Bigger Than Beckham (47 page)

Kavanagh’s brows snapped together in a scowl,
but he held his fire.

“I asked you to meet us tonight,” Tony
continued, “because negotiations for the Thunder have reached the
critical stage. In fact, the clock’s run out, Derek. We’re into
injury time now.”

“And, to continue Tony’s analogy,” Rex
interjected, “our side is playing a couple of men down.”

Kavanagh’s mustached upper lip curved into a
sneer. “So, the goddamn brewery really wants it, do they? I’ll
wager those wankers wouldn’t know a striker from a sodding middle
linebacker.”

Tony forced a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take that
bet. Look, I know you can’t stand Martha Winston, but do you think
Steam Train would be any better as owner?”

Kavanagh shrugged. “Neither one knows a damn
thing about football.”

“Maybe. But the way I see it, Steam Train’s
got enough financial juice to make your life miserable, Derek. The
way you’ve been playing, their new managers will probably ship you
off somewhere even if they have to eat a lot of your contract.”

Concern flickered across Kavanagh’s face, but
he shrugged it off. “Yeah, of course they could. But I seriously
doubt that it could be worse than it is here now.”

Tony repressed the impulse to shake the idiot
by the shoulders. “My point is that you and I both know you can get
your form back. In fact, you can be a dominant player again. Right
here in Jacksonville. But on
my
team, not Steam
Train’s.”

The other man waved an impatient hand. “Yeah,
yeah. I get it, Tony. Why are you going on like this? I already
told you I’d play my arse off for you, and the other guys will
follow my lead. I’m not getting the bloody point of what you’re
saying.”

Tony gave Kavanagh a hard, man-to-man stare.
“Then listen hard, mate. I’ve got one last chance to convince
Martha Winston to sell to me instead of Steam Train. I can’t outbid
the bastards, or even match what they’ve already offered her. That
part’s over and done. All I can do is put something on the table
that Steam Train probably won’t. Something that means a lot to
her.”

Kavanagh pinched his heavy brows. “Go
on.”

“Martha’s fixated on making sure her people
are protected.
All
of them. So, if I was able to give her
that concession, I might still stand a chance.” Christ, it pained
him to even have to say the words. “It’s the only chance I’ve got,
and I think it’s
your
best chance, too.”

His jaw slack, Kavanagh stared at him as if
he’d escaped from an asylum. “You’re joking, right?” he said,
slapping his glass down onto the table with a
thunk.
“Jesus,
I knew the woman was loony, but not stark, raving mad.”

Tony was done with Kavanagh insulting Martha.
“Look,” he said in an icy voice, “you and I don’t much think like
Martha Winston when it comes to running a football team. But I
guarantee you she’s far from crazy. What she’s doing is putting her
loyalty to her people ahead of her own interests, and I bloody well
admire her for it. Even if I can’t agree with the result.”

Incredulity pulled Kavanagh’s face into a
question mark. “Fuck me. You’re actually thinking about giving her
what she wants? Keeping asshole losers like Brockton and
McLeod?”

Tony didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t have
to say a word.

Kavanagh jerked his hands up in the air. “I
don’t bloody believe it.”

“It’s either that, or for sure I don’t get
the team, Derek. There’s the stark choice, like it or not. I sure
as hell don’t, but I can recognize reality when it’s staring me in
the face.”

Kavanagh shook his head. “No. I can’t play
for Brockton. Neither can Diego. No way. The man might have known
what he was doing years ago, but he’s lost it now. Hell, I’d never
have signed here if I’d known McLeod was going to bring Brockton
over.” He started to get up. “You bloody promised me you’d get rid
of them, and now you’re breaking your word. I thought better of you
than that, Tony.”

Bullshit, you did
.

“Sit down, for Christ’s sake,” Tony snapped.
“We’re not done here. Just listen for another bloody minute before
you storm out.”

Kavanagh glowered at him, but then collapsed
back onto the sofa.

Tony dug down to find his patience. “Derek,
if
I wind up buying the Thunder, and
if
I have to
keep Sam Brockton on as manager as part of the deal, it doesn’t
mean that the man’s going to have the kind of free rein he’s
apparently had under Martha and McLeod. Those days would be over
under my leadership, I guarantee it. For starters, I’m committed to
bringing Owen Clark here as assistant manager. You know what a good
football man he is. And even though Brockton will be the nominal
manager, he won’t be running the show—Owen will.”

Kavanagh brightened a little. “Well, yeah,
Clark’s a damn good man. Jesus, you must be going to give him a
hell of a pile of money to get him to sign on to that kind of shit
deal.”

Actually, Owen Clark owed his career to Tony
and would do whatever Tony asked of him. “He knows he’ll be
assistant manager in name only. And he’ll only have to wait one
season.”

Kavanagh stroked his stubbled chin, his gaze
going canny. “And you’ll put a leash on McLeod, too? He interferes
more than he should. Plus, if he’s still here, he’ll never want to
re-sign me at the end of my contract.”

Kavanagh was proving again to be a totally
self-centered bastard. “Rex has agreed to spend a good deal of time
over here,” Tony explained. “And I intend to be hands-on, too.
Between the two of us, McLeod will have someone looking over his
shoulder on all major decisions. And, trust me, I’ll make sure he
lets Owen control what happens on the pitch.”

Kavanagh’s gaze popped back and forth between
Rex and Tony. “I still don’t like it, but at least I understand it
now.”

Tony moved in for the kill. “Hell, I can’t do
it without you, Derek.”
Unfortunately, sod it.
“I really
need you to help me turn this team around. You know you’re the man
to do it.”

When Kavanagh started to preen, Tony knew he
had him hooked. He stood and extended his hand. “We’ve got a deal,
then?”

Kavanagh got up and accepted the handshake
“Yeah, Tony, we’ve got a deal.”

Minutes later, after a bit more haggling with
Rex over the details of their plan, Tony hustled him out of the
suite. He needed to reach Martha with no more delay, because God
only knew what Steam Train had up their bloody sleeves. While she’d
agreed to give him at least a few more hours, Tony had been in
enough eleventh hour negotiations to know that such promises could
easily go out the window. He trusted Martha to keep her word, but
had to believe that if Steam Train were to cave on her demands, the
pressure on her to finalize the deal would become unsupportable.
The brewery no doubt already had a letter of intent prepared and
ready for her signature.

He’d just reached for the phone when someone
began pounding hard on the suite’s door.

“Branch, are you in there? Open up, you limey
wanker!”

For a second, Tony stood rooted to the spot.
What the hell?

Then he remembered the voice and what Martha
had told him a few hours ago. “Carter, is that you bellowing?” he
shouted as he strode to the door.

“Hell, yeah. How many other people call you a
limey wanker?”

Tony threw the door open. Nate Carter leaned
his lanky, six-five frame against the jamb, a cheeky grin on his
mug.

“Nobody else would dare, you yank bastard,”
Tony said. “Get your sorry ass in here.”

As Nate stepped into the room, Tony enveloped
him in a bear hug. “Damn good to see you, mate. It’s been a while,
hasn’t it? London, early February?”

Nate clapped him on the back. “Yep. At the
Evelina fundraiser. You took me to the Lions match against Wigan
the next day. Your guys kicked their asses.”

“I remember it well.” Tony broke the brief
man-clench. “Martha told me you were in town today. Normally, I
would have tried to meet up with you right away, but I’m afraid
she’s been keeping me busy.”

“So I heard over dinner. She gave me your
room number earlier, so I figured I’d just mosey on over and
surprise you.”

When Nate flopped down into an armchair
without waiting for an invitation, Tony wondered if he might soon
have to kick Nate out so he could call Martha. He’d give it a few
minutes, but not long, even at the risk of being rude. “Bourbon or
Scotch?” he said.

“Whatever you’re drinking is fine.”

Tony poured two short glasses of bourbon.
“Did Martha manage to get through dinner…undisturbed?” Tony asked.
No subtlety there, but it was worth a shot.

“Nice try, buddy,” Nate said, taking the
glass Tony extended. “Don’t worry. I’m not here on some spy mission
for her, either.”

“Wouldn’t have dreamt it for a minute,” Tony
said smoothly. Naturally, the thought had crossed his mind as soon
as he heard Nate’s voice.

Nate fixed him with a genial gaze that looked
serious underneath. “But I do want to talk to you about her
situation, man. About this possible sale.”

“Possible sale? I think it’s more than
possible, Nate. Martha’s all out of options, so it’s just a matter
now of whether it’s going to be me or the brewery. I was just about
to call her when you knocked.”

Nate nodded. “Good, then I won’t keep you
more than a few more minutes.”

Tony smiled his gratitude. “I expect this
isn’t entirely a social call, is it?”

“Not entirely. Martha doesn’t know I’m here,
though, man. When I dropped her off at home, I told her I was
heading out to my condo so I could get a good night’s sleep before
flying back to Philly in the morning.”

“Okay.” Tony sipped his bourbon. If Nate said
he wasn’t on a mission for Martha, that was good enough for
him.

“You know the woman’s totally crazy about
you, right?” Nate said.

Tony felt his jaw go slack. Of all the things
he’d thought Nate might say, that hadn’t been one of them.
“Bollocks. She didn’t tell you that, did she?” he asked with a
hefty dose of incredulity.

Nate shrugged. “Not in so many words, but she
didn’t have to. I know her too well. Anyway, it’s so obvious I’d
have to be in a coma to miss it.”

Tony wondered if that meant Nate was accusing
him
of being in a coma. Martha crazy about him? He’d known
there’d been something very special going on between them, all
right—different from anything he’d ever felt or experienced. But he
hadn’t a clue what Martha truly thought about him.
About
them
. She’d run hot and cold for so much of the time that he
was never sure if he was about to be scalded or chilled to the
bone.

Then again, maybe that was
his
problem, not Martha’s. Sometimes the only things he read well were
opposing teams’ strategies. When it came to reading women,
especially extraordinary women like Martha Winston, he had to admit
he was something of a second stringer.

“Well?” Nate said, interrupting Tony’s brief
reverie.

“Well, what?”

“Well, aren’t you going to say something?
Like ‘I’m crazy about her, too?’ Or are you too macho to admit
something like that to a bro?”

Tony eyed his friend, uncertain of the
terrain. Why the hell was Nate challenging him like this? He was
just trying to find a way to buy a sodding football team, not
analyze his bloody feelings to death.

“Macho? Screw that,” he finally said. “You
ought to know me better than that, Carter.”

Nate gave him an easy grin. “Man, don’t get
all huffy and bent. Just give me a straight answer to the question,
my friend. It’s not that hard, is it?”

Exasperated, Tony blew out a heavy breath.
This discussion was turning bizarre, and would get them
nowhere.

Nate prodded. “Look, I love Martha
Winston—like a sister, obviously. I’ll love her till the day I die.
And as far as I’m concerned, you, Tony Branch, are a certified nut
job if you aren’t crazy about her, too.” He paused for a few beats.
“And I sure as hell don’t mean like a sister.”

Tony hated talking about emotional crap, but
he got where Nate was coming from. After all, his relationship with
Ginny had some parallels with Martha’s and Nate’s history. He had
to admit it might was time for him to sort out his feelings for
Martha—feelings that had so far been hopelessly intertwined with a
whole other agenda.

He’d always figured their combustible
attraction to each other would serve his quest to buy her team. But
he’d never expected Martha to mean even more to him than his own
plans and dreams. He’d never thought any woman would.

Until now.

Tony grimaced and finally admitted the truth.
“Maybe you’re right. I don’t want to blow my chance with her. I
know that much at least. It kills me to see how ripped apart she is
about this sale. The brewery and the bank have fucked her royally,
and I’m knocking myself out trying to find a way to make it a
little easier for her to part with the Thunder.” He blew out a
heavy breath. “I’m not optimistic she’s going to buy my idea,
though.”