by V. K. Sykes
“Thanks for calling back, Martha. I appreciate it,” the Steam Train boss said in a tone that sounded a shade more humble than yesterday’s.
She ladled on a dollop of insincerity. “No problem, Rance. Mind you, I’ve been a little busy since we last talked, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Of course you have. Of course you have,” Malone repeated unnecessarily. “I’ll get right to the point, then. Martha, it’s become public knowledge that you’re entertaining a bid from Tony Branch for the team. So, let’s get that on the table right away. And I have to say I wish you’d mentioned that to me yesterday when we talked.”
“Why would I do that, Rance? I wasn’t any more interested in selling to Branch than I was to you.” She wondered if he’d pick up on her use of the past tense.
If he did, he ignored it. “Well, it’s changed the landscape a little, I’ll admit. So, how about we meet right now and figure out exactly what might make you put your name on a sale agreement?”
Oh, joy, another face to face with Rance the Wiener. Not likely. “I’d rather you just say what’s on your mind now, if you don’t mind.”
He blew out an exasperated breath. “Very well. If you wish. Martha, Steam Train is prepared to table a new offer if you’re prepared to get this done without any further delay.”
“Well, you just table away, then,” Martha said as she spun around in her chair to look out the window at the Jacksonville skyline. “Heck, this is getting to be almost fun, isn’t it?”
Not really, but she couldn’t resist yanking Malone’s chain. She could hear frustration underlying every word he’d said—frustration that the insignificant Martha Winston stood in the way of a powerful CEO acquiring his new toy.
“Well, how much is it going to take?” he said more sharply. “I gave you a number yesterday, so it’s your turn to give me one back. That’s how negotiations work.”
Then he caught himself, softening his tone. “What I mean to say, Martha, is that Steam Train is very serious about finalizing this deal immediately. But it’s impossible to negotiate with myself. I really do need you to give me something I can work with.”
Martha had no intention of spending even one minute negotiating with Malone, at least not before hearing what Tony had to say when he arrived this afternoon. She was waiting for that particular conversation with bated breath.
“It’s not going to work that way, Rance. Sorry, but if you want to make another offer then go ahead whenever you’re ready. I promise to consider it promptly, along with any other proposals that might come my way.” She paused for effect. “But you need to know that I may well not accept any offer in the end.”
He gave a loud snort, his derision carrying through the phone. “Seriously, Martha? You must be forgetting what a box you’re in.”
“Ah, thank you so much for reminding me. I’ll just say goodbye now, Rance.”
“Hold on,” Malone exclaimed in an almost panicked voice. “All right, Martha. No more games. You want to hear my offer? Fine, then, here it is. Steam Train is prepared to do 13.5 million for your team. That means 10.1 split between you and Geoffrey, with the remaining 3.4 going to pay off your accumulated debt.” He sucked in an audible breath. “Hell, you and I both know that’s way more than we should be paying, all things considered. But there it is.”
Despite his bluster, Malone’s new offer held little surprise for Martha, other than possibly its timing. As soon as she’d glimpsed the support that was already building for Tony in the community, she’d figured Steam Train would be sharpening their pencils and coming up with a preemptive bid to forestall whatever Tony might decide to put before her. “That’s a firm offer, I take it,” she said, “or does it self-destruct in an hour?”
“You can take it as firm. I can’t hold a gun to your head to make you give us an answer, but I’d sure appreciate a quick one. Like today.” Malone was breathing even more heavily now. “Martha, no doubt you’re thinking you can get us involved in some kind of a bidding war with Branch. But if that’s the case, you need to know right now that it’s not going to work. I’ve given you our best offer, and we’re not moving off it.”
“Right,” Martha said in a dubious voice. “That’s certainly good to know, so thanks for the candor. Now, I’ve got a question for you, Rance.”
“Sure. Shoot.”
Now was the perfect moment to hit him with the big one. “My question to you—and it’s a critical one—is this. If I should decide to sell the team to somebody, I assure you that money isn’t going to be the only issue.”
She paused to let him sweat over that salvo before she laid her bottom line on him.
“Well, what else?” he asked impatiently.
“Here’s what else. I’ve got a wonderful team of loyal folks in my office and in field management. Folks who’ve worked their butts off for me and for my father before me. So, Rance, whoever buys this team, if anybody does, is going to have to agree to keep those people on. I want that written in ironclad terms into any sale agreement.”
Martha didn’t hear a thump as Malone hit the floor, so maybe he didn’t have the coronary she’d envisioned. While she had no confidence that she could actually make her demand stick with either Steam Train or Tony, she was going to fight for it until the very end. Tony had already rejected her demand, at least as far as the GM and field manager positions were concerned, so she needed to hear what Malone might be prepared to do. If anything.
“Oh, Jesus Christ, Martha,” Malone snapped. “Come on. You can’t expect to saddle new ownership with your deadwood. Hell, I’m sorry but that’s just crazy.”
Deadwood? Well, I guess there’s my answer in a single word. “You don’t say? Well, crazy or not, it’s my bottom line,” she retorted.
Malone didn’t say anything for a good ten seconds.
“Okay, you’re saying you want 13.5 million bucks, plus jobs for all your staff,” he finally muttered. “That’s what it’s going to take to get this done?” Anxiety bled through his tone, telling Martha how anxious the brewery was to get hold of the Thunder.
She kept a firm hold on the surge of hope that wanted to leap through her. “Let’s just say it would make your offer a whole lot more interesting.”
“I don’t know,” he said dubiously. “I suppose there might be a chance we could meet you part way on that. But you’ll have to leave it with me for a little while. This isn’t some small thing you’re asking, Martha. It’s just not done in my world.”
Yeah, well, your world sucks. “You’ve got my number,” she cooed.
“Yes, I’ve got this one, but I don’t have your cell number. That assistant of yours refused to give it to me.”
Martha would still rather jump into a pit of vipers than to sell to Steam Train, but she knew she’d be plain foolish to slam the door in Malone’s face. Especially since he hadn’t ruled out her final demand. “Got a pen handy, Rance?”
* * *
Before heading home to meet Nate for lunch, Martha skimmed a batch of newspapers along with some Internet sites. Most articles and columns reproduced the wire stories she’d already looked at. Steam Train was generally portrayed as a heavy hitter in terms of ability to pay, while Tony Branch’s involvement was characterized as a bold, exciting British invasion. SportsNet and a handful of Florida papers had expressed enthusiasm about Steam Train, extolling the brewery as a solid Florida-based company with deep roots in Jacksonville and other communities, as well as in Georgia and Alabama. Everywhere, Martha herself had been depicted as a well-meaning but essentially hapless owner who had, if anything, accelerated the Thunder’s precipitous decline into soccer ignominy.
While it made her gut churn, the portrayals weren’t entirely at odds with the way she saw herself these days.
Nate had called early that morning as he was leaving Philadelphia to say his flight plan had him landing at Craig Airport around twelve-thirty. So, just before noon, Martha ordered takeout burgers, fries and mixed green salads from
a diner on Beach Boulevard that was locally famous for thick, juicy burgers made from organic beef. Nate phoned from Craig just as she picked the food up, estimating that he’d be at her place in fifteen minutes. She made it home in ten, with the burgers and fries still good and hot in their cardboard containers.
After she stowed the burgers and fries in the oven to keep warm, she did a quick set of the kitchen table and pulled together a pitcher of iced tea. Everything was now ready for Nate’s arrival. In fact, she kept impatiently checking her watch, eager for her buddy to show. She wasn’t too proud to admit that she desperately needed someone right now who would be totally trustworthy and on her side, and Nate sure fit the bill.
When the doorbell rang, Martha practically ran across the foyer to greet him.
“Hey, kiddo.” Nate swept her into a giant hug. “How is it humanly possible for you to look sexier every time I lay eyes on you?” He glanced at her backside. “I mean, that ass of yours is totally to die for. Almost as good as Holly’s, in fact.”
Martha gave him a good-natured swat on the arm as she stepped out of his embrace. He always ragged her about being the sexiest thing Georgia had ever produced, and she usually gave him a shot right back. They both knew the banter was total crap, but today she just wanted to bask in his affectionate ribbing.
“If you ever stop talking about my ass, Carter, I’ll know I’m getting close to ready for the old folks’ home,” she said with a grin.
“Never gonna happen,” he said.
Martha took his lightweight, brown leather jacket. As always, she gave a little snort at the sight of his tattoo, only partly visible under his short-sleeved tee shirt. Of course, she’d seen the rest of the ink many times—a fierce-looking tornado sucking a tiny batter into its vortex, a reference to his awesome pitching skills. On anyone else it might have looked a little silly, but on Nate’s tall, brawny frame it had always seemed entirely appropriate.
“Burgers, fries and salad for lunch,” she said, hanging his jacket up in the hall closet. “Not homemade, I’m sorry to say, but still your favorites.”
“Ah, comfort food. Bring it on, babe.”
While Nate went to wash up, Martha arranged the food onto plates and set them on the table along with the iced tea. She had no qualms about serving her friend such a basic, no-fuss meal. He was a no fuss kind of guy, and usually ordered in pizza when he invited her to his apartment.
When they sat down, Nate shot her an assessing look. “Your team made the news in Philly, pal, and I gotta say it surprised the hell out of me. A fight between a brewery and Tony Branch, of all people. Who’d have believed it?” He reached for the pitcher and poured iced tea into their glasses.
“Knocked me right off my pins,” Martha replied, trying for a wry smile. From the sympathetic look that appeared in his dark eyes, she was sure it came off as a grimace.
“No kidding. I know you don’t want to sell, and I understand about the promise you made your dad, but does this change things? The competition, I mean.”
Martha gave a gloomy shrug. “I’ve only got one actual offer so far, from Steam Train, though I’m no doubt going to get one from Branch when we meet this afternoon.” That was true, since Tony had never talked numbers up to now. “I don’t want to have to sell, but with the line of credit snatched away…” She didn’t finish the sentence.
Nate reached across and gave her hand a squeeze. “Look, on that note, Holly and I had a long talk about this situation. We want to do whatever we can to help you get through this crunch. So, you need to tell me how much cash you need to keep the wolves away from your door until the season is over.” Then, as if he hadn’t just dumped a mind-boggling sentence on her, he opened his burger and slapped a huge glob of mustard on the top half of the bun.
Martha froze, her burger halfway to her mouth. She’d certainly expected Nate to provide a comforting shoulder and some much-needed cheer, but it had never crossed her mind that he might actually offer her money.
“God, Nate,” she managed, dropping her burger onto her plate. “We’re talking millions, and that’s just to be able to keep paying the players and staff. On top of that there’s the bank loan and a bunch of other payables.”
He snorted. “The number doesn’t matter. The kind of money we’re talking about here, hell, I can cover something like that with no sweat,” He spread a white sheet of mayo onto the already loaded burger. “You know how much they pay me to do those crazy after-shave and body wash commercials? Well, Holly and I can’t think of a better way to use some of that money than to help out our best friend in time of need.”
He bit off a huge mouthful while she gaped at him. “It’s not like you wouldn’t do the same for Holly and me if we were in trouble,” he said after he swallowed.
Martha was well aware of the enormous salary the Patriots were shelling out to Nate under his latest mega-contract, as well as the tens of millions he earned through lucrative product endorsements. Hell, if he wanted to, he could buy her team outright without stressing his investment portfolio.
But while she had nothing in principle against accepting financial help from a dear friend, under these particular circumstances she had to say no.
“I could never ask for better friends than you and Holly,” Martha finally managed past the lump in her throat. “And I can’t tell you how much it means to me to hear you say that.”
“Great. Problem solved,” Nate said before taking another big chomp.
Martha gave him a regretful smile. Nate had a way of trying to turn even the most serious challenges into easily-navigated bumps in the road of life. And he usually succeeded through a combination of brains, brawn, and sheer bull-headedness.
“I’m afraid not, hon. Think about it for a minute. The only way I would agree to even think about accepting that kind of monster loan from you would be if I was one hundred and ten per cent sure I’d be able to pay it back. But, frankly, right now I’m not even ten per cent sure I could. Turning the team around at this point is a real long shot, to be brutally honest.”
Nate shrugged as he put the burger down. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you’ll never know unless you try. And, hey, if I do wind up taking a bath on the investment, at least I’ll get a sweet tax write-off.”
“Don’t you dare try to make this sound as if it’s no big deal, Nate Carter,” Martha scolded, wagging a finger. “You know very well I couldn’t live with myself if I wound up costing you and Holly millions of dollars. Not a chance in hell that’s going to happen. But thank you from the bottom of my heart for your incredible generosity. I swear I’ll never forget it as long as I live.” She paused as her throat started to tighten. “Hey, we’d better focus on demolishing these delicious burgers before they get any colder, okay?”
She and Nate argued for several more minutes, though, until he finally capitulated. “Stubborn, hard ass woman,” he grumbled. “I’ve never been able to change your mind about anything.”
Martha stuck her tongue out at him before answering. “I suppose that’s why Holly Bell got to be the lucky woman to rein in Nate Carter, not me. Though God knows I can’t understand why an absolute knockout of a surgeon couldn’t have done better than marrying your sorry butt.”
Nate’s expression turned goofy and adoring—which seemed to happen whenever he looked at his fianceé, or even thought about her. “You got that right. I’m the luckiest dude on the planet.”
Martha knew he meant every word too, and nothing was going to make her happier than to see Nate and Holly joined together as husband and wife, especially after the travails they had gone through to find each other. “I’ll say, but she’s a darn lucky woman, too.”
Nate unleashed a lopsided grin. “Enough with the mushy stuff, pal. Let’s get back to business. I take it you’re going to wind up selling the team, then.”
She nodded. “I guess so, if I can figure out how I’m going to face Daddy at the pearly gates. Assuming I ever get up there, that is.”
“There’ll
be a parade of angels in your honor that day,” Nate said with affection. “I know how much that promise meant to you, so of course you’re going to feel like crap about what’s happened. But, hell, you worked your ass off to turn a really bad team around.” He reached over and took her hand again, meeting her gaze dead-on. “So, as far as I’m concerned it’s time to get over it, babe. You don’t honor your dad’s memory by torturing yourself over this.”
Martha flinched even though she shouldn’t have been surprised. Nate had always been brutally frank with her.
She pulled her hand away. “You mean get over a promise I made at the very bedside of my dying father? A vow he literally begged me to make? Oh, sure, that’ll be a snap, pal. I’ll get right on that.”
If anyone else had spoken to her like Nate just had, Martha would have probably dumped the pitcher of iced tea on his head. But they were used to sharing hard truths with each other.
Which didn’t make this particular truth any easier to take.
Nate’s gaze morphed into that no-bullshit, hard as flint look she’d seen so many times.
“Hey, don’t give me that,” he said. “How many years did I know Will? Six or seven? You know I loved him, and admired him in a hundred ways. But he was dead wrong to ask that of you. He was obsessed with getting that soccer franchise, and then obsessed with making it into some kind of permanent legacy.”
He leaned both arms on the table as Martha shook her head, letting his gaze bore into her. “Don’t do that, babe. Don’t shake your head at me. You know damn well I’m right, because we used to joke about how demented he was when it came to that team. Right up until he laid that promise crap on you.”
She hunched her shoulders, crossing her arms across her chest. She wanted to deny it but she couldn’t, so she took refuge in silence.
Nate visibly throttled back his irritation. “If you’re not going to take help from Holly and me, then the only choice left is to sell to one of these bidders,” he said in a softer voice. “And to make the best you can out of a rotten situation. Just don’t make it about your guilt, okay? You owe it to yourself and the people who work for you to do the best you can with these offers. Your dad would have wanted you to do that, not poison yourself with guilt and regret.”
