by V. K. Sykes
“Colton cooperative?” Martin scoffed. “He must be on new meds.”
Martha wasn’t about to fess up about Colton’s not-so-hidden agenda to seduce her. Her editor and friend was so protective of her that revealing any such intent on the golfer’s part might even make Martin toss the whole feature idea in the dumpster.
She fidgeted with her coffee spoon for a few seconds, and then decided to go for it. “Martin, hon, I did a little digging around about Colton the past couple of days.”
“Why am I not surprised? So?”
Martha was venturing onto dangerous ground, but she knew she could trust Martin to keep his mouth firmly shut until something could be proven about Colton, or not. “So, there’s a very strong chance that his blissful marriage and amicable divorce hid a disgusting, despicable truth that had been going on behind closed doors.” Even now her stomach churned at the cruel images her mind kept conjuring up. “The son of a bitch is a wife beater, Martin.”
The line went silent for five seconds or more. “And you know this how?” Martin finally said in a low voice devoid of his previous bantering tone.
Even though he couldn’t see her, she waved her hand as if batting his question away. “I don’t know enough yet to tell you much more.” Martin might guess her source, but she wasn’t going to blurt it out herself. “All I can say now is that my source claims Ginny Cross spent years fanatically hiding Colton’s abuse from discovery. All the while they were both pretending to have a normal marriage.”
She mustered up her courage to say what she’d decided was her bottom line. “I need to try to dig down to the truth about these allegations. Honestly, hon, I can’t write a feature article about Colton Butler without knowing whether or not he’s a scum-sucking criminal. So, if you’ve got a problem with that, we’d better thrash it out now.”
“What are the odds that the wife will open up?” Martin said in the skeptical editor voice she knew so well. “Especially after she’s kept it under wraps for years?”
“I’m cautiously optimistic,” Martha said even though she had no cause to be.
“Well, you could talk a grizzly bear out of his pelt,” Martin said, “so I guess it isn’t a completely harebrained idea.”
That was as close to a vote of confidence as she could expect. “Thanks, Papa Bear.”
“But this better not mean you won’t get the article done on time. Colton made the timing a clear condition of the deal, and I agreed. It has to be out before his first tournament in Australia.”
“It will be,” Martha said immediately. “If I need more time, I’ll ask for a follow-up article. I’d rather splash it all out in one piece, though.”
“We’ll talk about that later, if it comes to that.” Martin paused for a couple of moments. “On another subject, is there anything significant happening with your team these days?”
The abrupt shift made Martha’s antennae shoot straight up. “Have you heard something?”
Martin gave a soft chuckle because she’d answered his question with one of her own. “Yeah, one of our guys heard a rumor that Tony Branch was in Jacksonville last week sniffing around about buying the Thunder. But I figure that couldn’t possibly be true, because you would surely have mentioned something that important to your beloved editor, right?”
Another long pause. “But I have to admit that it got me thinking about your little trip to London, sunshine,” he continued.
Canny old Papa Bear. Martha gritted her teeth. “It’s true that Branch approached me about buying the team. But you know I’m not interested in selling. My job is to save the team and rebuild it. I didn’t give up a job I love at the Post just to preside over the funeral of my father’s team.”
Her words sounded a little stiff and harsh to her ears, but she needed Martin to help squash those rumors if he could.
“I hear you loud and clear,” he said. “You’ll do it, if anybody can.”
His words touched her heart. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, even if you don’t mean it.”
“You keep in touch, now, Martha, dear.”
“Miss you, Papa Bear.”
Staring at the congealed eggs on her plate, Martha gave up on breakfast and headed for the shower.
She got out a quarter-hour later to the distinctive ring of her cell phone. Tony trying again? If so, as much as she wanted to talk to him she wasn’t yet ready. Still, she threw a towel around herself and dashed out of the bathroom to check.
Colton’s number. Goddammit.
“Martha Winston,” she said in the coolest, most business-like tone she could manage with a pounding heart.
“Tell me you’re not fucking Tony Branch, Martha. And you’d better fucking well hope I believe it.” Colton’s voice was an icy snarl. She’d never heard such mean, gutter language come out of his mouth before, and it sent a dart of alarm racing along her nerves.
The tabloids. Martha hadn’t even bothered to search them out to check for the photos taken yesterday at Fenton. Her worries over their possible publication had been subsumed by everything that had happened afterward. But obviously the papers had some shots of her with Tony at the game, and they’d found their way up to Colton in Scotland.
“Read the tabloids with your Sunday breakfast, do you?” She tried to inject a breezy tone into her tense voice. “How classy.”
“Fuck that shit. My personal assistant just emailed me two puke-making shots of the two of you all tight and cozy at a football match yesterday. The prick is looking at you like he’s fucking you with his goddamn eyes.”
Martha was hardened to foul language, but bile immediately rose in her throat at the filth pouring out of Butler’s snarling mouth. She desperately wanted to tell him that she never wanted to hear his wretched voice again but she managed to stop herself before the words—ones she could never take back—flew from her lips. More than ever, she hungered to bring Colton Butler to his knees with the power of her pen. To do it, though, she’d have to keep her composure no matter how badly he provoked her.
“I don’t appreciate your tone or your language, Colton. Not one little bit. But let me just say this. Tony Branch and I have known each other for years.” That statement was technically true, if misleading. “And he simply asked me if I’d like to be his guest at the Blackhampton match if I had some free time while I was in town. It was a simple courtesy from one club owner to another. That’s all.”
A lie of omission. But Colton’s life had apparently been a damnable lie, so Martha felt zero guilt about obfuscating what had happened between her and Tony.
Colton snorted noisily. “Bullshit. You’re sleeping with him. I can see it in your damn eyes when I look at those pictures. Believe me, I know that look.”
I’ll bet you do, you philandering scumbag. “It’s none of your business, Colton,” she said sharply. “Not one damn bit. But just this once I’ll indulge your absurd fantasies, though it’s against my better judgment.”
“Just tell me straight, for Christ’s sake.”
“Fine, then. Yes, I took in most of the match with Tony, but I left the stadium before it was over and didn’t see him again after that. All he and I discussed at the match was business. That’s it, Colton. That’s all that happened yesterday. Now get a grip and be sensible, please.”
Breathing in heavily, Colton said nothing. She guessed he’d probably raged around the room breaking things before picking up the phone to call her. Was he outraged simply because he hated Tony’s guts, or did Colton think he already had some kind of claim on her? That idea made her skin go clammy.
After a moment, Martha feigned an enormous sigh as if exasperated. “Look, Colton, I think I’d actually like to work with you on this article. But if you’re going to continue this kind of silliness, maybe it would be best if we called the whole idea off.”
It was a risky shot, but she sensed that he wanted her on the article more than he resented her for having been with Tony.
“Man, you know how much I hate
that asshole, Martha,” he grumbled.
“Ah, yes, you’ve succeeded in making that perfectly clear. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get ready to do some serious shopping before I head back home tomorrow. Jacksonville’s not exactly London when it comes to finding suitable apparel for a lady’s wardrobe,” she said with a little laugh. A laugh that probably sounded as phony as it felt.
“I thought I could trust you, Martha,” Colton said, but most of the anger seemed to have leached out of his voice. “Jesus, Tony Branch…I can tell you a lot of shit about that guy—”
“And I’m dying to hear all about it,” she interrupted smoothly. “You can tell me everything when we sit down for our interviews. But right now, I’m sorry, because I really do have to sign off.”
“Martha, I’m not sure there are going to be any interviews. Not after this.”
Frig.
“Why, sure there are, hon,” she said, laying it on thick. “You and I both know that I’m the very best person on this little blue planet to reveal to the world what Colton Butler is truly all about now. How you’ve so worked hard to become a new man. A man with a higher consciousness. A man ready and able to reclaim his place at the very pinnacle of the golfing world, a place he of course deserves. You gotta trust me on this, Colton, because I can do an amazing job for you.”
Or on you.
Martha almost gagged at her smarmy reporter routine but she knew Colton well enough to be confident he’d lap up the frothy crud. She imagined him on the other end of the line, his incandescent anger evaporated, replaced by preening self-love.
“I suppose,” he grunted. “But I’m still not very happy about those pictures, Martha. I need to go meditate now.”
She bit back a snort. “Why, you just go and do that, hon. Let me know when you can make it to Jacksonville, okay? I can’t wait to start,” she cooed.
She hung up before he could get another word out, feeling like she’d barely managed to dodge a poison-tipped arrow.
Dropping her cell phone into the cozy welter of high end bedding and goose down pillows, she rested her forehead in her palms and let out a frustrated growl. To hell with her plan for a quiet day of shopping and sightseeing. After Colton’s outrageous diatribe, Martha knew her back was to the wall. It was time to put resentment aside and talk to the one man who could help her bring the wife-beating bastard to his knees.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Rex sauntered into Tony’s stadium office carrying a mug of the high-test office coffee he insisted on. He took one look at Tony and stopped dead, his eyes narrowing with concern. “Good God, man. You look like you’ve been mugged.”
Tony shook his head, but with care. He figured any sudden movement could bring the massive headache pounding back for yet another round. “Bloody right, mugged by a bottle of Scotch. It was touch and go, but I just might live.”
He relaxed into the comfy leather sofa, his sock feet splayed across the low coffee table. In contrast to Rex’s natty blazer and pressed slacks, Tony had settled for his usual weekend attire of Lions jersey and faded jeans.
His friend plunked himself down in the armchair opposite the couch. “With a hangover like that you really shouldn’t be working today. Go back to bed. Or for a run, perhaps.”
“I’ll run later.” Tony thought he might actually feel up to that soon, able to pound out a few miles without puking all over his Nikes.
What felt like an Inquisition-like iron band circling his head had responded at last to the painkillers the team doctor had prescribed for his periodic bouts of knee joint agony. But this particular torture had resulted from his sheer stupidity. He’d cursed himself all morning for his lack of discipline as his head throbbed and his gut churned. Now, his stomach finally more or less settled, Tony sipped strong coffee from his Lions mug and tried to clear the remnants of painful fuzz from his brain. “Just because I got drunk doesn’t mean today should be any different than any other Sunday.”
Without fail during the Premier League season, which lasted most of the year, he reviewed the video of the Lions’ Saturday match and made extensive notes. Then on Monday morning, he met with the team’s manager, one on one, to discuss the results in depth and give his perspective.
Rex rolled his eyes. “You work too bloody hard, mate.”
“And so do you—which is exactly why we kick ass. Hell, we can rest when we’re eighty, Rex. Or when we’re dead,” he said with a chuckle. Tony figured Rex wouldn’t argue since he had the same work ethic when it came to the team as he did.
“So, I presume Martha must still be in high dudgeon if you were that overzealous in your spirits consumption last night,” Rex said.
“I guess. She’s still not returning my calls. For all I know, she might already be on a plane to Florida.”
He’d tried to coax a sweet-voiced front desk clerk at the Bell Tower Hotel into telling him whether or not Martha had checked out, but all he got for his efforts was the expected polite but firm rebuff. Staff at posh hotels protected their guests’ privacy like the crown jewels.
Rex snorted. “The lady does have a rather forceful personality, doesn’t she?”
“Hell, yeah. I can’t figure her out,” Tony said in a gloomy voice, still trying and failing to fully understand Martha’s explosive reaction to his proposal. “It was a good offer. Why the hell would she fly off the handle like that?”
“She was obviously surprised, Tony. I can’t blame her, since I was, too. Not at what you said, but when and how you said it.”
Tony blew out a sigh, feeling on a lot shakier ground than he was used to. “Okay, but when was I supposed to lay something like that on her? Over a candlelight dinner? Or maybe in the sack?’ He shook his head. “She’d have gone completely off the rails if I’d tried something that stupid. Even though we’d agreed not to talk about the Thunder, I’d always planned to make the offer before she went home.”
Rex gave him an understanding nod. “I doubt there was any good time for it. Martha obviously continues to live in some kind of fantasy world where she can hold onto the team and maintain full control, too. But little does she know she’s about to be run over by a train. A steam train.” Rex chuckled at his lame joke. “But of course you couldn’t say a word about that.”
Part of Tony had badly wanted to let Martha in on the apparent conspiracy that had been hatched by the bank, the brewery and the cable company. He didn’t because he knew she’d have been both hurt that he hadn’t told her right away and furious that Cole Tate had been able to ferret out that information while she remained in the dark. Besides, as much as he wanted her to know, he figured it wasn’t his place to tell her.
“No, she needs to find that out on her own, not from me. Since she’ll be meeting with those guys on Tuesday, I expect they’ll put the hammer down then. She’s pretty sure she can’t cut expenses anywhere close to the level they’re demanding.”
“The rub is that the more she knows, the more likely she is to play Steam Train and us against each other,” Rex said. “So then we have no choice but to bid up the price as high as we can go.”
“The whole thing is completely fucked up.” Tony rubbed his gritty eyes as disappointment washed over him again—both at Martha’s rejection of his partnership offer, and even more at the kick in the teeth she’d given him personally. Grinding away at it all night had made him realize just how deeply he must have wounded her, however unintentional it had been. “I never thought I’d make an offer like that as long as I lived, and I really thought she might go for it. I still don’t have a clue what her end-game strategy is, Rex. She can’t be naive enough to think she can survive this crisis without either bankruptcy or a sale, can she?”
Rex shook his head. “No, I’m sure she isn’t. For Martha, it has to be about maintaining control of the team. Has to be—because, hell, you offered her absolutely everything else, including paying more than the team’s worth these days.”
Tony gave a reluctant nod. “And that leaves us
knee deep in shit, mate, because control is my bottom line, too. I told her I’m not an investor when it comes to football. I’m an owner, and that’s the end of it.”
“Of course, but she clearly feels the same way,” Rex argued. “God only knows why, though. She didn’t have a bloody thing to do with football until a few months ago, and yet now she acts like she’s determined to go down with the ship if necessary.”
Tony was equally in the dark. “She even admitted to me that her writing career was still her priority in life.”
“There’s a chance it could be simple pride, I suppose,” Rex ventured.
Tony didn’t buy it. Not anymore. “Obviously, she can’t stand failure, but my gut says no. I’d bet the Lions that it’s not about money for her, either. She’s never spoken a word about numbers. Not once.”
Rex clapped his hands down on the arms of his chair, as if there was nothing more to be said. “Well, you gave her your best offer, including taking care of her people. So, whatever happens now is on her, Tony. We’re going to have to go head-to-head with Steam Train if you still want the Thunder as badly as before.”
How much did he want the Jacksonville Thunder? Tony had been asking himself that question a lot. Maybe Rex was right after all. Maybe his determination to own an American team deserved to be called quixotic. He’d hoped he could work out a mutually beneficial arrangement with Martha, but now it looked more and more likely that he’d have to get into a bidding war if he wanted to secure the team. Still, none of that had yet succeeded in destroying his resolve to make the breakthrough in America he longed to achieve. “Bloody right I still want it, especially since there aren’t likely to be any other viable options in the ASL for a good long while.”
He was positive that he and Rex could turn the pathetic Thunder team around even before the end of the current season. Derek Kavanagh had given his solemn word that he would finally play as if he meant it. And he’d assured him that the rest of the players would rally round their new owner—a man who understood them, thought like them. The day he took over, Tony would replace Sam Brockton with the manager of his League One side, Owen Clark, a loyal friend who had already agreed to take on the challenge in exchange for a generous salary bump. Tony himself would fill in temporarily as general manager for a short time until he secured the right replacement for Kieran McLeod, while Rex would handle the business side of the operation. After last week’s visit to Jacksonville, he had little doubt the fans and the media would flock to him as the team improved on the field and he made good on his promise to plug the remaining gaps in the lineup.
