Bigger Than Beckham (8 page)

“Indeed, but it would also rid us of our
second most talented player,” Kieran said, clearly surprised by her
response. “Even though he’s been under-producing, Diego is one of
the few lads we’ve got who can score goals.”

“Sure, but we’re not winning with him, are
we? As far as I can see, we could hardly do worse without him,”
Martha said acidly. “Maybe a trade would shake things up a little.
Put some fire into the other guys. What do you think?”

Kieran grimaced, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps.
But more likely it would just depress and piss off the other
players even more. Especially Kavanagh.”

Martha absorbed his justified skepticism. “I
hear you. But the salary impact for next year would help. We’d save
close to a million, and the bankers might be impressed by
that.”

The general managed fixed her with a stony
look. “It sounds to me like you’re working too hard to convince
yourself, Martha.”

Kieran was right, of course. The amount
they’d save from dumping half of Flores’s salary wouldn’t be nearly
enough to right their sinking ship. Especially when it was likely
that the Thunder would be even worse on the field with the
departure of the troublesome striker. “I suppose the fans would see
a trade like that as a fire sale, wouldn’t they?” she asked
gloomily.

“Without a doubt. The message they’d read
into it would be that we’re giving up, at least for the near
future. In the meantime, our attendance would tank even more, as
hard as that is to imagine.”

“Is there any chance that the Surf would take
on more than half?” Martha said, grasping at straws.

“Nil, lass. Flint made it clear that he’d had
to push hard to get his ownership to agree to offer that much.
They’re not exactly rolling in cash these days, either.”

“So, I guess we’re pretty much screwed any
way you look at it, aren’t we?” Martha said, feeling grim.

Kieran managed a wan smile. “I look at it
this way—the patient’s sick, but at least he’s still drawing
breath. But to go forward, we need two things to happen: the bank
needs to keep the line of credit going, and we need to get the lads
to dig down really deep for the rest of the season. The talent is
there, if only they’d work hard enough. Somehow, we have to help
them find the motivation.”

In other words, we need a miracle, or
actually two.
Martha’s normal bravado was deserting her, but
she forced a smile onto her lips. “Well, hon, I’m leaving the
second part in your capable hands. As for the bankers, that might
come down to our prayers, because we’re sure going to need the
Lord’s help.

Her eyes aching from poring over dense
columns of numbers and explanatory notes, Martha shoved aside the
presentation her accountant and marketing manager had prepared for
her final review. She’d have the dubious pleasure of trying to
explain the projections to the bank tomorrow, and she’d pretty much
already memorized her lines. It wasn’t as if she didn’t understand
the broad strokes of the presentation perfectly; she might just be
a sportswriter, but she wasn’t a complete financial illiterate. In
fact, she grasped the numbers clearly enough to know that her
speech was going to amount to trying to make the proverbial silk
handbag out of the ear of a big, fat Georgia porker.

The problem was that the bank and the
sponsors would have no trouble figuring that out, too.

The essence of the pitch was her conviction,
flying in the face of the odds, that strengthening the team’s
marketing efforts and signing a major free agent in the off-season
would kindle excitement and confidence in the hearts of the
long-suffering Thunder fans. Geoffrey thought the proposal amounted
to throwing good money after bad, but her uncle had no alternative
solutions to offer besides decimating management. In fact, Martha
sometimes even wondered if he actually wanted the team to fail so
she’d be forced to sell and he could cash out his twenty percent
share. Though he knew very well that such an outcome would make
Martha’s father do back flips in his grave, Geoffrey seemed to have
not the slightest regard for fulfilling his brother’s wishes.

She gently pressed her fingertips against her
eyelids, longing for a Starbuck’s latté.
Time for a break.
She rummaged around in her purse for a fiver, ready to nip down to
the street to grab a caffeine infusion when her assistant bashed
the door open and practically stumbled into the room.

“Holy crap, Martha,” Jane said in a
breathless voice, “you’re not going to believe this. Tony Branch
just waltzed into the office, and he insists on seeing you right
now.”

Martha’s jaw hit the deck. “What?” she asked
stupidly.

Jane nodded so vigorously that her high
ponytail bounced on her shoulders. “It’s true. Branch is here. I
told him to wait in the outer office because you were tied up at
the moment.” She frowned. “I probably should have said you were out
of town, shouldn’t I?”

Incipient panic made it hard to breathe. What
the hell was wrong with the man? She’d blown him off yesterday, and
now he shows up unannounced at her office door?

Martha sucked in a few huge breaths, ordering
her racing heart to calm down. But what followed on the heels of
her diminishing panic was an uptick in anger. What colossal nerve
the man had! He must think his charm so irresistible that she’d
fall into his arms in gratitude for his mere presence, if not for
his money.

Arrogant jerk
.

“No, you did right, hon. That man has so many
spies he’d probably know you were lying.” She forced herself to
relax her clenched fists. “I’ll see him all right, and he’s going
to wish he hadn’t wasted all that jet fuel.”

Jane was turning to leave when inspiration
struck Martha. “Hold on a sec,” she said, raising a hand. “Let’s
make Mr. Branch cool his heels for a while. Maybe that’ll ratchet
down his arrogance a notch or two. Ply him with coffee, and even
throw in some of that special bourbon you keep on hand for
emergencies, if he’ll go for it. That should loosen him up a
bit.”

Jane shot her a wry grin. “Well, take all the
time you want, then, because I can’t say as I mind looking at the
dude. He’s even sexier than his pictures. The Brit accent is to die
for, too.”

Martha narrowed her eyes at her friend’s
uncharacteristic gushing. “You better make sure all you do is look,
hon. That sucker is primetime dangerous.”

Jane got a little tilt to her head, the one
that signaled she was on to Martha. “Well, you’ve always liked them
a little dangerous,” she said in knowing tone.

Hell’s bells.
Martha did not need that
reminder.

“Not when they’re trying to steal my damn
team.” She worked her jaw, trying to ease the tension. If she had a
stick in her mouth, it would snap in half like a toothpick. Why the
hell was she so nervous? It didn’t matter to her what the man
offered. She’d made a promise to her father and she was damned well
going to keep it or die trying.

Yeah, keep telling yourself it’s all about
business.

The fact that she knew, deep down, that her
anxiety was due to how she might react to Branch’s charm and raw
sexual power was no reassurance at all, especially considering the
stakes.

Forcing her mind away from the ticking bomb
waiting in her outer office, she spent several minutes trying to
scan the bank presentation yet again. And then gave up when she
couldn’t absorb a word of it.

Martha leaned her forehead on her desk,
groaning.
She
was the one who needed a shot from Jane’s
bourbon stash. Since her nerves were getting jumpier by the moment,
it didn’t make sense to prolong the agony simply to try to punish
Tony Branch for his unbridled masculine arrogance.

Yanking open her top desk drawer, she pulled
out a compact and did a quick check of her teeth to make sure there
were no poppy seeds from her breakfast muffin lurking in sight, and
slicked on some lip gloss. Then she took in a fortifying breath and
picked up her phone.

“You might as well send him in now, hon.”

“He stepped out to the rest room. You sure
you’re ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Martha replied with
false bravado. “I’ve got my six-shooter taped to the underside of
my desktop if he tries anything. And I’ll keep my finger on the
trigger.”

Jane chuckled. “Here he comes now. I’ll show
him in.”

Martha stood up. She smoothed her hair back
and tucked a few stray strands behind her ear. She was glad she’d
worn the black tailored suit that made her look like a kick-ass
businesswoman. Most days she dressed pretty casually when she
planned to spend the whole day in the office, but this morning
something had prompted her to gear up in full armor.

Which struck her as decidedly weird.

As soon as Jane opened the door, Tony Branch
strode through, a wide smile plastered on his ruggedly handsome
mug. He nodded to Martha then turned to Jane. “Thanks for that
excellent coffee, love,” he said with a sly wink. “Southern
hospitality is legendary, but your welcome was simply
outstanding.”

To Martha’s annoyance, a blush pinked up
Jane’s creamy complexion. When Jane—normally impervious to the most
blatant come-on—batted her eyelashes at Branch as she backed out
the door, it was all Martha could do to hold back a groan.

Brimming with an overdose of
testosterone-fueled confidence, Branch strode forward and extended
a hand as he gave her an engaging smile. Martha shook it, gripping
as strongly as she could manage, which was usually hard enough to
make most men widen their eyes. But Branch matched her grip
strength evenly. When he tried to let the shake linger, Martha was
forced to pull her hand away.

Damn the big, arrogant gorilla.

Even if he
was
a gorgeous gorilla.

“Please have a seat, Mr. Branch,” she said,
trying not to sound flustered. “This is a surprise, to say the
least.”

He nodded and took the seat opposite her
desk, crossing his legs. For a pretty big guy he was incredibly
graceful, which spoke to his athletic background. His clothes fit
him beautifully, too. Expensive but casual—a tan sports jacket,
summer weight slacks and brown leather loafers that looked Italian
and luxurious. His blue dress shirt, opened at the neck, revealed a
little glimpse of a brawny chest and crisp, black hair. She figured
he’d look good in anything, including a pair of ripped up jeans or
even soccer gear, especially with the luscious tan that bronzed his
skin to a dark golden hue.

He’d look even better naked
, her
treacherous mind whispered. Martha clamped down hard on the
distracting image.

As she took her seat, Branch studied her with
a calm intensity that belied his jovial manner with Jane. “Martha,
I must again insist you call me Tony.”

Then a flash of that disarming smile again,
sending her further off balance. She truly needed to be on her
guard with the man, drat him.

“And I’m afraid you must think I’m a
lunatic,” he continued in an easy tone.

Martha pulled out her best Southern Belle
smile. “Don’t flatter yourself,” she said sweetly.

He laughed, and the deep sound of it
slithered through her veins like hot sugar syrup.

“You think I’m even
worse
than a
lunatic? I see I have my work cut out for me.”

Martha’s posture was always consciously
upright, but she made very sure she sat ramrod straight, her hands
folded in front of her and resting on top of her desk. Her palms
were damp with perspiration, and she had to resist the temptation
to rub them against each other, or on her suit.

“You do if you came all the way over here
just to pitch me after I told you flat out I wasn’t selling my
team.”

He gave her a lopsided little grin that
probably had women handing him their panties.
Strike that.
Throwing him their panties by the truckload.

“I don’t suppose you’d believe me if I said I
just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

“
Tony,
” she said with emphasis, “do I
look like I just fell out of the back of a turnip truck?” She
smiled in a way that probably looked like she was baring her teeth
in a pit bull growl. “That’s a turnip lorry in Brit-speak, I
suppose.”

He studied her again for a few seconds, his
dark eyes heating with amusement. And something else, if she didn’t
miss her guess.

“I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but you
look even lovelier than when we last met, Martha. And you looked
damn lovely then.”

She had to fight against the ridiculous warm
glow that prickled in her belly and slowly spread outward. One
flattering comment and she was already in danger of succumbing.

Bastard.
He’d pulled out the big guns
and they were barely getting started.