Then—
“You mistake this conversation for a negotiation, Ms. Callahan. The decision has been made. Lucas Wainright will be there this afternoon, if he isn’t there already.”
Her blood turned to ice.
“Lucas Wainright?”
Martinelli’s voice hesitated, a flicker of surprise. “Yes… I believe you know him. Wasn’t he from Savannah?”
Oh, shit.
Her heart pounded like a drumline. Her father was going to blow a gasket.
And she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t, too.