In Her Own League, by Liz Tomforde
In Her Own League by Liz Tomforde
My rating: 2 of 5 stars
She’s the new sole owner of a privately financed sports team. He’s the “field manager” of the team, and for reasons that never feel proportionate, they’re antagonistic until they aren’t. After that we get a lot of workplace-propriety handwringing, plus extremely efficient lust.
He: She’s my employer. This cannot be! (But she has “thick” legs. I’m drooling!)
She: He’s my employee. This cannot be! (But I want him in my fortress of solitude. And elsewhere!)
Evil advisory board: This cannot be! She’s, gasp, a woman! This is nepotism, and this job needs a man. (And even the one supposed-to-be good guy on the board literally doesn’t lift a finger to help until it’s safe, and even rewarding, to do so.)
The advisory board, which the book itself undercuts early on: “I don’t technically have to run a single decision by anyone else first.” Yet we are still expected to treat these men as a meaningful obstacle, even when the broader culture already provides a perfectly adequate one.
So instead of letting her handle her own power cleanly from the start (fire the clowns, set policy, move on), the plot manufactures tension until it escalates into actual coercion: “Those photos get leaked to the right people.”
At which point, yes, the story finally lets her remember she’s the owner, and she delivers the line that makes you wonder why we took the scenic route to get here: “You seem to have forgotten who signs your paychecks.”
He, the “heart of gold” older guy, never really “gets” her until the very end, and continuously tries to be her knight in shining armour when all she needs is a stern talking-to by grandpa. (And him to keep her warm in the meantime.)
To that melange, add some artificial antagonism, a bit of blackmail, a weird oscillation between damsel-in-distress and “girl boss”, and you get this: a romance that wants to be cathartic but mostly feels… contrived.
Two stars out of five.
