by V. K. Sykes
It was a worth a shot, anyway. And since he was basically trying to do the same thing to her, it only made sense to return the favor.
“At least say you’ll think about it,” Tony said.
“How could I not?” Martha pushed him over and straddled him, giving him a sly grin as she gripped his rigid cock. “Now, how about we focus on the matter at hand, Mr. Branch?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
While lounging casually at the breakfast bar in Martha’s kitchen, Tony had eaten her home-cooked, he-man breakfast with gusto, quickly demolishing three eggs, almost half a pound of local, sugar-cured bacon and four buttered biscuits with Georgia peach jam. Martha had enjoyed seeing him eat, marveling at a human metabolism that could ingest so many calories and yet permit a wonderfully trim, hard body. She suspected he still worked out hard every day, even though he no longer played professionally.
He hadn’t seemed in any hurry to leave—not surprising since as far as she knew his only business in town was to try to wrest the Thunder from her hands—and she’d been grievously tempted to take him right back to bed as soon as he finished inhaling breakfast. Summoning up her self-discipline, she’d instead called him a taxi and packed him back off to his hotel despite his good-natured protests and a playful attempt to get her back into the bedroom. While he might not have a pressing schedule, she had issues that couldn’t wait. In fact, her meeting with Kieran and the accountant was slated for ten, so she didn’t have a lot of time to get ready.
Before Tony left, he’d prodded her yet again about taking off with him to London but she’d held off committing. During the wee hours before dawn, still ramped up, Martha had worked on the logistics in her head. She figured she might be able to make a London trip into something more than a whirlwind sex-fest, or a last-ditch effort to get him to invest in her team. There was also a chance she could do something else important, and all it should take was a call to Martin James to find out for sure.
After heaping the breakfast dishes in the kitchen sink, she retreated upstairs to her room. Grabbing her cell phone, she speed-dialed her editor’s number.
He answered on the first ring. “Okay, tell me the answer is yes.”
She laughed and plopped down on the bed. “Hey, there, you just hold your horses. I’m still up to my tush in very large reptiles down here. But I do have a question that might help me make up my mind.”
Martin heaved a loud sigh, as if his rebellious teenager daughter had just brought home a Goth-clad boyfriend sporting multiple piercings. “Shoot.”
“Martin, would you happen to know if Colton’s in London right now? I’ve read that he’s been hiding out a lot in Scotland lately.”
Martin coughed, obviously muffling it with his hand. “I talked to him day before yesterday. He said he’d be heading back to Scotland, but not for a little while.”
Martha gave a fist pump, which tumbled her backwards into the welter of pillows and sheets on the destroyed bed. “That’s all I wanted to know, Papa Bear.”
“So, why exactly do you care?” Martin said in a suspicious tone. “It sounds to me like you’re already planning an interview. Are you keeping me on a string for any good reason?”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about the article,” she hedged. “And I’ve decided I can’t move ahead without talking to Colton first. Face to face. I’m nowhere near sure it’s the right move for either of us, and I’m still dealing with a hell of a situation down here with the Thunder. In fact, I got a stinking ultimatum from the bank yesterday.”
Martha knew she could be honest with her editor without having to fear he’d try to jump on a story.
“Sorry to hear that, sunshine,” he said, though Martha knew his sympathy was tinged with hope that the team’s demise would bring her scurrying back to the paper. “But are you telling me you’re going to go to England to talk to Colton?”
“You know we’ve got some baggage, Colton and me. The kind that would be better discussed in person.”
“Or, better yet, not at all,” Martin shot back, reacting to the tone in her voice. “You know it’s important to keep your personal and professional lives fully compartmentalized, Martha. Just let it go, and do the story. Colton’s a pro, and I expect he’ll treat you like a professional, too.”
Colton’s a pro, all right, a first class professional asshole, she thought. She was under no illusions he would treat her like any other reporter. “Just give me his London number, Martin, please.”
Another heavy sigh. “Why do I get the feeling that no good is going to come of this, Martha Winston?”
“Oh, ye of little faith. Trust me, you skeptical man. I know what I’m doing,” Martha said, lightening her tone. At least she hoped she did.
“Please don’t tell me this excursion is going to back up the time frame you gave me for your decision. Because I meant what I said when I offered you this story, and I’m not going to wait while you try to hash out some old history. Neither will Colton, if I know him.”
“Oh, relax, Papa Bear. It may mean an extra day or two at most. You know I won’t jerk you around.”
After grumbling for another minute or so, he finally gave her Colton’s number. “You know, Martha dear, there are entire squadrons of hungry reporters around here who’d love to get this assignment.”
She snorted. “Sure, but exactly how many of them could persuade Colton to give them the correct time of day? Wasn’t that the whole point of your asking me?”
“Just make a damn decision,” Martin growled before disconnecting.
She frowned at her cell phone, not sure whether Martin was pissed off with her or was just doing his usual grumpy old man routine.
Whatever. He’d get over it. And he’d told her what she needed to know, plus given her a brief reprieve on the date to give him a final answer on the article.
The idea of seeing Colton Butler again was no longer nearly as unappetizing a prospect as it had been. The way she sized it up right now, she’d keep all her irons in the fire and hope none of them scorched her ass.
* * *
Still feeling the lingering effects of Martha’s damn fine breakfast, Tony ordered just a Caesar salad for lunch along with a bottle of a California white that was one of the priciest on the Hyatt menu. The wine seemed a bit excessive for lunch, but he couldn’t help feeling in a celebratory mood. Rex, who had strolled into the restaurant a couple of minutes after him, natty as always, was taking his time perusing the menu.
“Tate’s on the way?” Tony asked.
Rex didn’t look up from the menu. “He is. Unfortunately, he got jammed up in some bloody traffic snarl. I talked to him again a few minutes ago and he should be getting here any time now. By the way, before he arrives why don’t you fill me in on how things went last night with Miss Martha?”
“It was quite a night,” Tony replied vaguely in an understatement if there ever was one. Too bad he couldn’t hold back the shit-eating grin he knew would state the obvious. Not that he had any intention of spilling details, but the night with Martha had surely been one for the record books.
“Ah, I never doubted you for a moment,” Rex said with a mock sigh. “Lucky you. As for me, after dinner at the hotel, I took a stroll around the downtown area—which is rather moribund at night—then retreated back here in good order for a drink or two at the bar.”
“Sorry to have left you on your own like that,” Tony said, although he thought Rex looked rather pleased with himself for some reason.
Rex waved him off. “My destiny is to live in the shadows. Just give me the basics of what happened. We don’t have time for the details, what with Tate on his way.”
“Everything went even better than I expected,” Tony said before tasting the splash of wine the server poured for him. He nodded his approval to the young lady and she filled their glasses.
Rex nodded. “I caught the game highlights on the telly. The Thunder were utterly wretched again, which is good news for us, of course. Not so much f
or Martha, though.”
“Actually, I didn’t really see all that much of the match,” Tony said, before he thought better of it.
Rex’s eyes rounded. “Good God, really? Surely not in her stadium suite?”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “A gentleman never tells. You know that, mate.”
“Bloody unbelievable,” Rex muttered. “And you’re not exactly a gentleman, as you well know.”
Tony frowned. “You don’t approve?”
“Of course I approve. But I hadn’t exactly envisioned the two of you rolling around the suite while her lads were getting pulverized below.” Rex narrowed his gaze. “You don’t carry on like that at Fenton when I’m not around, do you?”
Tony laughed out loud at Rex’s tone of mock horror. “Enough about my sex life. Let’s get to business.”
Rex smiled. “I thought that was what we were talking about.”
Tony ignored the little jibe. “Martha was quite candid about the meeting she had with the bank and the sponsors. According to her, they were aggressive almost to the point of brutality. As if they actually want her to fail, as she said.”
“I suppose that fits with Steam Train’s agenda,” Rex said. “But First Coast National shouldn’t want her to declare bankruptcy. Not unless they’re in bed with the brewery. Otherwise, it doesn’t make sense.”
Tony had already reached that conclusion. “What if Steam Train made a commitment to First Coast National to cover the bank’s losses? They could get the team on the cheap if it goes into receivership, so making the bank whole wouldn’t be a problem.”
Rex grimaced. “That sounds like something the bastards would do. But they won’t know we’re in the picture. Not unless Martha or Geoffrey blabs something.”
“Martha won’t,” Tony said, shaking his head.
“Is Martha any…shall we say, more pliable today than yesterday? I mean in her attitude about selling us the team, of course,” Rex finished on a sarcastic note.
Tony was tempted to give his partner a one finger salute, but since they were in the middle of an upscale restaurant he held back. “We made a deal not to talk about that, and we stuck to it.”
“I’m sure you were otherwise quite occupied, in any case,” Rex said in a tone as dry as any gin martini.
“There’s that, too. But I made a spur of the moment decision to propose something that should help move things along.” Tony spotted Cole Tate approaching the entrance to the restaurant. “If she goes for it.”
“I’m intrigued.”
“Right,” Tony said in a clipped voice, wanting to get it in before Tate descended on them. “I suggested to Martha that she fly back to London with us for a few days of R&R. I said I’d take her to the Lions match Saturday, and we’d just spend the rest of the weekend sightseeing and having fun. It would give her a chance to forget about her situation for a bit. And maybe it just might make her more amenable to our offer.”
Rex gaped at him. “That’s rather audacious, even for you.”
Tony shrugged, standing up as Tate approached. “Rex, if and when Martha gives the go-ahead, I want the jet here as soon as you can make it happen. Before she gets a chance to change her mind.”
Rex nodded as he got to his feet, and then both men shook hands with Tate. The three made small talk while Tate scanned the menu and ordered. Once the server had filled the consultant’s wine glass, Tony said, “So, did your inside contact at SportsNet have anything useful for us?” Tate had told Rex yesterday that a contact at the cable network might be willing to give them a hand.
The takeover specialist nodded, relaxing into the cane-backed chair as he swirled the wine. “He did, but it’s going to cost you this time.”
Tony waved a dismissive hand. “Fine. You wouldn’t have agreed unless it was worth it.”
Tate smiled. “I appreciate your saying that, Tony. Look, there are rumors of a deal in the works, all right. My guy didn’t know all the details, but he said it looks like Steam Train, First Coast National Bank and SportsNet have been talking and might have come to some sort of agreement regarding the Thunder. I’m thinking it’s a plan to get the team into the brewery’s hands, no doubt with a renegotiated contract with SportsNet.”
“Jesus Christ. A bloody conspiracy,” Tony growled.
“I suppose you could think of it that way,” Tate said. “But there’s nothing illegal about it, and that sort of thing goes on every day. Companies get together and work out how to cooperate in cleaning the remaining meat off some poor bastard’s bones. Nasty stuff, but business isn’t for the faint of heart, right?”
Tony didn’t buy it. “Maybe, but that kind of gang-up is morally wrong, as far as I’m concerned.” He was not only offended by the crappy ethics, he was infuriated on Martha’s behalf.
“Any idea of what specifically is involved in the deal, Cole?” Rex interjected.
Tate flicked a glance between Tony and Rex. “For starters, I figure they won’t want Martha Winston to file for bankruptcy because that would call into question the future of pro soccer in Jacksonville. Steam Train would have to apply to the ASL for a new franchise in that case. It would obviously depend on the quality of their proposal, but if I were them, I wouldn’t hold my breath waiting for league approval after what’s happened. Jacksonville’s a small market, after all, and they’d be trying to follow on the heels of a failed team.”
“Yeah, and the league is bound to be bloody wary given the recent attendance numbers,” Tony said. “I’ve never seen anything like it. Hell, a struggling League Two team back home draws more fans than they do here. A lot more.”
Tate snorted. “My ten-year old kid’s league practically draws as many fans. To have any hope of getting a new franchise, Steam Train would have to hire somebody like you to run the team, Tony. In other words, a credible leader and certified miracle worker.”
Rex laughed out loud. Tony, with his wine glass halfway to his mouth, glared at him.
Rex held up an apologetic hand. “I had a vision of the two of us pitching their beer on the telly,” he said. “Not pretty at all.”
Tate smiled, but Tony didn’t like a word of what he was hearing. “Go on,” he said to Tate.
The consultant nodded. “Bankruptcy would mean that First Coast National and the rest of the team’s creditors would have to settle for cents on the dollar on their outstanding debts, if anything at all. For a relatively small regional bank like FCN, that could be a significant hit. Which, of course, they will absolutely want to avoid.”
The server brought the salads Tony and Rex had ordered, promising Tate that his Reuben sandwich would be coming up at any moment. Tony eyed the gigantic plate of Romaine lettuce in front of him and concluded that he’d lost whatever trace of appetite he’d had. He didn’t even bother picking up his fork.
He narrowing his eyes at Tate. “The bastards’ game plan is to make Martha’s situation so untenable that she’ll have no choice but to accept Steam Train’s offer, because bankruptcy would be ten times worse.”
“That’s the likeliest scenario,” Tate agreed.
“Stretch out the pain for a while longer until Martha snaps,” Rex said around a mouthful of salad. “When the bank pulls the plug on the line of credit, she won’t be able to make payroll and she’ll have to make a choice—sell to Steam Train, or let the whole ship go down.”
“I doubt she’d let the ship go down,” Tony said bitterly. “She cares too much about the staff and the players to let the team implode.”
“But Steam Train and the others don’t know we’re interested in buying the Thunder,” Rex said calmly. “They’re probably thinking they can get the team for a song, but they’re going to find out otherwise soon enough.”
Tony pressed on the bridge of his nose, feeling a tension headache forming behind his eyes. Though he was hardly about to complain, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night and his brain was sluggish as it worked its way through the options. The last thing he wanted was to get drawn int
o a bidding war with Steam Train because it would be all but impossible to go toe-to-toe with them when it came to putting up money. As Tate had already told him, the brewery had the means to outbid anything he’d be prepared to offer. Anyway, he couldn’t afford to pay the moon for the Jacksonville Thunder or any other team, no matter how badly he wanted an ASL franchise. If he had more resources, he wouldn’t be going after a small market team like Jacksonville in the first place.
“We’re in a hole here, gents,” he finally said. “Steam Train doesn’t know we want to make a play for the Thunder. Martha knows we do, but doesn’t seem to be aware that Steam Train is after her team, too. If this rumor is true, and everything finally comes out into the open, it’s inevitable she’s going to play us off against each other.”
He remembered how Martha snuggled in his arms, and the way her eyes had lit up when he’d told her that he liked every damn thing about her. Remembered the way she’d cradled him gently as he dozed. His gut told him that when the rubber hit the road, she’d rather see the Thunder sold to him than to the conspiring pricks determined to bring her down. But what would happen when Steam Train’s bid passed beyond—maybe even well beyond—what he was able to offer? He’d be a fool to think she could turn down that kind of deal.
On top of that, he feared there could be media and fan preference for a local company over a British interloper, too. The pressure on Martha to sell to Steam Train might come at her from every quarter.
“You’re right,” Rex said. “All we can do, if and when this scenario plays out, is to make our offer as attractive to Martha as it can possibly be.” He stared directly into Tony’s eyes. “Financially, and in every other way.”
Tony stayed silent as he took another gulp of wine.
* * *
When Geoffrey waddled out of her office, followed by finance director Bob Arnott and then Kieran—who turned on his way out and gave her a half-hearted smile—Martha stayed in her chair at the small conference table. Her insides still churned. As she’d feared it would, the meeting had produced nothing but more stress and heartache. A devastating reality check was the best way she could describe it.
