Bigger Than Beckham (40 page)

The damn release had to do a lot of things,
including making a statement about Steam Train and the possibility
of Tony making a bid. And she finally had to admit that she was
going to listen to any and all offers for the Thunder. Though her
stomach soured at the thought, remorseless logic told her that she
was out of options and out of time.

The bitter, ugly end game had begun.

Martha grabbed a notepad and a pencil from
the counter and sat down at her tiny kitchen table with a cup of
steaming coffee, a dark roast that she prayed would give her a jolt
of energy. She could go to her home office, but she wasn’t quite
ready to traverse the living room—not unless she put a bag over her
head and groped her way through. Facing her father’s portrait was
not going to happen right now. Looking up at his face, frozen in
time, would probably reduce her to a bawling, boneless sack of
self-recrimination. The man had entrusted his team to her, just as
he’d tried to entrust his company. And she’d failed him on both
accounts. It didn’t matter one bit that the Thunder had already
sunk into a debilitated state by the time of his death. It had been
her mission, however unwillingly accepted, to stabilize the team
and turn it around.

Instead, she’d obviously driven the final
nails into its coffin.

If selling was all there was left, who would
her father want her to choose? The brewery or Tony Branch? No
contest there at all—of course he would have chosen Tony. Not just
because Tony was a Brit, like Daddy, but because the man had lived,
sweated and bled for soccer since he was knee high to a fire
hydrant. For Steam Train, owning the Thunder was simply a marketing
tool—just another way to sell beer. But for Tony Branch, it was a
logical extension of his life’s work and his driving ambition to
succeed.

But Martha’s rat bastard of an uncle remained
a huge wild card. If Steam Train decided to outbid Tony and yet she
sold the team to him anyway, Geoffrey would raise holy hell. And
not just with her but with the fans and everyone else in
Jacksonville and beyond. While the decision ultimately rested with
her as majority owner, accepting a lower bid from Tony would raise
all kinds of suspicions.

Especially about their relationship. If her
sex-filled weekend with him in London somehow wormed its way into
the local press, then any vestige of credibility she had would be
shot. And the chances of that happening were more than good, thanks
to the muckraking British tabloids.

And then there was Tony himself, and how he
would react to the news about Steam Train. Would he think she’d
been withholding that news from him? She was desperate to call him,
both to seek emotional comfort
and
to discuss the situation
with him. But she held back, afraid he’d think she might be pushing
him into a bidding war with Steam Train.

What a Jesus awful mess you’ve made of
everything, Martha girl.

Sighing, she crossed her arms on the kitchen
table and rested her throbbing head on her hands. More than
anything, she wanted to crawl into bed, pull the covers over her
head and stay there for days. She hadn’t felt this dejected since
the weeks that followed her father’s terminal cancer diagnosis.

She was well on her way to an epic pity party
when her cell phone buzzed against the hard glass surface of the
table. Jerking upright she grabbed for it, hoping it was Tony.

No, Nate.

Nate Carter, former boyfriend, star pitcher
for the Philadelphia Patriots, and Martha’s best friend in the
whole, wide world.

She picked up right away.

“How’s lunch tomorrow?” her pal said without
any greeting. “I’ll fly down first thing in the morning and be
there by noon at the latest.”

His words weren’t a total surprise, since
he’d emailed her last week that he was planning to pop down to
Florida soon for a visit. After she got the email, she’d been
really looking forward to it, and the fact that she’d forgotten
Nate’s visit until now was indicative of her badly messed up state
of mind.

Martha took a deep breath, sucking some air
into her tight chest. The prospect of being able to lean on her
best friend felt a little like getting a stay of execution as she
marched toward the guillotine. In fact, she wished Nate could fold
his big, lanky self into his pint-sized airplane and take off south
right this minute.

“Hon, I am at this very moment cancelling
every single thing in my schedule,” she fibbed in as perky a voice
as she could manage, which really wasn’t very perky at all.
Actually, her schedule was virtually empty, though she might have
filled in most of tomorrow’s blank agenda spaces with “trying to
figure out what the hell I’m going to do.”

“Great. I’ll have a car waiting for me at
Craig Airport,” Nate said. “I’ll pick you up at your office and
take you to that Italian place in Avondale you and Holly are always
raving about. Sound good?” Nate’s fiancée grew up in Jacksonville,
and both she and Nate spent a fair bit of time in the area.

Martha’s stomach turned in on itself at the
idea of going out in a public. Coward she might be, but she’d
wasn’t yet ready to face the kind of attention she might attract,
especially with Nate as her lunch partner.

“Hey, you know what? How about I make you
lunch at my place? Or we can order something in. I may be working
out of home for a little while.”

When Nate didn’t answer immediately, Martha
knew he’d heard something in her voice. Hardass baseball player he
might be, but the man had an uncannily sensitive radar when it came
to the people he loved.

Finally, he said, “Babe, whenever you have
that tone in your voice I know something’s not right. So, you might
as well just spit it out now and save me dragging it out of you
tomorrow.”

She was
so
tired of having to think
about the whole mess with the team, but she couldn’t bring herself
to clam up on her best friend. Not that he’d actually let her,
anyway.

“Yeah, it’s been a pretty rough day, my
friend. The frigging bank finally pulled the plug this morning. No
more credit. Zero. Zip. Nada.” Martha heaved a tired sigh. “Even
worse, they gave me all of thirty days to pay off the whole damn
loan. Can you believe that?” At that last bit, her voice
wavered.

“No way!” Nate exploded. “Can they really get
away with that? What the hell kind of loan have you got there,
anyway?”

She nodded grimly, even though he couldn’t
see her. “They can, and they will. Daddy had to agree to those
conditions last year because the value of the team had fallen so
much. But I’m sure he never expected the loan to be called on
thirty days’ notice. Who would?”

Martha decided not to tell him just yet about
the likely collusion between Steam Train and the bank. She would
happily sue the bank for conspiracy if she had even a shred of
proof to back up her suspicion that they’d connived with Steam
Train, but getting such proof would be a total long shot. And who
knew if what they had done was even illegal?

“God, Martha, I’m so sorry,” Nate said. “I
know what that team means to you. What are you going to do
now?”

Scream. Cry. Throw a few non-breakable
items.

“Can we talk about that tomorrow, hon? I’m
not sure I know myself just yet.”

“Whatever you say, babe. And you know I’ll be
there for you, no matter what,” he said in a soft voice.

“I’ll never doubt that as long as I draw
breath, my friend,” Martha said, so grateful that it was all she
could do not to burst into tears.

“I’ll call you as soon as I land,” he said.
“Take care of yourself till then, okay?”

“You, too. And be careful flying that little
puddle-jumper you call an airplane.” Actually, Nate’s airplane was
state of the art, but she liked ribbing him about it anyway.

He chuckled and hung up.

Not for the first time, she had to squash a
tiny ripple of envy of Holly Bell, even though Martha and Nate had
concluded a very long time ago that they would sooner or later
murder each other if they tried to be anything more than the best
of friends. What she really envied was Nate’s undying dedication to
Holly—the way he would move heaven and earth to give her whatever
she needed.

Giving up on the press release for the
moment, she thought about the men in the life—the old and the new.
In many ways, Nate and Tony were much alike, even beyond the fact
that they were both charming, sexy sports heroes. Party animals and
heartbreakers for years, both had now developed into responsible,
serious and loyal men who cared about their communities and devoted
much time, energy and money to charitable work. Tony’s dogged
loyalty and steadfastness when it came to Ginny Cross had also told
her much about the true nature of the man.

And his dedication to his teams pegged him as
someone who took life seriously indeed, despite the tabloids’
frequent depiction of him as a celebrity playboy.

She glanced at the clock over the stove,
wondering what Tony was doing now. When and how would he find out
about the Steam Train bid, and how would he react? Whatever it was,
she counseled herself to be patient and let what would happen,
happen. If Tony wanted her team as much as she believed he did,
he’d be calling soon enough.

* * *

Rex had responded in minutes to Tony’s voice
mail, and within a half hour had made his way back to the Fenton
Park, still dressed for work in his natty blue suit. They took
their usual places in Tony’s office, Rex sipping a Coke and Tony
chugging Harrogate spring water.

What Tony really wanted was a stiff Scotch,
but he needed all his wits about him to come up with an immediate
plan.

“So, you’re saying the bank put the screws to
Martha, and then Geoffrey let the cat out of the bag,” Rex said.
“But that’s hardly much of a surprise on either score, I dare
say.”

Tony yanked at his tie, finally dragging it
over his head. “Not much of a surprise, though Martha must be ready
to wring Geoffrey’s bloody neck.”

“A bidding war would be in his best
interests, of course, and it was bound to happen unless you could
stave it off by getting to Martha first.” Rex gave him a wry smile.
“And God knows you did your best with that.”

Tony narrowed his eyes but decided to ignore
the comment. “I called you back in to talk concrete numbers, mate.
We need to know exactly how far we’re prepared to go, and we need
to know right now. Last week you gave me ten to twelve million U.S.
as your best estimate of the Thunder’s current worth on the market.
Are you sticking with that range, now that we know Steam Train’s
going to be making a bid?”

Rex pursed his lips, taking a few seconds to
think. “I should call Tate and see what he thinks. Normally,
though, I’d say the value should have dropped quite a lot simply
because the team is now in a terminal condition financially and
therefore Martha is in no position to hold out on price. But with
Steam Train in the mix, anything I might say at this point is just
an educated guess. Especially since they might not much care
whether they make a profit or not. Their goal is to boost sales of
their beverage products. The amount of money involved one way or
the other in operating the Thunder would be a pittance in terms of
Steam Train’s overall revenue and profitability.”

Frustrated, Tony muttered a curse. If only
Martha had gone for his offer of sharing ownership. She was so
bloody hung up both on maintaining control and on protecting every
single one of her people that he had no room to maneuver. And now
neither did she.

“We’re not sheikhs at we’re not oligarchs,”
Tony said. “Unlike those guys, we can’t afford to absorb operating
losses. So, I need your best estimate of how much can we pay while
still having a hope of breaking even in the first year. Twelve
million at most, I figure. And that’s assuming we’d still boost the
player budget by two million, as we planned. We can’t bend on
that.”

Rex shrugged. “I agree. Those figures make
sense, but only if our attendance projections come through and
we’re able to find a primary sponsor that’ll ante up at least as
much as Steam Train did with the Winstons. But you know that’s just
guesswork because it all depends on how the community responds to
the new ownership. Though they
should
get excited about you
taking over the Thunder, we’d be fools to place a massive bet on
it. Even if we don’t overpay for the franchise, we’re still taking
a hell of a risk with an adventure like this.”

“Maybe, but life’s not much fun if you play
it safe all the time, right?” Tony said, needling his more
conservative friend.

Rex ignored the dig. “What about sounding
Martha out again on the fifty point one idea? She must realize by
now that keeping control of the team is no longer on the table.
Maybe now she’ll see that a partnership with us beats selling
outright to Steam Train.”

“Maybe,” Tony said, shaking his head. “But I
know her, and I think she’d still want to negotiate security for
the whole bloody staff. She’s going to go to the mat to protect all
her people. And who knows what Steam Train might be prepared to do
for her on that account? If they want the team bad enough, they
might even agree to keep people they have no business keeping.”

“But that would make them fools, and I
seriously doubt they are. Although, then again, what do brewery
executives know about running a football team?”

Tony grimaced. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t
bend on that demand, mate. Not after I promised Derek Kavanagh that
McLeod and Brockton would go. I’d have to get rid of Kavanagh and
probably half the sodding team otherwise.”

Rex nodded. “McLeod and Brockton should
probably have retired years ago. Too bad Will Winston made such a
costly mistake hiring them in the first place. He left Martha
holding a poor hand.”