Bigger Than Beckham (51 page)

Tony smoothly took over. “Martha and I don’t
plan to be fighting over office supplies, that’s for sure.
Basically, how it’s going to work is that when it comes to field
operations, I’ll take the lead role. Martha’s main focus will be on
marketing, promotion and development of business relationships. And
that sounds like a perfect division of labor to me.”

Martha had to work hard not to laugh since
she and Tony had concocted that practical division during lulls in
their marathon love-making session—one that had extended well into
the wee hours of that morning. Around nine, physically tired but
mentally energized, she’d put on coffee and called Jane to have her
set up a press conference for mid-afternoon. Then she’d called
Rance Malone to give him the courtesy of hearing the bad news
directly from her lips. Malone had stayed silent for what seemed
like a full minute before sputtering a few mostly incoherent slurs
on Martha’s business acumen. His petulant wrath had left her
preening with satisfaction as she gave him a cheery goodbye,
cutting off his tirade. Petty, yes, but the bastard did have it
coming to him. The fact that Tony had been lounging on one of her
kitchen stools, a hand on her ass and a grin on his face the entire
time, had made her triumph that much sweeter.

It had of course fallen to Tony to break the
news to Rex, who had been surprisingly less chagrined by the
prospect of spending time in Jacksonville than Martha had feared.
Tony insisted that Rex relished a challenge, and getting the
Thunder up to speed would certainly give him that.

She nodded toward Rex, who was seated on the
other side of Tony looking deceptively complacent. “Rex Daltry will
be in charge of financial operations, at least during a transition
period. Of course, Tony and I will also rely heavily on the wisdom
and experience of our general manager, Kieran McLeod.”

She thought she saw a slight wince from Tony.
Though he’d agreed to keep both Kieran McLeod and Sam Brockton in
place, he wasn’t happy about it. Martha was certain both Kieran and
Sam would willingly leave in a year when their contracts expired,
and Tony had said he could live with that frame. She had no doubt
her stubborn, handsome Englishman would be calling most of the
shots, but it made Martha proud that she’d been able to take care
of the men who’d been so resolute and loyal in the horrible, trying
times after her father’s death.

“Any other questions?” she asked brightly,
scanning the room for hands. “No? Then I’ll just thank y’all again
for coming. Stay tuned for more exciting Thunder news soon.”

She, Tony, and Rex hustled out the room’s
back exit, catching a service elevator to the seventeenth floor.
“I’ll catch up with you later, mate,” Tony told Rex as he unlocked
the door to his suite. Rex took the hint and headed down the hall
to his own suite.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Martha slipped
inside. They’d done it, and now they could both relax.

Throwing Tony a mischievous glance, she ran a
hand across his chest, relishing the feel of his brawny muscles
under the smooth, expensive fabric of his dress shirt. “By getting
rid of Rex, were you by any chance thinking of some afternoon
delight?”

“You’ve got a wonderfully dirty mind, Martha
Winston,” he said. Then he took her hand and turned it over,
bringing her palm up to his mouth for a gentle kiss. “But first I
have to tell you something. Something I thought could spoil the
party if I told you last night. So, you should have a seat.”

The pleasing zing of sensation in her hand
was offset by her alarm bells clanging into action. “Jesus, should
I pour a stiff drink?”

“Well, if you’re pouring, make one for me,
too,” Tony said, drawing her into the living room. He pulled off
his navy sports jacket and yanked his tie loose.

Martha headed for the bourbon on the
well-stocked drinks cart by the wet bar. “You’re scaring me a
little, hon.”

He sat down on the sofa and stretched one
long arm along the back, a faint smile curling up the corners of
his oh-so-sexy mouth. “Don’t fret. If anybody should be trembling,
it’s me.”

“What in the name of all that’s holy are you
talking about, Tony Branch?” She splashed generous measures of
bourbon into a pair of glasses, then handed one to him.

As Tony patted the sofa cushion beside him,
Martha accepted his invitation and sat. He wrapped his arm around
her shoulders, gripping her in a protective embrace. “Martha, you
need to know about a couple of meetings I’ve had with Derek
Kavanagh.”

“You met with Kavanagh?” Instinctively,
Martha pulled away and swung around so she could face him directly.
“Why would you do that? And why didn’t you tell me before
this?”

Anger and a stinging sense of betrayal flared
hot inside her. How dare Tony meet secretly with one of her
players? Especially a thoroughly rotten one like Derek Frigging
Kavanagh.

“I didn’t tell you before because I figured
you’d react exactly like you are,” he said in a calm voice. “I know
I was wrong not to, and I apologize for it.”

Martha was raring to go at him tooth and
claw, but he held up his hand. His firm gaze demanded she keep her
assault on hold.

“Hold on a minute, will you?” he said. “Look,
Martha, I did it because I had to know why Kavanagh was playing
like a man who wanted to be anywhere else but on the football
pitch. On
your
football pitch, anyway. If I was going to buy
the team, I had to know because I’d be stuck with his contract,
just like you were.”

She glared at him but the professional in
her—the one who knew how the sports world worked—had to admit he
was right. “So, what did the son of a bitch have to say for
himself?” Kavanagh must have opened up to Tony; otherwise he likely
wouldn’t be telling her any of this. “Wait, I’m not even sure I
want to know,” she grumbled, crossing her arms across her
chest.

Tony hadn’t touched his drink since setting
it down. In fact, he’d barely moved a muscle other than when he put
his arm around her shoulders. His body practically vibrated with
tension and she sensed how concerned he was about her reaction.

“He’s an idiot and a spoiled one to boot,” he
said, “so let’s start with something we can agree on. In fact, I’d
be happy to see him pack up his locker for the last time and hustle
his ass right out the door. But we both know that’s not going to
happen, at least not for a while. Not until we can swing a trade.
Right now, we wouldn’t get a sausage and bun for him even if we
picked up a big portion of his salary.”

Martha scowled at him, but Tony was right, of
course. They were stuck with the slacker, like it or not. That
hadn’t changed.

“And I’m sure it’s no secret to you that
Kavanagh can’t stand Brockton, or McLeod, either,” he continued.
“Kavanagh plays a different kind of game—more aggressive and
creative than what Brockton believes in—so there’s a fundamental
philosophical difference that’s not easy to bridge. Especially not
when you’re dealing with hard-headed characters.”

“Well, that’s just too damn bad.” Martha
perched on the edge of the couch and glowered at him. “I bet
you
never stopped busting your ass, even when you were at
odds with the manager over tactics.”

“No, I didn’t, love,” he said, gently pulling
her to sit beside him. “But that doesn’t solve our problem, does
it?” His gaze drew troubled as he studied her. “Unfortunately,
Kavanagh despises you, too, for allowing Brockton and McLeod to
have their way.”

Martha had her own little secret on that
score, one that until a minute ago she may never have divulged to
Tony—or to anyone, for that matter. The whole thing was so
embarrassing and ugly that she hated to even share it. But Tony had
come clean with her about Kavanagh, so she felt obliged to do the
same. “That’s sure not the only reason the jerk hates me.”

Tony shot her a questioning look. She
shifted, suddenly as uncomfortable as hell and dreading his
reaction.

“Just tell me,” he said, squeezing her
shoulders.

“Derek Kavanagh thinks he’s God’s gift to the
whole damn world, and especially to every woman on the face of the
planet,” she blurted out. “You must know that about him.”

Tony nodded, his face transforming into a
grim mask. He obviously sensed what was coming next. “Go on.”

“He must have figured I’d count myself
blessed that he would deign to proposition a southern rube like
me.” She sighed. “It happened the evening after Kieran introduced
us, no less. The three of us were having a get-to-know-you drink at
a downtown bar. When Kieran excused himself to go to the rest room,
Kavanagh stuck his paw on my leg and suggested we blow off Kieran
and go to his apartment.”

Martha’s stomach twisted at the memory. “My
father had died barely a week earlier, Tony, and that son of a
bitch was hitting on me in a bar. That’s the kind of man you were
dealing with—a rat-bag low-life if there ever was one.”

“Son of a bitch,” Tony growled, hugging her
close.

“Obviously, I told him to go fuck his hat,
though I suppose I might have been a wee bit less colorful than
that. Since then, Kavanagh’s barely said a word to me. And when he
does, it’s always sarcastic and juvenile.”

Tony pressed a kiss on her forehead and
nestled her against his chest. They remained like that for a few
quiet minutes, while Martha’s pounding heart settled and the anger
drained from her body.

Finally, Tony stirred. “Martha, listen.
Believe me, I would love nothing better than to hunt down Derek
Kavanagh right now and give him the thrashing he so richly
deserves. And maybe someday I’ll do just that. But in the meantime,
I guarantee you that I’m going to read him the Riot Act. About
absolutely everything, including the way he’s treated you.”

Martha sighed again. “It’s okay. I know we
need him, Tony. It kills me to say it, but we do. I trust your
judgment on this.”

As soon as the words left her lips, she felt
the truth of them resonate deep inside her. She
did
trust
Tony to do the right thing—both for her and for the team her father
loved so much. After all she’d been through with the Thunder those
two things were inextricably linked. She could no more turn her
back on her legacy than she could on the man beside her.

He gave her a squeeze. “That’s my girl. The
good news is that the jerk promised to play his arse off if and
when I managed to buy the team. And he said he’ll do it even if
Brockton and McLeod remain in their jobs. I’m sorry I kept that
from you, but I thought I had to if the deal was going to ever get
done.” He tipped her chin up, gazing into her eyes. “But no more
secrets from now on, I promise.”

Martha smiled up at him, her anger having
dissipated in the face of his apology as well as the logic of his
argument. “I know you’re right. As much as I hate to admit it, that
pig is the key. For now, anyway.”

Tony planted a lingering kiss on her lips.
“You’re the best woman alive, Martha, and I’m a lucky bastard to
have you in my life.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” she said airily as
she pulled away to face him square-on. “But I need you to promise
me one thing, Tony Branch.”

“Anything, love.”

“Promise me that when Kavanagh has played
well enough that he’s worth more than a sack of grits, we’ll trade
his scumbag ass out of here.”

Tony kissed her forehead. “The very same day.
I promise.” Then he grinned. “By the way, how much is a sack of
grits worth, anyway?”

When Martha poked him in the side, he laughed
and drew her back into his arms. With love in her heart and peace
at last in her soul, she gladly went.

After checking her coat, Martha led Tony into
the cheerfully noisy restaurant in Little Italy. Immediately, her
eyes rounded with laughing surprise because she’d never seen
Umberto’s decked out quite like this.

Holding fast to Tony’s arm, she guided him
around the edges of the Philadelphia restaurant where Nate’s family
was hosting his wedding rehearsal dinner. A couple of dozen
blown-up photographs of Nate and Holly had replaced the sedate
scenes of Italian countryside that normally graced the room’s
flocked burgundy wallpaper. Quite a few were candid photos of the
couple taken at the Children’s Hospital where Holly worked as a
pediatric surgeon and where Nate volunteered. In pride of place,
though, were half a dozen shots of Nate in uniform on the field, or
grinning in a tux as he accepted the league MVP and Cy Young
awards. Martha suspected that Jake Miller and his wife Maddie were
the culprits behind those ego-stroking glossies.

Martha smiled when she caught sight of the
bridal couple on the other side of the restaurant, chatting with
some guests. She and Tony had only arrived in Philly that afternoon
and hadn’t yet had a chance to see Nate and Holly.