Fast Break (17 page)

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Authors: Regina Hart

BOOK: Fast Break
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“Like what?”
“I don't know. It's not as though I need the money. Aidan has a good salary and we've always had safe investments that are still doing well. But I wonder if I need a different challenge.”
“Maybe you need to try a couple of things.” They were finally coming to the end of the long line of diners. Jaclyn took heart. In a moment, she'd need a break. Her shoulder was beginning to hurt from the repetitive motion.
“You left basketball for the corporate world. It gave you an entirely different experience. Maybe I should try something different, too.”
“You should decide what you want to do and not worry about what I did. Thanks to your husband, my investments are doing well, too. I'll need that money if I lose the Monarchs.”
Violet shook her head. “We won't let that happen. We'll figure out a way to keep the team in Brooklyn.”
“I'm all ears.”
 
 
DeMarcus sensed Jaclyn's presence seconds before she joined him in her family room. It was after midnight Monday, but he was still studying game film on her sixty-eight-inch plasma screen, high-definition television. The audio was off.
“Serge is playing with a lot more conviction these days. What did you say to him?” Jaclyn curled up beside him on the black polyester sofa.
DeMarcus spoke without looking up from his notepad. “I told him if he wanted to be traded, he'd have to improve his stats, otherwise no other team would take over his contract.”
“Brilliant. I wish I'd thought of that.” Her sleepy voice was warm with amusement. “Sounds like you're getting to know our players.”
A thick, ankle-length emerald cotton robe protected Jaclyn from the chill of the early February morning. It covered her at her neck, but he enjoyed the way it exposed her left leg when she walked.
Scouting reports detailing facts, figures and statistics for each Washington Wizards player sat in a pile on DeMarcus's lap. He stacked the reports on the coffee table in front of them and paused the game film. “It's late. Why aren't you in bed?”
“I woke up and missed you.”
He reached for her ankles, settling her feet in his lap. Her toenails were polished a rich purple, matching her fingernails. “I miss you, too. But I want to beat the Wizards Wednesday for my boss.”
“I do enjoy winning at home.”
DeMarcus wrapped his hands around her left foot. “Good grief. Your feet are like ice.”
Jaclyn closed her eyes and sighed, sliding deeper into the couch. “Your hands are so warm.”
“Where are your socks?”
“Probably in my sock drawer.” She shifted her right foot closer to DeMarcus's arms and sighed again when he wrapped one hand around that foot.
“It's too cold for you to walk around on bare feet.”
Jaclyn gave him a noncommittal hum. “I noticed you're starting Jamal now instead of Rick.” With her eyes closed, Jaclyn appeared ready to go back to sleep.
“Not a very subtle change of topic.” DeMarcus pressed his palm into her high arches. Her skin was soft and smooth to his touch.
“Did you still want to talk about my feet?”
“ No.”
“Well, then.” She opened her cinnamon eyes and claimed his gaze. “Why is Rick sitting on the bench?”
DeMarcus froze. He was the one massaging her feet. Why was she asking him about Warrick Evans? He flexed his shoulders beneath his thick blue sweatshirt to ease the grip of jealousy. “Rick's playing too tight. He's hesitating when he has good shots.”
“Have you talked with him?”
“About what?”
“To find out why he's playing so tentatively.”
DeMarcus stroked the sole of her right foot with the pads of his thumbs. “I'm his coach, not his pastor. Rick knows his numbers are down, and he knew he was competing with Jamal for the starting spot. Jamal is one of our leading scorers.”
“He also leads the league in fouls. For every four points he gets for us, he gives the other team two free throws.”
His shoulders were tightening again. “We're working on that.”
Jaclyn wiggled her right foot free of DeMarcus's hold and slipped her left foot into his hands. “But does Rick have to sit on the bench while you work with Jamal?”
DeMarcus's jaw tightened. “Did Rick complain to you?”
Her eyes twinkled at him. “Does Rick strike you as the kind of person who would complain to the team's owner about the way his coach was treating him?”
“No, but Oscar runs to you whenever the team takes a—”
“No, he doesn't. No one came to me. I'm the one asking the questions.”
DeMarcus wrapped his fingers around her slender foot. Why was she questioning him? He thought she believed in him. “Are you telling me how to coach the team?”
Jaclyn's foot stiffened beneath his touch. “I tried that before. Remember? When I suggested you get to know the players on a more personal level. It worked with Serge. Why won't you give Rick a chance?”
“I don't want you to second-guess me.”
“I can see that.” Jaclyn sat forward and rubbed her right hand across his furrowed brow. DeMarcus fought against the soothing effect. “Relax, Guinn. I'm not second-guessing you. I'm making sure we're on the same page.”
“We are. We're going to the play-offs. Trust me.”
“I do. But I also want you to trust Rick.”
“Rick lost his nerve. We need players with heart to take us to the postseason.” DeMarcus felt her tense under his touch when he criticized her favorite player.
“Rick is a leader of this team. Not just by his character, but by his numbers. Something has been bothering him. What is it?”
“Whatever it is, he can work it out on the bench.”
“But—”
DeMarcus stilled his hands. “Jack, we'll make it to the play-offs. I promise.” He winked at her. “I'm planning for the Finals.”
Jaclyn's expression eased into a smile. “Big talker.”
“Talk is cheap. Actions speak louder.” DeMarcus pulled Jaclyn into his arms.
He gave his promise he'd take them to the play-offs. But he needed the team's help to keep his word on the court. Would they come through for him? For Jaclyn? For themselves?
16
Gerald Bimm sat in smug silence on the other side of Jaclyn's desk Tuesday morning. If he'd won her mother's love, he could have been her father. The thought was unsettling. Jaclyn took a deep drink of coffee from her Monarchs mug. It didn't remove the unpleasant taste from her mouth.
The gleam in Gerald's brown eyes and the air of triumph circling his wavy dark hair knotted the muscles in Jaclyn's stomach. “Let me guess. You've bought Bert's shares.”
Gerald bared his perfect white teeth in a victorious grin. “Right the first time. Finally, we're equal partners.”
The bitterness in him stirred the anger in her. It was a struggle not to respond in kind. She gave Gerald's designer bronze silk pants and champagne cashmere sweater a cursory skim. “I'm surprised you were able to afford it. Saving money was never your priority.”
Anger flashed in his eyes. “My finances aren't your concern.”
“They are when they affect my team.”
Gerald arched a heavy brow. “
Your
team?”
“
My
team, whose finances you've nearly drained.” She crossed her legs, smoothing the purple skirt of her sweater dress over her lap.
His eyes circled her office with subtle contempt. “We'll recoup those losses once we relocate the team.”
What could she say to convince him to let go of his bitterness against her family? How could she reach him? “This franchise is a Jones family legacy.”
“It's a Bimm family legacy, too. But your family is always trying to rewrite history. In your version, the Bimm family doesn't exist.”
Stay on topic. Don't let Gerry distract you.
“My mother was a Jones.”
Gerald scowled. “So?”
“If you truly loved her, you wouldn't deliberately destroy something that belonged to her.”
“What are you talking about?” Gerald's voice was thin.
“You loved my mother, but she married my father. That's one of the reasons you hated him. But the Monarchs aren't only my father's and grandfather's legacy. They're part of my mother and brother as well.”
Gerald's eyes narrowed meanly. “You've been talking to Bert. Well, this has nothing to do with Lynda.”
“Yes, it does. It probably has everything to do with my mother.” Jaclyn pushed away from her desk and strode to one of the office's large windows. The late-morning sun danced on the Gateway Marina waters in the distance. “My mother loved this community.”
Her grandfather had told her everything she knew about her parents, which didn't include how Lynda Trainer-Jones felt about Brooklyn. It didn't include a lot of things. But how could her mother not have loved this place and these people? They got into your blood and overwhelmed your senses. Everything was needed yesterday; today wasn't fast enough. You took pride in your culture, and everyone else wanted a piece of it.
“You Joneses are so sentimental. Sentimentality doesn't belong in business.” There was a bite in Gerald's words.
“So you're a cold-hearted businessman.” Jaclyn turned from the window. “Destroying the franchise has nothing to do with the way you feel about my family.”
Gerald leaned back in the thick visitor's chair. He'd buried his impatience and agitation and put his mask of superiority back in place. “I'm concerned with the bottom line. If that makes me a cold-hearted businessman, then that's what I am.”
Jaclyn counted to ten. She kept her tone flat. “And you think the franchise's bottom line will improve if we move the team to Nevada?”
“I already have an offer.”
He was lying. He had to be.
Jaclyn paced back to her chair. She needed to sit before she fell. “From whom?”
“A corporation in Las Vegas has offered to build the Monarchs an arena. All we'd have to do is move in.” His words were muffled beneath the buzzing in her ears.
“What's the name of this corporation?”
“Abbottson Investments Inc. Carville Abbottson is the CEO.”
Jaclyn's fingers itched to do an Internet search on the corporation and its chief executive. Did they exist? She couldn't trust anything Gerald said. “Will the arena be ready by next season?”
Gerald shrugged. His eyes never wavered. “They haven't broken ground yet. They're working on financing now.”
They didn't have financing? Astonishment wiped the frown from Jaclyn's brow. Could Gerald possibly be serious? “What are the contract terms?”
He crossed his legs. “Abbottson's coming in next week to discuss those.”
Jaclyn blinked. “You scheduled a meeting with him without first consulting me?”
“I'm consulting you now.”
Jaclyn lifted her right fingers, counting their unanswered questions. “Abbottson doesn't know how he's going to finance the arena. He doesn't know when the arena will open, and you don't know the contract terms. That's a lot of unknowns. Are you ad-libbing this or are you seriously considering this offer?”
Gerald's grin was mean around the edges. “You can ask him yourself.”
“Wake up, Gerry. Abbottson didn't give you an
offer.
He expressed an
interest.
”
Gerald straightened the crease on his silk pants. “Which is more than you have now, isn't it? Or didn't the Gandy brothers tell you that they're selling the arena?”
Jaclyn leaned back in her executive chair. Althea was right. They had a spy in the front office. That was the only way Gerald would have known she'd spoken with the arena owners. “I'm aware of that.”
Gerald inclined his head. “Then you'd better hope Abbottson's interest becomes an offer and soon. Even if the revenues increase by the end of the season, it would be too little, too late, and the Monarchs will be homeless next year.”
“This situation couldn't have worked out better for you if you'd planned it yourself.” She tipped her head. “Or did you?”
“You give me too much credit.” Gerald pushed himself to his feet and stared down at her. “You can either sell your shares to me or move with the team to Las Vegas. Either way, I don't care.”
Her features stiffened. Gerald knew she'd never leave Brooklyn. “Sell my shares to you? Can your clothing budget afford another hit?”
Gerald's glare was pure hate. “You Joneses think you're better than everyone else. Enjoy it while you can.”
“When is Abbottson coming?”
Gerald shrugged again. “We have to finalize that. The Monarchs have a couple of games next week, don't they?”
Was he baiting her or did he seriously not know the team's schedule? “We play the Sacramento Kings Tuesday, February ninth, then we break for the All-Star Game and weekend. Why don't you ask Nessa to send you a schedule so you can keep up?”
The right corner of Gerald's lips curved upward in a wry smile. He looked around her office again. “We should change the team's colors. Silver and black are too drab for Las Vegas. Of course, you'll have to redo your interior decorating.”
“Don't get ahead of yourself, Gerry.”
He turned to leave. “You can't fight progress, Jackie.”
“If this were progress, I'd be worried. But it's just your spite.” She watched Gerald disappear from her doorway.
Albert was right. The Empire was the key. How could she use that knowledge to keep the Monarchs in Brooklyn?
 
 
DeMarcus stared at Jaclyn's bedroom ceiling. Shadows danced across its textured white surface as the traffic flowed sluggishly outside.
He flexed his left arm, drawing Jaclyn's slender nude body closer to his side. He inhaled her soft lilac fragrance. DeMarcus wanted to hold on to her warmth and this moment for a just a while longer. Then he'd leave her bed to work on the Monarchs' game plan for Tuesday's home game against the Sacramento Kings. Jaclyn's head rested on his shoulder. Her soft breaths stroked the side of his neck. Her smooth leg nestled between his. The bedsheets were still tangled around them. DeMarcus used his free arm to pull the comforter over Jaclyn's shoulder to protect her from the February evening's chill.
Jaclyn tangled her fingers in the hair on his chest. “I'm taking out a mortgage on my grandfather's house.”
DeMarcus jerked his head toward her. “Why?”
“The Gandy brothers are selling the Empire. That's one of the reasons they're unwilling to extend our contract.”
“You're mortgaging your home to buy the arena? Isn't that drastic?”
Jaclyn rolled over to lie on her back. “The team is more important to me than this house.”
DeMarcus turned onto his side and propped himself on his left elbow. He looked down at her, missing her warmth, her touch. “Let me help you buy the arena.”
Jaclyn smiled up at him. “Thank you for the offer. But I think that would only complicate things. Besides, this is something I need to do for myself.”
DeMarcus knitted his brow. “It's a big financial commitment. Have you thought this through?”
“Yes, I have.”
He stilled beside her. Cold air cut into the space between them. “When did you talk to the Gandy brothers?”
“Three months ago—before Thanksgiving. They said the Empire looked more attractive to prospective buyers without the Monarchs on their books.”
DeMarcus's brows flew upward. “You found out about this months ago, but you're only telling me now?”
Jaclyn frowned. “What's wrong?”
“Why did you wait so long to share with me something this important to you?”
Jaclyn still looked confused. “I didn't want you to worry about the Empire. You have enough on your mind trying to take the team to the play-offs.”
DeMarcus rolled out of bed and paced the room. With his spiking temper, he was barely aware of the chill wrapping around his naked body or the plush carpet beneath his bare feet. “So I'm good enough to coach your team and good enough to take to your bed, but I'm not good enough to discuss what's important to you.”
“That's not what I meant at all.” Jaclyn sat up, shielding her breasts with the black and silver abstract comforter. Her lips parted in shock. “You matter to me. A lot. I guess our relationship is more complicated than I'd thought.”
“I guess it is.” The stricken expression in her eyes hurt him. DeMarcus looked away.
“I'm sorry, Marc. I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know. Just, please, don't shut me out of your life again. Any part of it.”
“I promise.”
He heard the smile in her voice and faced her again. “Will mortgaging your home give you enough money to buy the Empire?”
Jaclyn sobered. “No. I'll have to sell some of my stock portfolio.”
DeMarcus studied Jaclyn's expression. Her thoughts had transported her out of the room. Where was she? She looked determined, like a champion preparing for the finals. “Is it worth it? Is this what your grandfather would have wanted?”
Jaclyn started. “I don't know. But it's what
I
want. Once I own the Empire, Gerry won't have the money to break the arena contract and move the team.”
“But is it worth mortgaging your home?”
This time, Jaclyn's smile was tinged with sorrow. “This isn't my home. It's my grandfather's house. It takes a family to make a home, and I don't remember mine.”
DeMarcus returned to the bed and sat beside her. “I'm sorry.”
“I try not to be. My grandparents loved me and I loved them. But there were times when I would have sold my soul to know the people whose pictures are in our family photo album—my mother, father and brother.”
DeMarcus took her hands. He was grateful when Jaclyn entwined their fingers. “You were three when your parents and older brother died in that car accident.”
Jaclyn nodded. “It took my grandparents years to come to terms with their loss.
“And then your grandmother got ill.”
“She died of cancer when I was eleven. She'd suffered a long time.”
“I'm sorry.”
Jaclyn squeezed his hands. “So am I. My happiest memories are of the Empire. Watching the Monarchs play—win or lose—and hanging around the practice court. I think that's why I've always thought of the Monarchs as my family, and the Empire as my home. I'll do whatever I can to save the team and keep them in Brooklyn.”
“I'll do everything I can to help you.”

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