Bigger Than Beckham (30 page)

Maybe her ego couldn’t stand failing at the
challenge of running a pro team. After all, she lived and breathed
sports and, like him, had spent her life immersed in that intense
and prideful world. Screwing up at something that important could
impact everything else she did in her career in future.

If pride and ego really were the basis of her
motivation, Tony knew his chances of gaining control of the team
were as thin as his self-control whenever Martha started to stroke
his cock.

But there was another factor in play. One he
was coming to believe was more important to her than anything to do
with her ego. That factor was the fate of the people she cared
about—her general manager, her office staff, the coaches, trainers
and at least some of the players. That group probably even included
Geoffrey Winston. Though Tony had detected little affection between
uncle and niece, he was dead certain Martha nevertheless felt a
certain degree of responsibility for her father’s brother.

If protecting those people was paramount in
her mind, then he might just have a shot. He could give her
everything she wanted—well, almost everything—and she could still
be deeply involved in the team while focusing on her journalistic
career. After all, she’d just admitted that journalism was still
where her ambition rested.

“I think we should go back up to the suite if
we’re going to talk about this right now,” he finally said.

“Agreed,” Martha said with a nod.

They started slowly back up the steps, with
Tony waving to the fans all the way up. As they reached the
concourse, he groaned as three photographers hurried to block their
path and started shooting. Tony could hear the auto-drives of their
big cameras, audible even over the crowd noise.

“Is this doll your new girlfriend, Tony?” the
photographer in the middle tossed out.

Recognizing the pudgy tabloid veteran, Tony
ignored the idiot’s question and kept moving forward as he held
firmly onto Martha’s hand. He had a sinking feeling from the way
the photographers stood their ground that he might wind up having
to elbow his way through.

“Let us pass, lads,” he said affably.

None of them moved. The cameras clicked
relentlessly.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” the guy
directly in front of Martha said. When Martha ignored him, he said,
“How long do you think you’ll last with Tony? Two weeks seems to be
the record so far,” he said, chortling.

Tony didn’t recognize that particular
asshole, figuring him to be some jerk-off freelancer, but he had to
fight a strong urge to slug the guy. But lashing out at a tabloid
dope would be a really bad idea. He’d learned—in a rough and tumble
way—that with rare exceptions it was a big mistake to react to
stupidity or even mild abuse from the media. Still, he drew the
line at some son of a bitch insulting Martha. For everybody’s sake,
he hoped the guy wouldn’t utter one more word.

He shot the photographer a threatening glare
but Martha, obviously sensing he might be about to explode into
action, pinched his fingers hard and then let go. As Tony turned to
her, she gave the man a smile so iced over that his pathetic balls
must have been flash-frozen.

“Well, well, now. My family raised Georgia
hogs with better manners than you three,” she drawled. “If y’all
must know, Mr. Branch kindly invited me, a fellow owner of a
football side—as y’all say over here—to see this fine match and
this lovely stadium as his guest for the afternoon. Now, I’d ask
y’all to please step aside like good boys and let a lady pass.”

“Fuck me!” blurted the third man, a
stringy-haired, weedy twenty-something with rimless glasses and a
challenged complexion. “That’s Martha Winston, the American
reporter.” He raised his camera and continued shooting as if his
life depended on it.

“Oh, hell, Tony,” Martha growled in his ear.
Furious, Tony shoved a path through the cluster of men and headed
inside the grandstand to the elevator.

“Those damn pictures are going to be splashed
all over tomorrow’s tabloids,” Martha said, exasperated, when they
got up to the suite. She flopped down into a leather chair, looking
pissed. “We should have known better,” she grumbled.

Tony pulled two more beers out of the fridge,
uncapped them and held one out to her. He didn’t quite get why she
was that angry. Yeah, it was annoying, but nothing to flip out
over. “I’m sorry those wankers were rude to you, but I loved the
way you cut them down at the knees.”

Martha gave him a stony glare.

Now
he
started to get pissed off. What
was the big deal, anyway? Why was she so bloody reluctant to be
seen with him in a photo?

“You shouldn’t let it get to you, love,” he
said calmly. “This sort of thing happens all the time here. There
might be a little gossip, but nobody really pays it any mind.”

“Crap.” She blew out an obviously frustrated
breath. “Don’t you get it, Tony?
Somebody
we know is going
to pay it mind. I’ll give you three guesses, but you’re as good as
brain-dead if it takes more than one.”

Confused, Tony sat down opposite her. It
didn’t take long before he got it. “Ah, shit. Bloody Colton
Butler.”

“Give the man a prize,” Martha
said—uncharitably, he thought.

“Hey, take it easy. I can see why you’re
upset, but do you really think Butler’s going to go off on you just
because I invited you to watch a football match?” Unless, of
course, Butler had already figured out her little deception. “You
don’t think he knows more than that, do you?”

Martha shook her head. It made her hair flop
down again across her face. She pushed it back in place with an
angry gesture. “All I know for sure is that he hates you,
apparently with about as much passion as you hate him. If he finds
out about us, it could completely blow the deal. He’ll have no
trouble getting somebody to write his story. Or maybe he’ll even
kill the whole idea.”

Tony didn’t like the way the conversation was
heading. “You’re right. Coming here turned out to be a mistake
after all.” Even though he loathed the idea of her spending more
time with Butler, he sure didn’t want to be the one to sink the
deal for her. That could lead to nasty complications for both of
them.

But the hell of it was, being with Martha
felt like anything but a mistake. He counted every minute he spent
with her as among the best minutes in his life. Even as flushed and
steamed as she was now, she was the most desirable and engaging
woman he’d ever met. Her combination of beauty, sex, charm, and
brains surely didn’t come along often in any man’s lifetime.

Martha made a little grimace, but then some
of the tension seemed to drain from her body. “Yes, going down into
the stands was a mistake, but that one’s on me. I can’t blame you
because I know exactly what the tabloids are like over here. You
just can’t take any risks, and I took a dumb one.”

Tony gave her a grim nod. “The bastards are
worse than roaches. At least you’re allowed to exterminate
roaches.”

“We could have used an industrial-sized can
of Raid out there, that’s for sure.” Martha managed a tiny smile.
“But what’s done is done. If shit happens tomorrow, I’ll just have
to deal with it. Maybe the papers won’t run the photos. Or maybe
Colton won’t see even them, since he’s in Scotland for the
weekend.”

Tony figured the chances of the photos
hitting the papers were high. It had become a way of life to see
pictures of him and his dates displayed across the gutter press,
though fortunately they tended to show up on the gossip pages, not
the front of the papers. He was a middle-level celebrity, he
supposed, but in a city overflowing with royals, rock gods, stage
and screen stars, and politicians who did unspeakable things, he
was rather small beer in comparison.

Still, a shot of Tony Branch squiring a
bombshell American journalist and soccer team owner around Fenton
Park would not go unnoticed.

“Maybe,” he said, reluctant to add to her
angst.

She gave an endearing little wriggle of her
shoulders, as if shaking the ugly moment off. “Let’s try to forget
about all that for now and get back to business. You dangled that
partner thing in front of me out there in the stands, so what’s the
deal, Tony? Were you serious?”

Hell, yes, he was serious. He’d barely been
able to think about anything else other than finding some way to
get what he wanted—and he wanted both the Jacksonville Thunder
and
Martha Winston. He didn’t have a clue where this thing
with Martha was leading, but he’d been asking himself the
question—was he willing to go to war with her if it came down to
that?

Tony hadn’t reached any sort of conclusion on
that score, but he was becoming less sure every minute they spent
together that he wanted to get into a battle with her—a battle that
would leave the loser bloodied and enraged. Still, he wanted the
team as badly as ever, and he damn well wanted Martha, too. He had
a delicate wire to dance along, and delicacy had never been his
forte. “Of course I am. I don’t joke about business, and I’m
certainly not going to play games with you, Martha.”

Her finely arched eyebrows lifted. “Those are
mighty fine words, pal, but you’ve never had a partner in your
life, at least not as far as I know. And let’s face it, you’re
pretty doggone famous as an unrepentant control freak.”

Tony stared at her, pushed back by her
bluntness. Yes, he’d made it clear in past deals that he had no
desire to ever share ownership of a business—much less control—with
anyone else. And maybe he
was
a control freak, whatever that
ridiculous American phrase meant. Regardless, it didn’t mean he was
too stupid or stubborn to know when he might have to adapt.

He gave her a placating smile. “There’s a
first for everything in life, isn’t there?”

That platitude was the best he could do, at
least for now. What else could he say? That the prospect of a
relationship with her—business and otherwise—had rocked him to his
very core? That he could scarcely believe someone like him—someone
with his reputation—was falling insanely hard for a woman he’d only
just met? He could hardly fathom it himself, and no way was he
exposing that kind of vulnerability to anyone. And especially not
to her.

“Sure, and progress is good,” Martha said in
a bland voice. Tony had a strong sense she was mentally rolling her
big blue eyes. “I’m listening with rapt attention, but are you
going to make me find a horse and pack of foxhounds so I can chase
down an actual proposal from you?”

As usual, her quirky humor caught him off
guard. But he stifled a laugh because he knew how serious and
important the next few moments were going to be. Choosing his words
with care had never been his long suit, but he knew that now was
the time to choose them carefully indeed, despite Martha’s
impatience for answers.

“I’m not a man of words, so I’m afraid I may
be too blunt,” Tony finally said. “But please let me finish before
you react.”

Her gaze remained clear and level, but she
said nothing.

He took that as a yes. “I’ve told you how
determined I am to buy the Thunder. On the other hand, you’ve made
it perfectly clear that you’re determined to hold on, despite the
current…difficult situation, if I can call it that.”

“Sure you can,” Martha said. “But that’s like
calling a Perdue chicken factory a little barnyard coop.”

Tony frowned, unsure of the reference.

This time she did roll her eyes. “Sorry, I
guess y’all aren’t familiar with Perdue chicken over here.”

“Ah, no, I suppose not. Anyway, Martha, I’ve
tried to figure out what’s really important to you. What you want
to accomplish by retaining ownership of the team. And while I don’t
pretend to understand everything, I think what might weigh most
heavily on your mind is your concern for the people you see as
dependent on the team.” He paused for effect. “And on you.”

After several fraught seconds of silence, she
nodded. “Okay. Keep going.”

“I admire that about you. If you check my
record, you’ll find that I value my employees bloody highly, too.
Rex and I have dealt more than fairly with all the people I
inherited from teams we acquired. Whenever we had to let someone go
it was for good reason, and we gave them a generous package to help
tide them over until they found other positions. But almost all
those new people are still with us.”

“Except the general managers and field
managers, of course,” Martha interjected.

Surprised, Tony said nothing. Sweat prickled
his brow, and he raked a hand back through his hair to get rid of
it.

“I do my research, too,” she said.

“I’d have expected nothing less,” Tony
managed, though it had actually never crossed his mind. She’d been
so determined to reject him from the outset that he was surprised
she’d bothered to dig up information on his past. Again, he’d
underestimated her. “But that’s different, Martha. You must realize
that. The general manager and the field manager are the key cogs in
the organization. The pivot points. And if a club is failing—like
all the clubs I’ve taken over were—then it’s a sure thing those
fellows haven’t been doing a proper job.”

Martha’s brow knitted into a frown. “So,
since the Thunder are sucking in monumental terms right now, you’re
saying that Kieran McLeod and Sam Brockton must surely be useless
losers, right? You’d send them off to the chopping block, would
you? Come on, Tony, just be honest about that.”

Tony felt the ground wobble beneath him. As
he’d feared, Martha was going straight for his throat, not giving
him a chance to lay everything out in the way he wanted.

He made a point of sitting back in his chair
and doing his best to look relaxed, though it was a hell of a long
way from how he really felt. Every muscle in his body had tensed
and he noticed his breathing had become shallow. Forcing a couple
of deep breaths, he stretched his legs and flexed his fingers to
help him relax.