by V. K. Sykes
As Malone sidled up, Martha thought she noticed Geoffrey giving him a tiny smile. “What?” she snarled at Malone.
“Could you and I talk for a moment please, Martha? Let me buy you a cup of coffee.” Malone nodded to indicate the coffee shop on the opposite corner of the street.
Her first thought was that she’d rather drink motor oil than have coffee with the man who’d been instrumental in pulling the financial rug out from under her feet. She so wanted to blow him off with a thoroughly unladylike riposte. But she stopped herself. Better to find out what the guy had rushed out to say, and then have done with the whole sorry mess.
“Please excuse me, fellas,” she said quietly to her group. “I’ll catch up with y’all back at the office later.”
As Kieran led Bob and Geoffrey away, Martha turned back to Malone. “Well, screw coffee. After what you reptiles did in there, I could use a real drink.” She jerked her thumb toward the Omni Hotel, one block over, and started to walk.
“You’re on.” Malone hurried to fall into stride with her.
The two of them exchanged exactly zero words as they trudged to the hotel and through the lobby to Juliette’s Bistro. Martha refused to make eye contact with Malone until the server had taken their orders. Though it wasn’t much past eleven o’clock, she ordered Knob Creek. Malone showed his wimp colors by ordering a white wine spritzer, of all things.
“So?” she said after tasting the premium bourbon. “Go ahead and get it off your chest, Malone.”
In contrast to his behavior during the meeting, Malone now seemed to have nothing for her but smiles. “Look, Martha, I’m sure you must think we were pretty rough on you back there. And I guess we kind of were, looking back on it now. But please understand that Steam Train is a public company, just like First Coast National Bank, and we have a Board of Directors and some very demanding shareholders to answer to.” He drew in a dramatic breath, as if it was all practically too much to bear. “Honestly, if I could have found a reasonable and mutually beneficial way to keep helping you out, I would have. But it’s simply bad business for a company like mine to be joined at the hip with a team that’s unfortunately become something of a joke. Of course, it’s even worse to be associated with one that goes belly up.”
Bile rose in Martha’s throat, chasing away the fine taste of the liquor. She figured she might have heard more condescending remarks in her life, but she couldn’t think of a single one at the moment.
“It’s not exactly polite to call my team a joke, Rance.” She almost said rancid, which is what she always thought of when she heard his name. “In fact, it might even be a little dangerous. I’m three inches taller than you are, and in a damn sight better shape from what I can see.”
“No, no,” he said, holding his hands palms up. “I didn’t mean to insult your team. Really, I was just trying to explain that Steam Train didn’t have much of a choice, given the facts. We’re in a box, just like you are.”
“Sorry, but that’s pure bullshit,” Martha scoffed. “Your outfit is rolling in dough, even though your beer is so bad it should be outlawed as a danger to public health. Now, are there any more insults you’d like to dish out before I say sayonara and get back to my joke of a team?” She finished the rest of her bourbon in one swallow and set the glass down with finality.
“Well, yes, there is one more thing, and I’ll get right to the point.” His eyes narrowed. “Martha, if you’re interested in selling the team, Steam Train is interested in making an offer.”
She gaped at him. She couldn’t help it, since she wouldn’t have been more surprised if Malone had confessed to having been a serial killer born to Martian parents. Buy the team? Never before had the brewery expressed the slightest interest in buying the Thunder.
Suddenly, though, things clicked into place.
Steam Train, First Coast National Bank, and SportsNet had obviously been working hand-in-glove. She’d instinctively sensed some weird vibe going on with the three at their last meeting, and they’d seemed glued at the hip whenever she met them. It explained why the bank had suddenly found it impossible to extend the line of credit even though her loans had to be only a miniscule percentage of their total liabilities.
And it explained Steam Train’s sudden decision to announce the end of their sponsorship before the expiry of the contract.
She gave him a derisive snort. “You’re kidding, right? Your brewery wants to run a professional soccer team? Oh, well, that makes perfect sense to me. Y’all must have a ton of soccer expertise.”
Of course, the same sarcasm could have been applied to her when she took over ownership of the team. At least, though, she’d spent her life in the sports world, both playing and working. Unlike beer makers, she knew how professional sports teams operated.
“On the contrary, Martha, it makes a great deal of sense,” Malone shot back with a smug expression. “Other corporations have had plenty of success owning pro franchises, and there’s every reason to believe we will, too.” He relaxed back into his chair and crossed his legs as if he were settling in for a while. “So, as I was saying, if you’re prepared to entertain an offer, I’m authorized to make a good one.”
Despite her sarcastic comeback, Martha had never felt more at sea. An hour ago, she’d been mulling over scenarios for the team’s future. Now she was in a bar with Rance Malone of Steam Train Goddamn Breweries, being asked in a thoroughly supercilious tone if she was prepared to “entertain” his offer.
What she wanted to entertain was shoving a pole up his you-know-what.
She struggled to keep her burgeoning anger under control. “It’s a free country,” she said. “Send something to my office, if you must. But don’t get your hopes up, and don’t make it full of legal mumbo-jumbo, either.”
Malone gave an amused little snort. “Now, hold on, Martha. I’m an informal kind of guy, and I like to make business deals with a handshake, not through an army of lawyers and CPA’s. Plus, Steam Train’s of a mind to get this done fast so we can start the rebuilding process even before the season ends. It would be better if we could work out the basics of a deal right now. Right here, between the two of us.” He grinned. “No time like the present, right?”
She stared in disbelief at the devious little sewer rat. “Well, Rance, you just sound to me like a carrion-eater about to pick over some road kill.”
“Not at all,” he said, shaking his head. “Actually, I might be about to make you quite a rich woman if you’re able to put your bitterness aside and do what’s in your best interests. So, why don’t we talk some round numbers? Like, say, eight million dollars for your shares and your uncle’s combined. Steam Train would assume all the team’s debts, of course, so that would leave you to walk away with well over six million bucks, Martha. Free and clear.”
He smiled as if he’d just told her she’d won the Florida Powerball. “What do you think of that?”
Alarm bells clanged in her brain. “Are you actually expecting me to answer on behalf of Geoffrey?” she said, giving him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “That seems awfully strange, if you ask me.”
Now she knew exactly why her uncle had smiled when Malone accosted her outside the bank. The conniving, traitorous jerk was probably in on this stink-bomb of a deal, too.
Malone shrugged. “I’m confident Geoffrey will accept the same terms you and I agree on.” He cleared this throat. “Given what I understand are his financial circumstances.”
Every fiber of her being wanted to tell him to go straight to hell. She had no intention of agreeing on anything with him in a damn bar, and hopefully nowhere else, either. There might still be some rabbits to be pulled out of hats to save her ownership of the team. If not, there was always Tony Branch. If she had to choose between delivering up the Thunder to frigging Steam Train or to Tony, it was no contest. No contest at all.
“Eight million doesn’t even come close,” she said, deciding she’d be stupid to not keep the Steam Train option open, however m
uch it and Rance Malone revolted her. “You say my team is a joke? Well, your offer is the real joke, Malone. Hell, the last valuation estimate put the team’s worth at more than three times that.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that valuation. But my house used to be worth more than twice what it is now, too. Times change, Martha, and the team’s a total mess. Who do you think is going to ante up the sponsorship money to replace what Steam Train and SportsNet have been putting in? Anybody who buys your club is going to have a hard time getting any corporate backing until the attendance starts to poke its head up from the floor of the tank.”
He pulled out a pen and quickly jotted a few numbers down on a napkin, shoving it over to her. “And, besides, the offer’s obviously not just eight million, it’s well over eleven when you add in repayment of the debt. We’ve got no choice but to assume everything you’ve rung up.” He pointed to the number of the napkin. “There’s the real number, give or take a few thousand.”
Martha glanced down at the scribbled ink on the napkin. It showed 11.35 million dollars as the total cost to Steam Train, including assumption of the Thunder debt. She shoved the napkin back at him. “Selling’s not really on my radar,” she said, rising. “And even if it was, your offer sure as hell wouldn’t cut it.”
Malone scrambled to his feet. “Sure, Martha, play it that way. But it’ll be on your radar very, very soon, so I’ll be looking forward to hearing from you. I’m sorry about how this has played out for you. I really am. You did your best in a tough situation. But you’re between a rock and a hard place, and we both know it. You really do need to think about what I’ve said. About what’s going to be best for you personally, and about what’s best for the team’s loyal fans.”
Dredging up another of his smug smiles, he held out a hand. She stared at it for a few moments then reluctantly shook it before turning and striding for the exit. As she passed out of the lobby into the bright sunlight, she prayed with all her heart that Rance Malone would not turn out to be her final option.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Still fuming when she got back to the office, Martha was greeted by a damp-eyed, hang-dog expression from Jane.
Clearly, the emotional hits were just starting.
“I’m sorry,” Jane said, giving her a tight hug.
Martha hugged her back. “Don’t you worry, hon. It sucks, but we’re sure not done yet. Not by a long shot.” She broke the clench and glanced into the glass-walled offices. Kieran and Bob were at their desks, peering at their computer screens.
“Did Geoffrey come back with the other guys?”
Jane shook her head. “Kieran said he took off.”
“Figures.” The coward wouldn’t want to stick around for a post-mortem on the meeting. “Would you mind asking Kieran and Bob to join me in the boardroom?”
As Jane headed for Kieran’s office, Martha headed straight into the boardroom. When the two men arrived, she told them about Malone but left out the details of his offer.
“Bloody hell,” Kieran said in a Scottish-accented growl. Bob’s wan face registered shock, but as usual he remained silent unless asked a direct question.
Martha made a grimace. “My thoughts exactly.”
“What now?” Kieran asked.
She didn’t know quite how to answer that yet, so she decided to duck the question for the moment, at least. “Do you think I should consider it, Kieran?”
He hesitated a moment. “Perhaps. But what about Tony Branch, lass?”
Martha’s heart skipped a beat. She’d kept Tony’s interest to herself all this time, bringing only her uncle into the picture. “Geoffrey said something, I presume?”
While Bob kept shifting his gaze all over the room, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else, Kieran gazed straight at Martha and nodded.
She sighed. “I’m sorry, guys. It’s true that Branch approached me a few days ago and asked if I was interested in selling. I told him no, of course, and I figured that was going to be the end of the matter. That’s why I didn’t bother telling you.”
“Geoffrey certainly thinks he’s still interested,” Kieran said. “And if I’m any judge of your uncle, I’d have to say he seemed delighted at the prospect of Steam Train and Branch competing to buy our team.”
“I’ll just bet he did,” she muttered.
Could this day get any worse? First, the bank stuck a shiv in between her ribs, and then Malone swooped in to try to pick up the Thunder’s carcass at a bargain price. To top it off, Geoffrey had blabbed about Tony wanting the team, making it obvious that Martha had withheld that information from her own people.
She turned to her finance manager. “Bob, I’m sorry, but I’d like to talk to Kieran in private for a minute. Would you mind excusing us?”
“Sure, no problem.” Arnott picked up his files and hurried from the room.
Martha confronted the man who’d become her good friend. “I surely owe it to you to put all the cards on the table, my friend, so here’s the score. Branch not only expressed interest in buying the team, he made me a concrete offer. I wouldn’t have said yes to him anyway, but there’s one sticking point you deserve to know about right now.” She had to swallow to get some moisture into a throat that had gone parched. “Branch made it clear that he won’t agree to keep either you or Sam.”
While she had no particular love for Sam Brockton and in fact thought him overbearing, she felt a deep loyalty to McLeod—not only for his steadfast guidance and support since she took over the team, but for the confidence he’d shown in her father by agreeing to come to America to guide a struggling franchise.
“And that was a non-starter for me, plain and simple,” she finished.
A pleased smile crept onto Kieran’s weathered face. “You’re a truly fine lass, Martha Winston. I hope you know how much I’ve enjoyed every minute I’ve worked for you, despite the…well, less than satisfying results on the pitch. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve been right just about every time.” He reached out to gently grasp her hand and give it a light squeeze.
“That’s very kind of you,” she said gratefully.
“I mean every word. But look, Martha, Sam and I have both had long careers and we’ve certainly known our share of ups and downs. So, if worse comes to worst and it turns out that this is the end of the line for us with the Thunder, then we’ll accept it as part of the game. That’s sport, so you should never blame yourself for what might happen to us.” He gave her a cheeky grin. “At least I’d be able to escape this wretched Florida heat and humidity.”
Martha firmed her mouth against the urge to bawl. “No. Absolutely not. None of this mess is your fault, Kieran. You’ve done everything I’ve asked and a whole lot more. If somebody’s going to buy this team, then they’re going to have to take it lock, stock and barrel. And that sure as hell includes you, my friend. I won’t negotiate anything less than job security for all my people, and especially for you.”
Kieran shook his head. “Thank you, Martha. God love you for it. But surely you know that you’re asking a great deal. No potential buyer is going to want to be hamstrung by having to hang on to the GM and the manager of a team with our record. I’m afraid the chances of getting a concession like that are slim indeed.”
Martha’s throat started to close up because he was no doubt right. “Maybe so, I’m not prepared to sell without it,” she said stubbornly.
He squeezed her hand again. “You’ve fought a good fight, lass, but those bastards have us backed into a corner. No one else is going to lend big money to a team that’s been cut off at the knees. So, I’m having a hard time seeing any kind of escape. And I think you are too, aren’t you?”
Martha had been trying hard to avoid that conclusion. But now, after the body blow the bank had delivered, having Kieran confirm the reality of the nightmare made her realize once and for all that no magic tricks would be found to save the team and keep it in her hands. The vultures circled overhead, waiting for their moment to seize the Th
under in their talons and carry it away.
Jane opened the door a crack and poked her head inside. “Martha, Rick Grange from WJAX-TV is on the line. He insisted I pull you put of your meeting to confirm or deny a pending sale of the Thunder.”
Martha shot to her feet. “You have got to be kidding!”
Jane grimaced.
Geoffrey. Any family loyalty he’d ever felt for her was clearly dead and gone.
Bitterness settled low in her gut. “I’ll take the call in my office,” she said, then gave Kieran’s shoulder a little squeeze as she passed by him and out the door.
Her temples throbbing, she sat down at her desk and took a minute to calm down. After a few deep breaths, she yanked the phone from its cradle. “How’s it going, Rick?”
“Good, Martha. Thanks for taking my call.”
“Anytime.” She’d known Grange for years, even before moving to Jacksonville. They’d met while they covered women’s tennis events in Florida. It didn’t surprise her that he was the first to call, and she knew he wouldn’t be the last. “You said something to my assistant about a pending sale? What are you hearing, Rick?”
“Hey, I thought I was supposed to be asking the questions,” Grange joked. “But, okay, since it’s you. My source says you’ve been in talks with both Steam Train Breweries and that English soccer mogul, Tony Branch. Apparently, we should expect a deal to get done in a couple of days, or possibly even less.”
Martha had been a reporter long enough to know how rumors could go viral unless squelched convincingly at the outset. But as much as she wished she could give Grange a flat-out denial, she had to believe there was a high probability Malone would confirm the rumors. And that would make her out to be a liar. and would put her in an impossible position. Tony would be getting calls too, though she doubted that he’d let himself get drawn into the media fray. At least she hoped not.
Though her room to maneuver had shrunk to about pea-size, she nevertheless decided to try to skate a bit. “Rick, let’s just say there have been some inquiries about a possible sale and leave it at that.”
