by V. K. Sykes
“Well, that’s just too damn bad.” Martha perched on the edge of the couch and glowered at him. “I bet you never stopped busting your ass, even when you were at odds with the manager over tactics.”
“No, I didn’t, love,” he said, gently pulling her to sit beside him. “But that doesn’t solve our problem, does it?” His gaze drew troubled as he studied her. “Unfortunately, Kavanagh despises you, too, for allowing Brockton and McLeod to have their way.”
Martha had her own little secret on that score, one that until a minute ago she may never have divulged to Tony—or to anyone, for that matter. The whole thing was so embarrassing and ugly that she hated to even share it. But Tony had come clean with her about Kavanagh, so she felt obliged to do the same. “That’s sure not the only reason the jerk hates me.”
Tony shot her a questioning look. She shifted, suddenly as uncomfortable as hell and dreading his reaction.
“Just tell me,” he said, squeezing her shoulders.
“Derek Kavanagh thinks he’s God’s gift to the whole damn world, and especially to every woman on the face of the planet,” she blurted out. “You must know that about him.”
Tony nodded, his face transforming into a grim mask. He obviously sensed what was coming next. “Go on.”
“He must have figured I’d count myself blessed that he would deign to proposition a southern rube like me.” She sighed. “It happened the evening after Kieran introduced us, no less. The three of us were having a get-to-know-you drink at a downtown bar. When Kieran excused himself to go to the rest room, Kavanagh stuck his paw on my leg and suggested we blow off Kieran and go to his apartment.”
Martha’s stomach twisted at the memory. “My father had died barely a week earlier, Tony, and that son of a bitch was hitting on me in a bar. That’s the kind of man you were dealing with—a rat-bag low-life if there ever was one.”
“Son of a bitch,” Tony growled, hugging her close.
“Obviously, I told him to go fuck his hat, though I suppose I might have been a wee bit less colorful than that. Since then, Kavanagh’s barely said a word to me. And when he does, it’s always sarcastic and juvenile.”
Tony pressed a kiss on her forehead and nestled her against his chest. They remained like that for a few quiet minutes, while Martha’s pounding heart settled and the anger drained from her body.
Finally, Tony stirred. “Martha, listen. Believe me, I would love nothing better than to hunt down Derek Kavanagh right now and give him the thrashing he so richly deserves. And maybe someday I’ll do just that. But in the meantime, I guarantee you that I’m going to read him the Riot Act. About absolutely everything, including the way he’s treated you.”
Martha sighed again. “It’s okay. I know we need him, Tony. It kills me to say it, but we do. I trust your judgment on this.”
As soon as the words left her lips, she felt the truth of them resonate deep inside her. She did trust Tony to do the right thing—both for her and for the team her father loved so much. After all she’d been through with the Thunder those two things were inextricably linked. She could no more turn her back on her legacy than she could on the man beside her.
He gave her a squeeze. “That’s my girl. The good news is that the jerk promised to play his arse off if and when I managed to buy the team. And he said he’ll do it even if Brockton and McLeod remain in their jobs. I’m sorry I kept that from you, but I thought I had to if the deal was going to ever get done.” He tipped her chin up, gazing into her eyes. “But no more secrets from now on, I promise.”
Martha smiled up at him, her anger having dissipated in the face of his apology as well as the logic of his argument. “I know you’re right. As much as I hate to admit it, that pig is the key. For now, anyway.”
Tony planted a lingering kiss on her lips. “You’re the best woman alive, Martha, and I’m a lucky bastard to have you in my life.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said airily as she pulled away to face him square-on. “But I need you to promise me one thing, Tony Branch.”
“Anything, love.”
“Promise me that when Kavanagh has played well enough that he’s worth more than a sack of grits, we’ll trade his scumbag ass out of here.”
Tony kissed her forehead. “The very same day. I promise.” Then he grinned. “By the way, how much is a sack of grits worth, anyway?”
When Martha poked him in the side, he laughed and drew her back into his arms. With love in her heart and peace at last in her soul, she gladly went.
CHAPTER THIRTY
After checking her coat, Martha led Tony into the cheerfully noisy restaurant in Little Italy. Immediately, her eyes rounded with laughing surprise because she’d never seen Umberto’s decked out quite like this.
Holding fast to Tony’s arm, she guided him around the edges of the Philadelphia restaurant where Nate’s family was hosting his wedding rehearsal dinner. A couple of dozen blown-up photographs of Nate and Holly had replaced the sedate scenes of Italian countryside that normally graced the room’s flocked burgundy wallpaper. Quite a few were candid photos of the couple taken at the Children’s Hospital where Holly worked as a pediatric surgeon and where Nate volunteered. In pride of place, though, were half a dozen shots of Nate in uniform on the field, or grinning in a tux as he accepted the league MVP and Cy Young awards. Martha suspected that Jake Miller and his wife Maddie were the culprits behind those ego-stroking glossies.
Martha smiled when she caught sight of the bridal couple on the other side of the restaurant, chatting with some guests. She and Tony had only arrived in Philly that afternoon and hadn’t yet had a chance to see Nate and Holly.
“Have you ever seen a more gorgeous pair of lovebirds, Tony? There’s got to be some world-class beautiful babies set to come from those spectacular genes.”
Tony cast a glance where Martha directed and a sardonic smile lifted his lips. “Holly is surely one gorgeous lady, although not as gorgeous as you. But Nate Carter? With his ugly mug?”
Martha laughed. It would be too much to ask a stud like Tony to label another man as gorgeous. “You hush up now, or I’m going to have to find someone with better manners to escort me to the wedding tomorrow.”
Tony slipped his arm around her waist and gave her a possessive squeeze. “Just try it, love, and see what happens,” he growled in a fake macho voice.
She was more than happy to nestle into his embrace. In fact, her darn cup of happiness overflowed so much that it brought joyful tears to her eyes as she surveyed the chattering group of friends and family that had assembled to celebrate Nate and Holly’s wedding festivities.
As she and Tony wended their way through the crowd, her editor, Martin James, elbowed his way straight toward them through a clump of ballplayers and their wives. Martha gave her old boss a peck on the cheek as he hugged her tightly. “Glad you could make it, Papa Bear.”
“Me, too. But, God, it’s colder than my ex-wife’s heart outside and yet it’s like a damn oven in here. Probably because ballplayers throw off a lot of heat, especially when they open their mouths.” Grinning, Martin pulled a white handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his damp brow. “Still, I wouldn’t miss this dinner or the wedding. Especially not with my superstar reporter actually in town for once.”
“Superstar, my ass, you old windbag.” She turned to Tony and introduced the two men, who shook hands.
“Tony,” Martin said, still pumping his hand, “I owe you big for bringing Ginny Cross to Martha. Ginny’s a hell of a courageous woman, and I’m damn glad she’s getting some justice at last.”
“As am I,” Tony said in a polite, neutral voice.
“The paper’s never had a feature bought world-wide, much less two of them,” Martin said. “Not a sports feature, anyway. Both articles went front page almost everywhere—Europe, Asia, Australia, you name it. Hell, Martha can practically write her own ticket from now on, but don’t quote me on that,” he finished with a sly wink.
To
ny nodded. “I’m very proud of Martha. She’s a consummate professional.”
Martha knew Tony’s concise words were totally sincere but she couldn’t help wincing a little at the slight edge that had crept into his tone. Tony had been really proud of Ginny for letting Martha document her story. When the first article was published, the one heralding Colton Butler’s comeback, it had hinted at an even darker side to the famous golfer than his sordid affairs had already revealed. And after the follow-up article hit, accusing Colton of continuous spousal abuse over a period of years, all hell had broken loose. Colton again withdrew from competition, and his sponsors fled in droves this time. The London Metropolitan Police had recently launched an investigation, and Martha was fervently hoping they would judge that there was enough evidence to lay charges against the abuser.
But in a Hail Mary attempt to salvage something out of the debacle, Colton had launched a defamation lawsuit naming the Post, Martha and Ginny as respondents. According to the newspaper’s lawyers, the suit had very little chance of success since Ginny had documented the abuse in both diaries and photos that she’d kept locked away in case she ever needed them to defend herself against Colton. Martha figured Colton would drop the suit soon enough, especially if the police investigation resulted in charges.
Tony, of course, had taken grim satisfaction from seeing Colton brought to his knees. But the personal cost to Ginny troubled him, as it did Martha. Ginny had stoutly maintained that she felt a sense of vindication, but Martha and Tony both knew that this most private of women had suffered greatly after the sordid details of her tragic married life were splashed over the front pages, the airwaves and the Internet. As much as Martha took pride in engineering Colton’s fall, she prayed constantly that time would confirm they had indeed done the right thing with Ginny.
Anxious to close down the uncomfortable topic of discussion, Martha gave her editor an apologetic smile. “Excuse us, Martin, but I need to give that Nate Carter fella a talking-to right now. Catch you later, okay?”
As Martin mumbled his assent, she took Tony’s hand and dragged him in her wake toward the bridal couple on the other side of the room. Holly spotted the two of them immediately and yanked on Nate’s arm to get his attention.
“Martha!” Holly cried out, and the two women rushed to embrace each other while Nate and Tony engaged in some manly back-thumping.
Martha held Holly at arm’s length, taking in her tall, willowy form. For the rehearsal dinner, Holly had chosen a simple, knee-length silk sheath in emerald green that blended perfectly with her lustrous auburn hair and vivid hazel eyes. “You are simply a vision,” Martha exclaimed with pride and affection. “The South has produced nothing finer in all its gloried history than Dr. Holly Bell.”
Holly gave Martha an eye roll though she was grinning. “Nonsense. That title has always belonged to you, Martha Winston, and always will.” They both laughed and hugged each other again.
“Will you two knock off the girl crush stuff?” Nate interjected. “Geez, you’re marrying me, not her,” he complained in a faux aggrieved voice. “And I have no intention of taking Miss Martha Pain in the Ass along on my honeymoon.”
Faking a pout, Holly patted her fiancé’s cheek. “You’ll have to forgive the poor dear—he tends to get a little testy when I give him anything less than one hundred percent of my attention.” Then she turned to Tony. “You certainly look as handsome as always, Mr. Branch. God love you, but you must never let this amazing woman get away. I want to be following Martha down the aisle soon, just like she’s doing for me tomorrow.”
Tony looked at Martha with mock alarm, his eyes laughing.
“Hold on, now,” Martha said before he could open his mouth. “Holly Bell, whatever could have given you the notion I’d have this British hooligan if he asked?” She poked her elbow into Tony’s muscled abs.
Holly put a finger to her chin as she adopted a thoughtful expression. “Well, I guess it’s because I know for certain that you do have a brain inside that lovely head. Oh, and because there are several million women eager to jump right into those wicked heels of yours if you don’t. The man is smoking hot, for heaven’s sake!”
Tony actually blushed, which was Nate’s cue to burst into laughter. The two men began ribbing each other while Holly and Martha did a quick catch up on the day’s events.
But Martha’s good cheer soon gave way to a soft groan when she spotted Dave Dembinski, the Philadelphia Patriots’ general manager, heading their way. She regarded the guy as a pompous blowhard, and had been surprised to learn Nate had invited him to the wedding given their sometimes tense working relationship. But Nate had told her he couldn’t avoid inviting Dembinski since he wanted to have several of the other managerial and front office staff in attendance.
Dembinski was accompanied by a dazzling, curvaceous blonde who looked about twenty years younger than him. Martha didn’t recognize her, and figured she must be another in Dembinski’s revolving stable of girlfriends.
The GM clapped Nate on the back before shaking his hand. “Congratulations, Carter. Gotta hand it to you, you’re one lucky bastard to be marrying a woman of Dr. Bell’s quality.”
“No, I’m the lucky one, Dave,” Holly said with a smile that held a fine edge of contempt. Nate frowned but managed to hold his tongue, which Martha knew was a major feat.
Dembinski gave a phony chuckle as he turned to Martha. “Hey, Martha. Long time no see.” He reached a hand out to Tony. “And you’re Tony Branch, right? I’m Dave Dembinski, Patriots’ GM. Really good to meet you,” he said with grating enthusiasm.
Tony politely shook his hand and murmured the appropriate noises.
Dembinski nodded toward the woman standing quietly by his side. “Nate, you know Taylor, of course. Everyone else, I’d like to include Taylor Page, our new assistant general manager.”
Martha did a double-take. The new babe didn’t exactly fit the mold of the assistant GM’s she’d run across.
“I’m so pleased to meet all of you,” Page said with a warm smile after the introductions were made. “Holly, you’re an absolute goddess in that gorgeous, elegant dress. I can’t wait to see your wedding gown tomorrow.”
As Holly thanked Page for the compliment, Martha checked out the new AGM. And she wasn’t the only one doing exactly that. In a tight LBD and skyscraper heels, the blue-eyed young woman was something of a knockout with her silky, blond hair that flowed over one shoulder, and her slim-waisted figure appeared to be drawing quite a bit of male attention. Nate and Tony were among those discreetly appreciating Ms. Page’s considerable assets.
Martha couldn’t resist slipping a hand under Tony’s suit coat and giving his firm butt a pinch. Her beau shot her a laughing look then switched his attention back to the conversation.
“I brought Taylor as my plus-one, so she could meet some folks,” Dembinski said. “She just joined our management team at the beginning of the month. I figured a brainiac might be able to help a dinosaur like me get into the twenty-first century.”
Martha swore that Page gave Nate a little eye roll.
“It’s great to see you again, Taylor,” Nate said with a gracious smile. “By the way, Dave, I know Jack was looking for you earlier,” he added, referring to Patriots’ manager Jack Ault. “I think he’s in the other room.”
Dembinski frowned, seeming to take the hint that he’d interrupted a conversation. “Well, I suppose I’d better find him, then.” As he guided Page away, she smiled and fluttered a hand in farewell.
“I gather you don’t much care for that man,” Tony said to Nate.
Nate snorted. “Dembinski’s an arrogant jackass. He almost drove my buddy Jake off the team a couple of seasons ago.”
“I’ll tell you the whole gruesome story sometime,” Martha said to Tony. “But Nate’s right—the guy’s a turd of a human being, even though he’s been a halfway decent general manager.”
“Halfway is right,” Nate muttered. “Though I guess I hav
e to give him credit for hiring Taylor. She’s got a lot of potential, as far as I can tell. But, speaking of management, let’s move on to a more pleasant subject. Man, Tony, you’ve been doing one hell of a job with Martha’s sad-sack soccer club.”
Martha threw a quick left jab that connected solidly with Nate’s bicep. “If it wasn’t your wedding, Carter…” She let her voice trail off menacingly.
“Ouch.” Nate winced dramatically, holding his arm. “Hell, six wins and a draw out of your last eight games—that’s pretty much a miracle by anybody’s standards, bro. What’s your secret?”
Martha rolled her eyes as Tony gave Nate a bland smile. “Dumb luck, I suppose,” Tony said. “Football’s a funny game. Anything can happen on any given night.”
She appreciated Tony’s attempt to downplay his almost miraculous achievement, but Martha wasn’t going to let him get away with it.
“Dumb luck, my behind,” she scoffed. “Tony’s turned that bunch of under-achievers inside out, y’all. He brought Owen Clark over from England to be assistant manager, and leaned real hard on Sam Brockton to adopt Owen’s attacking style of play. Brockton got the message, and so did the players. We scored eighteen goals in those last eight games, compared to nine in the previous eight matches.”
“Gave up a few more, too,” Tony said with a grimace, but she could tell he was flattered, as well as justifiably proud of the team’s success.
“Sure, but we kept winning,” Martha countered. “And next year’s looking promising, too. Season ticket sales jumped as soon as Tony got on board, and then really took off once the team started playing more exciting soccer.”
“I’m sure your father would have been terribly proud of you, Martha,” Holly said in a soft voice, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze.
“I agree,” Tony said. “But do you know what else our fans are happy about?”
