Bigger Than Beckham (41 page)

Tony wasn’t about to utter a harsh word about
Martha’s father, though Rex’s conclusion had more than a little
merit. “Okay, I’ll talk to Martha again. But I don’t see how she’ll
bite if all I do is roll out the same offer she threw back in my
face on Saturday.”

“But do we just sit back and wait for Steam
Train to put an offer on the table, and then decide if we want to
top it?” Rex shook his head. “That’s a risky strategy, Tony,
because you never know how negotiations might play out after Steam
Train gets in the first bid. Things could move really quickly.
Besides, they’re sitting right on Martha’s doorstep while we’re on
the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.”

Tony reached for his phone. “That’s true, but
we’re going to fix that. You check when SkyJets can get us into the
air. I’ve got an important call to make, and then we should both
head home to pack.”

“I’m on it,” Rex said, hauling himself to his
feet.

“And get hold of bloody Geoffrey Winston and
find out exactly what he said to the press. Maybe he’ll blab
something useful about Steam Train’s intentions while he’s at it.
He seemed keen on doing business with us the last time you two
talked.”

“Fine, but why do I always get the nasty
jobs?” Rex said with a sigh.

* * *

Halfway through the afternoon, Martha started
to return reporters’ calls. The press release had gone out from her
office earlier, and as much as she dreaded having to answer more
questions about the Thunder, she decided out of a sense of
professional courtesy to give a few of the better reporters a
call.

She’d barely made a dent in her list when
Rick Grange left a message saying he had breaking news she’d want
to hear. When she got him on the line, he’d told her he’d talked to
Geoffrey just a short time earlier. Her uncle had apparently said
he’d been in touch with Tony Branch’s partner, and had implied to
Grange that Branch was in the driver’s seat in terms of the sale.
Choking back bile, Martha had tried not to sound surprised or upset
at the startling news. According to Grange, when he pressed for
details as to the state of negotiations, her idiot uncle had
fortunately had to brains to clam up.

Martha spent the hour after that call
bouncing off the walls—livid at Geoffrey, but also furious with
Tony for playing footsies with the treacherous snake. Pacing from
one end of the kitchen to the other, she called both Geoffrey’s
cell phone and his house multiple times but he wouldn’t pick up.
Given the killing mood she was in, she couldn’t really blame
him.

As the hours passed, she waited in vain for a
call from Tony, overcome with such a deep sense of anger and
betrayal that she thought she might stroke out. What a naïve fool
she’d been to trust him in the first place, since all he really
cared about was getting his hands on the Thunder.

Never had she missed her father’s support and
advice more than she did now. She stalked around his empty, echoing
house, climbing up the stairs and back down again, unable to sit
still as she tried to bleed off the nervous energy that was tying
her in knots.

By the time the last of the sun’s rays were
disappearing across the sweeping expanse of the St. John’s River
behind the house, Martha couldn’t stand it anymore. Way past caring
that it was well after midnight in London, she dialed Tony’s cell
number.

Just as she thought his voice mail was about
to kick in, Tony answered. “Hullo?” His voice was a sleep-filled
rumble.

I’m really going to kill him.

“Branch, you miserable S.O.B. You’ve been
sleeping in your comfy bed, all nice and cozy, you creep, while I’m
sitting here with my insides twisted like an Auntie Anne’s
pretzel.”

“Jesus, Martha.” His feet hit the floor with
a thud that she heard clearly. “Do you happen to know what time it
is over here?”

“Hell, yes, I do,” she yelled into the phone.
“It’s time for you to tell me why in the name of all that’s holy
you’ve been conniving with my sack of shit uncle!” She paced across
her office, barely noticing the TV she’d turned on a few minutes
ago to catch the kickoff of the Thunder-Phoenix match. She’d never
missed a home game, but there was no way she would go anywhere
JaxBank Stadium tonight.

“Calm down,” Tony said in a stern voice, “so
maybe we can have something like an intelligent conversation.
Because so far I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking
about.”

“Hah!” Martha snorted, letting her pent-up
anger and disgust spew out across the line. “You’re actually saying
you don’t know what your minion Rex Daltry has been up to today?
You’re not aware that he was having a little chat with Geoffrey
this afternoon, scheming about how to apply pressure on me to sell
to you instead of Steam Train? Is that your story?”

She gave the leg of her desk a petulant kick,
then collapsed to the floor, rubbing her aching toes as she
mentally cursed herself for being such a moron. She didn’t bother
to get up.

“Christ, is that what Geoffrey told you?”

“Oh, I wish. No, the worm won’t return my
calls. I heard it from a reporter who talked to Geoffrey. He told
me Geoffrey strongly hinted that he was working with you guys, and
you had the inside track on a deal to buy the team.” She leaned
against the wall, shaking her head with disgust. “Jesus, Tony, I
had to hear that from a frigging reporter!”

“Bollocks.” Rising anger laced Tony’s voice,
but Martha wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or Geoffrey, or
both. “Martha, you know better than anyone not to listen to that
kind of shite from the press. They’ve always got their own agendas,
and they’ll say anything to get a reaction.”

Knowing he wasn’t far wrong, she chewed that
over for a few seconds. “So, you’re denying that Rex talked to
Geoffrey?” she asked in a marginally less pissed off voice.

“No, Rex called him, all right. But only to
sound him out on what if anything he knew about Steam Train’s
intentions. And that’s as far as it went. Anything else is your
uncle’s fabrication.”

Martha pulled her legs up and rested her
weary head on her knees, trying to sort through the morass of
emotion, instinct, and logic swamping her brain. Instinctively, she
believed Tony because Geoffrey adored playing mind games. He’d been
doing that with her since the day she arrived in Jacksonville to
take over the Thunder, just like he’d done it for decades to her
father. For some reason, the arrogant fool thought it gave him an
edge over everyone else. In reality, it just isolated him.

“Maybe,” she finally acknowledged. “But in
any case, you should never have been talking to Geoffrey behind my
back. No matter what the reason. You should have come directly to
me, Tony, and I’m hurt as hell that you didn’t.” The little quaver
that slipped into her voice was proof on that score.

She heard a muffled curse over the phone,
followed by a heavy sigh. Then several seconds of fraught
silence.

“All right, Martha,” he finally said. “I
understand why you feel that way, but I assure you that I
was
going to come to you. In my defense, I have to say
you’re your uncle is an independent player, and a troublesome,
erratic one at that. So, I expect there could be things he’s been
up to that neither of us has any idea about.”

Martha heard floorboards creaking and
envisioned him pacing back and forth across the old, beautifully
worn planks in his bedroom. A sudden and intense desire to be with
him, snuggled up in his bed, jabbed her hard in the chest.

“Look, love,” he continued in a softer voice,
“the simple truth is that I asked Rex to call him because I wanted
to find out every scrap of information I could
before
I
talked to you. Does that make sense?”

Right now Martha wasn’t sure what made sense
anymore, so she didn’t answer his question. “Exactly when, then,
were you planning on talking to me, my friend?”

No doubt when you’ve got all your ducks
lined up in perfect formation
.

“Tomorrow. Rex has booked a flight to leave
for Jacksonville in the morning. Which, incidentally, is why I was
sound asleep before you rousted me from my warm bed.” He gave a
sexy little chuckle. “Though it’s sure not as warm or inviting as
when you were here lying next to me.”

“Tomorrow?” Martha said, stunned. “You’re
coming here tomorrow?”

“Yes, and I’m bringing Ginny with me.”

The next morning, Martha dropped into
Starbucks on her way to the office, picking up the papers and a
latté for herself and a cappuccino for Jane. Her mind remained
stuck on what had happened last night.

After her call with Tony—and the astonishing
news that he was bringing Ginny Cross with him—she’d forced herself
to watch snippets of the live game coverage and the sports news,
painful as it was. The most brutal part had been to watch the
SportsNet cameras panning across the ridiculously sparse crowd.
Brutal, but instructive, too, considering the fans’ signs. One
young man had held up a hand-lettered placard on neon green
cardboard.
At last, hope!
was the message spelled out in
crude capital letters. A few rows back, another sign had featured
even more wounding sentiments.
Goodbye, Martha! Hello,
Tony!

The most popular one though, at least in
terms of the volume of cheers she’d heard, had been picked up by
the TV cameras time and time again. A well-endowed,
thirty-something blond woman kept standing up and dancing around in
a hundred-eighty degree arc with a sign saying:
Tony Branch: God
Save The Team!
Martha’s already queasy stomach had rebelled at
the terrible pun.

Fortunately, not one sign she saw had
expressed support for Steam Train, though that may have been more
of a comment on the quality of Steam Train beer than anything else.
But the discussion by the announcer and the color commentator had
focused almost entirely on Tony, too. The excitement in both the TV
booth and the stands had seemed palpable.

As she made her way from the elevator to the
team office, Martha couldn’t help wondering when Steam Train had
found out about Tony’s interest in the Thunder. Would Geoffrey have
told them before Malone came after her with his offer? She still
hadn’t been able to reach her uncle, who was clearly in hiding, but
she sure wouldn’t put it past him. Or would Malone have learned it
from the media yesterday afternoon, like everybody else?

When Martha elbowed open the door to the
Thunder office, Jane rose from her desk and rushed forward to take
her cappuccino from Martha’s outstretched hand. She gave her boss a
tight, one-armed hug. “You look like you barely slept, girl.”

“Sleep is over-rated,” Martha said. “Any
calls this morning? Aside from reporters, that is.”

“Only one you need to know about—from Rance
Frigging Malone. I left his number in the middle of your desk. He
actually asked me to give him your cell number, and didn’t sound
one little bit happy when I told him no way. The arrogant jerk told
me to make sure you called him back the
second
you got the
message.”

“Oh, I’ll just bet he did.” Malone and his
pals must have had a collective heart attack to find out Tony was
going to jump into the game, especially with the immediately
obvious fan and media support. “As for my cell number, you are such
an unrepentant liar, my dear friend. But, fortunately, you are also
a very good one.” Martha blew her friend a kiss and headed to her
office.

As she sipped her latté, she seriously
considered letting Malone stew for a few hours. But curiosity soon
got the better of her and she dialed his number.

“Thanks for calling back, Martha. I
appreciate it,” the Steam Train boss said in a tone that sounded a
shade more humble than yesterday’s.

She ladled on a dollop of insincerity. “No
problem, Rance. Mind you, I’ve been a little busy since we last
talked, as I’m sure you can imagine.”

“Of course you have. Of course you have,”
Malone repeated unnecessarily. “I’ll get right to the point, then.
Martha, it’s become public knowledge that you’re entertaining a bid
from Tony Branch for the team. So, let’s get that on the table
right away. And I have to say I wish you’d mentioned that to me
yesterday when we talked.”

“Why would I do that, Rance? I wasn’t any
more interested in selling to Branch than I was to you.” She
wondered if he’d pick up on her use of the past tense.

If he did, he ignored it. “Well, it’s changed
the landscape a little, I’ll admit. So, how about we meet right now
and figure out exactly what might make you put your name on a sale
agreement?”

Oh, joy, another face to face with Rance
the Wiener. Not likely
. “I’d rather you just say what’s on your
mind now, if you don’t mind.”