Bigger Than Beckham

by V. K. Sykes

  “God, Martha, I’m so sorry,” Nate said. “I know what that team means to you. What are you going to do now?”

  Scream. Cry. Throw a few non-breakable items.

  “Can we talk about that tomorrow, hon? I’m not sure I know myself just yet.”

  “Whatever you say, babe. And you know I’ll be there for you, no matter what,” he said in a soft voice.

  “I’ll never doubt that as long as I draw breath, my friend,” Martha said, so grateful that it was all she could do not to burst into tears.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I land,” he said. “Take care of yourself till then, okay?”

  “You, too. And be careful flying that little puddle-jumper you call an airplane.” Actually, Nate’s airplane was state of the art, but she liked ribbing him about it anyway.

  He chuckled and hung up.

  Not for the first time, she had to squash a tiny ripple of envy of Holly Bell, even though Martha and Nate had concluded a very long time ago that they would sooner or later murder each other if they tried to be anything more than the best of friends. What she really envied was Nate’s undying dedication to Holly—the way he would move heaven and earth to give her whatever she needed.

  Giving up on the press release for the moment, she thought about the men in the life—the old and the new. In many ways, Nate and Tony were much alike, even beyond the fact that they were both charming, sexy sports heroes. Party animals and heartbreakers for years, both had now developed into responsible, serious and loyal men who cared about their communities and devoted much time, energy and money to charitable work. Tony’s dogged loyalty and steadfastness when it came to Ginny Cross had also told her much about the true nature of the man.

  And his dedication to his teams pegged him as someone who took life seriously indeed, despite the tabloids’ frequent depiction of him as a celebrity playboy.

  She glanced at the clock over the stove, wondering what Tony was doing now. When and how would he find out about the Steam Train bid, and how would he react? Whatever it was, she counseled herself to be patient and let what would happen, happen. If Tony wanted her team as much as she believed he did, he’d be calling soon enough.

  * * *

  Rex had responded in minutes to Tony’s voice mail, and within a half hour had made his way back to the Fenton Park, still dressed for work in his natty blue suit. They took their usual places in Tony’s office, Rex sipping a Coke and Tony chugging Harrogate spring water.

  What Tony really wanted was a stiff Scotch, but he needed all his wits about him to come up with an immediate plan.

  “So, you’re saying the bank put the screws to Martha, and then Geoffrey let the cat out of the bag,” Rex said. “But that’s hardly much of a surprise on either score, I dare say.”

  Tony yanked at his tie, finally dragging it over his head. “Not much of a surprise, though Martha must be ready to wring Geoffrey’s bloody neck.”

  “A bidding war would be in his best interests, of course, and it was bound to happen unless you could stave it off by getting to Martha first.” Rex gave him a wry smile. “And God knows you did your best with that.”

  Tony narrowed his eyes but decided to ignore the comment. “I called you back in to talk concrete numbers, mate. We need to know exactly how far we’re prepared to go, and we need to know right now. Last week you gave me ten to twelve million U.S. as your best estimate of the Thunder’s current worth on the market. Are you sticking with that range, now that we know Steam Train’s going to be making a bid?”

  Rex pursed his lips, taking a few seconds to think. “I should call Tate and see what he thinks. Normally, though, I’d say the value should have dropped quite a lot simply because the team is now in a terminal condition financially and therefore Martha is in no position to hold out on price. But with Steam Train in the mix, anything I might say at this point is just an educated guess. Especially since they might not much care whether they make a profit or not. Their goal is to boost sales of their beverage products. The amount of money involved one way or the other in operating the Thunder would be a pittance in terms of Steam Train’s overall revenue and profitability.”

  Frustrated, Tony muttered a curse. If only Martha had gone for his offer of sharing ownership. She was so bloody hung up both on maintaining control and on protecting every single one of her people that he had no room to maneuver. And now neither did she.

  “We’re not sheikhs at we’re not oligarchs,” Tony said. “Unlike those guys, we can’t afford to absorb operating losses. So, I need your best estimate of how much can we pay while still having a hope of breaking even in the first year. Twelve million at most, I figure. And that’s assuming we’d still boost the player budget by two million, as we planned. We can’t bend on that.”

  Rex shrugged. “I agree. Those figures make sense, but only if our attendance projections come through and we’re able to find a primary sponsor that’ll ante up at least as much as Steam Train did with the Winstons. But you know that’s just guesswork because it all depends on how the community responds to the new ownership. Though they should get excited about you taking over the Thunder, we’d be fools to place a massive bet on it. Even if we don’t overpay for the franchise, we’re still taking a hell of a risk with an adventure like this.”

  “Maybe, but life’s not much fun if you play it safe all the time, right?” Tony said, needling his more conservative friend.

  Rex ignored the dig. “What about sounding Martha out again on the fifty point one idea? She must realize by now that keeping control of the team is no longer on the table. Maybe now she’ll see that a partnership with us beats selling outright to Steam Train.”

  “Maybe,” Tony said, shaking his head. “But I know her, and I think she’d still want to negotiate security for the whole bloody staff. She’s going to go to the mat to protect all her people. And who knows what Steam Train might be prepared to do for her on that account? If they want the team bad enough, they might even agree to keep people they have no business keeping.”

  “But that would make them fools, and I seriously doubt they are. Although, then again, what do brewery executives know about running a football team?”

  Tony grimaced. “Even if I wanted to, I can’t bend on that demand, mate. Not after I promised Derek Kavanagh that McLeod and Brockton would go. I’d have to get rid of Kavanagh and probably half the sodding team otherwise.”

  Rex nodded. “McLeod and Brockton should probably have retired years ago. Too bad Will Winston made such a costly mistake hiring them in the first place. He left Martha holding a poor hand.”

  Tony wasn’t about to utter a harsh word about Martha’s father, though Rex’s conclusion had more than a little merit. “Okay, I’ll talk to Martha again. But I don’t see how she’ll bite if all I do is roll out the same offer she threw back in my face on Saturday.”

  “But do we just sit back and wait for Steam Train to put an offer on the table, and then decide if we want to top it?” Rex shook his head. “That’s a risky strategy, Tony, because you never know how negotiations might play out after Steam Train gets in the first bid. Things could move really quickly. Besides, they’re sitting right on Martha’s doorstep while we’re on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.”

  Tony reached for his phone. “That’s true, but we’re going to fix that. You check when SkyJets can get us into the air. I’ve got an important call to make, and then we should both head home to pack.”

  “I’m on it,” Rex said, hauling himself to his feet.

  “And get hold of bloody Geoffrey Winston and find out exactly what he said to the press. Maybe he’ll blab something useful about Steam Train’s intentions while he’s at it. He seemed keen on doing business with us the last time you two talked.”

  “Fine, but why do I always get the nasty jobs?” Rex said with a sigh.

  * * *

  Halfway through the afternoon, Martha started to return reporters’ calls. The press release had gone out from her offi
ce earlier, and as much as she dreaded having to answer more questions about the Thunder, she decided out of a sense of professional courtesy to give a few of the better reporters a call.

  She’d barely made a dent in her list when Rick Grange left a message saying he had breaking news she’d want to hear. When she got him on the line, he’d told her he’d talked to Geoffrey just a short time earlier. Her uncle had apparently said he’d been in touch with Tony Branch’s partner, and had implied to Grange that Branch was in the driver’s seat in terms of the sale. Choking back bile, Martha had tried not to sound surprised or upset at the startling news. According to Grange, when he pressed for details as to the state of negotiations, her idiot uncle had fortunately had to brains to clam up.

  Martha spent the hour after that call bouncing off the walls—livid at Geoffrey, but also furious with Tony for playing footsies with the treacherous snake. Pacing from one end of the kitchen to the other, she called both Geoffrey’s cell phone and his house multiple times but he wouldn’t pick up. Given the killing mood she was in, she couldn’t really blame him.

  As the hours passed, she waited in vain for a call from Tony, overcome with such a deep sense of anger and betrayal that she thought she might stroke out. What a naïve fool she’d been to trust him in the first place, since all he really cared about was getting his hands on the Thunder.

  Never had she missed her father’s support and advice more than she did now. She stalked around his empty, echoing house, climbing up the stairs and back down again, unable to sit still as she tried to bleed off the nervous energy that was tying her in knots.

  By the time the last of the sun’s rays were disappearing across the sweeping expanse of the St. John’s River behind the house, Martha couldn’t stand it anymore. Way past caring that it was well after midnight in London, she dialed Tony’s cell number.

  Just as she thought his voice mail was about to kick in, Tony answered. “Hullo?” His voice was a sleep-filled rumble.

  I’m really going to kill him.

  “Branch, you miserable S.O.B. You’ve been sleeping in your comfy bed, all nice and cozy, you creep, while I’m sitting here with my insides twisted like an Auntie Anne’s pretzel.”

  “Jesus, Martha.” His feet hit the floor with a thud that she heard clearly. “Do you happen to know what time it is over here?”

  “Hell, yes, I do,” she yelled into the phone. “It’s time for you to tell me why in the name of all that’s holy you’ve been conniving with my sack of shit uncle!” She paced across her office, barely noticing the TV she’d turned on a few minutes ago to catch the kickoff of the Thunder-Phoenix match. She’d never missed a home game, but there was no way she would go anywhere JaxBank Stadium tonight.

  “Calm down,” Tony said in a stern voice, “so maybe we can have something like an intelligent conversation. Because so far I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Hah!” Martha snorted, letting her pent-up anger and disgust spew out across the line. “You’re actually saying you don’t know what your minion Rex Daltry has been up to today? You’re not aware that he was having a little chat with Geoffrey this afternoon, scheming about how to apply pressure on me to sell to you instead of Steam Train? Is that your story?”

  She gave the leg of her desk a petulant kick, then collapsed to the floor, rubbing her aching toes as she mentally cursed herself for being such a moron. She didn’t bother to get up.

  “Christ, is that what Geoffrey told you?”

  “Oh, I wish. No, the worm won’t return my calls. I heard it from a reporter who talked to Geoffrey. He told me Geoffrey strongly hinted that he was working with you guys, and you had the inside track on a deal to buy the team.” She leaned against the wall, shaking her head with disgust. “Jesus, Tony, I had to hear that from a frigging reporter!”

  “Bollocks.” Rising anger laced Tony’s voice, but Martha wasn’t sure if it was directed at her or Geoffrey, or both. “Martha, you know better than anyone not to listen to that kind of shite from the press. They’ve always got their own agendas, and they’ll say anything to get a reaction.”

  Knowing he wasn’t far wrong, she chewed that over for a few seconds. “So, you’re denying that Rex talked to Geoffrey?” she asked in a marginally less pissed off voice.

  “No, Rex called him, all right. But only to sound him out on what if anything he knew about Steam Train’s intentions. And that’s as far as it went. Anything else is your uncle’s fabrication.”

  Martha pulled her legs up and rested her weary head on her knees, trying to sort through the morass of emotion, instinct, and logic swamping her brain. Instinctively, she believed Tony because Geoffrey adored playing mind games. He’d been doing that with her since the day she arrived in Jacksonville to take over the Thunder, just like he’d done it for decades to her father. For some reason, the arrogant fool thought it gave him an edge over everyone else. In reality, it just isolated him.

  “Maybe,” she finally acknowledged. “But in any case, you should never have been talking to Geoffrey behind my back. No matter what the reason. You should have come directly to me, Tony, and I’m hurt as hell that you didn’t.” The little quaver that slipped into her voice was proof on that score.

  She heard a muffled curse over the phone, followed by a heavy sigh. Then several seconds of fraught silence.

  “All right, Martha,” he finally said. “I understand why you feel that way, but I assure you that I was going to come to you. In my defense, I have to say you’re your uncle is an independent player, and a troublesome, erratic one at that. So, I expect there could be things he’s been up to that neither of us has any idea about.”

  Martha heard floorboards creaking and envisioned him pacing back and forth across the old, beautifully worn planks in his bedroom. A sudden and intense desire to be with him, snuggled up in his bed, jabbed her hard in the chest.

  “Look, love,” he continued in a softer voice, “the simple truth is that I asked Rex to call him because I wanted to find out every scrap of information I could before I talked to you. Does that make sense?”

  Right now Martha wasn’t sure what made sense anymore, so she didn’t answer his question. “Exactly when, then, were you planning on talking to me, my friend?”

  No doubt when you’ve got all your ducks lined up in perfect formation.

  “Tomorrow. Rex has booked a flight to leave for Jacksonville in the morning. Which, incidentally, is why I was sound asleep before you rousted me from my warm bed.” He gave a sexy little chuckle. “Though it’s sure not as warm or inviting as when you were here lying next to me.”

  “Tomorrow?” Martha said, stunned. “You’re coming here tomorrow?”

  “Yes, and I’m bringing Ginny with me.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  The next morning, Martha dropped into Starbucks on her way to the office, picking up the papers and a latté for herself and a cappuccino for Jane. Her mind remained stuck on what had happened last night.

  After her call with Tony—and the astonishing news that he was bringing Ginny Cross with him—she’d forced herself to watch snippets of the live game coverage and the sports news, painful as it was. The most brutal part had been to watch the SportsNet cameras panning across the ridiculously sparse crowd. Brutal, but instructive, too, considering the fans’ signs. One young man had held up a hand-lettered placard on neon green cardboard. At last, hope! was the message spelled out in crude capital letters. A few rows back, another sign had featured even more wounding sentiments. Goodbye, Martha! Hello, Tony!

  The most popular one though, at least in terms of the volume of cheers she’d heard, had been picked up by the TV cameras time and time again. A well-endowed, thirty-something blond woman kept standing up and dancing around in a hundred-eighty degree arc with a sign saying: Tony Branch: God Save The Team! Martha’s already queasy stomach had rebelled at the terrible pun.

  Fortunately, not one sign she saw had expressed support for Steam Train,
though that may have been more of a comment on the quality of Steam Train beer than anything else. But the discussion by the announcer and the color commentator had focused almost entirely on Tony, too. The excitement in both the TV booth and the stands had seemed palpable.

  As she made her way from the elevator to the team office, Martha couldn’t help wondering when Steam Train had found out about Tony’s interest in the Thunder. Would Geoffrey have told them before Malone came after her with his offer? She still hadn’t been able to reach her uncle, who was clearly in hiding, but she sure wouldn’t put it past him. Or would Malone have learned it from the media yesterday afternoon, like everybody else?

  When Martha elbowed open the door to the Thunder office, Jane rose from her desk and rushed forward to take her cappuccino from Martha’s outstretched hand. She gave her boss a tight, one-armed hug. “You look like you barely slept, girl.”

  “Sleep is over-rated,” Martha said. “Any calls this morning? Aside from reporters, that is.”

  “Only one you need to know about—from Rance Frigging Malone. I left his number in the middle of your desk. He actually asked me to give him your cell number, and didn’t sound one little bit happy when I told him no way. The arrogant jerk told me to make sure you called him back the second you got the message.”

  “Oh, I’ll just bet he did.” Malone and his pals must have had a collective heart attack to find out Tony was going to jump into the game, especially with the immediately obvious fan and media support. “As for my cell number, you are such an unrepentant liar, my dear friend. But, fortunately, you are also a very good one.” Martha blew her friend a kiss and headed to her office.

  As she sipped her latté, she seriously considered letting Malone stew for a few hours. But curiosity soon got the better of her and she dialed his number.