Smooth Play

by Regina Hart

  Andrea chose the first open chair in the row, refusing to isolate herself from the other journalists. She set up her laptop, then consulted the teams’ stats, which were uploaded to a computer mounted to the table. The excitement in the Empire was palpable. Against her better judgment, Andrea was caught up in it, too. She shifted in her seat to gaze around the arena.

  A series of pop songs played at near-deafening levels, but she still heard Sean Wolf, a New York Post sports reporter, hail her from two seats away. The middle-aged reporter with the lank brown hair was the biggest bully in the bunch. “Hey, Benson. I’m surprised that rag you work for could afford to send you to the play-offs.”

  She braced herself before turning to meet Sean’s hazel-brown eyes. “Are you sure your publisher bought you a round-trip ticket?”

  The responding laughter from the reporters who’d heard her surprised Andrea. She glanced at the two seated between her and Sean, Jenna Madison with The New York Times and Frederick Pritchard of the New York Daily News. Neither met her gaze.

  Andrea returned her attention to the court. The Cavaliers cheerleaders concluded their dance routine for “Yeah!” by Usher and began dancing to “Let’s Get It Started” by The Black Eyed Peas. The Cavs mascot, Moondog, helped young Cavaliers shoot baskets from the free throw line. Action photos and posed images of the Cleveland players moved on and off the Sony Jumbo Tron above the crowd.

  The players took the court for warm-ups. Andrea sat forward, trying to read their body language. The Cavaliers appeared confident and full of energy. The Monarchs looked tight. Not a good sign. She typed some notes into the open document on her laptop.

  “Hello, Andy.” Troy’s baritone came from somewhere above her left shoulder and shivered down her spine.

  Why wouldn’t he stop calling her by that ridiculous nickname?

  “Hello, Slick.” Andrea’s gaze traveled up his black European-style suit, white dress shirt, and silver tie. Her breath stopped.

  He circled her chair to half lean, half sit on the table. She wished Troy had taken the empty seat beside her instead. He was too close. She could feel the heat from his body.

  Troy crossed his arms. The pose emphasized the width of his shoulders. “Have Connie and her daughter moved in?”

  Andrea nodded. “My roommate helped them get settled this morning. I called them after my plane landed this afternoon.”

  Troy’s smile stiffened. “I look forward to reading your articles. I may learn something new.”

  Andrea thought of Constance, and her muscles tightened with temper. “You said you trusted Connie.”

  “I do. She’s reliable and trustworthy.”

  Meaning she wasn’t? Would it even be worth the effort to change his mind?

  Troy’s gaze shifted to the reporters behind her, moving up and down the row. His attention returned to her with a question in his eyes. Could he tell she was an outcast in this group? She didn’t want to know.

  Andrea hurried to speak first. “I’m not the one you need to worry about. Did you read the Insider blog this morning?”

  Troy’s well-formed lips tightened. “What about it?”

  She was glad to have distracted him, but she hadn’t intended to make him angry. “Are you going to respond to it?”

  “I’m not getting into a dialogue with that blogger. I’m going to stop the person behind it.”

  Andrea blinked. “You know who the Insider is?”

  “Yes. And once I expose him, the Horn will take the post down.”

  “Him? Who is it?”

  Troy’s gaze bounced from her reporter’s notebook to her eyes. “You’ll see.” He straightened and checked his watch. “The game’s starting soon. I’ll see you at the press conference later.”

  How had Troy identified the Monarchs Insider? And how did he intend to expose the blogger?

  “Benson rates a whole conversation with the guy, but he won’t even return my calls.” Sean’s sulky comment wasn’t addressed to her, and Andrea didn’t respond.

  “She did write that piece exposing Gerald Bimm’s plans. Maybe Marshall thinks he owes her.” Jenna’s tone was pensive. With her flawless peaches-and-cream skin and the perpetual twinkle in her almond-shaped hazel eyes, the other woman seemed more suited for broadcast news than print journalism.

  Should she consider it progress that they were talking about her although they still weren’t talking to her? She’d brought their treatment on herself. But how much longer would it last?

  “How did the Monarchs make it to the play-offs?” Jenna Madison sounded as stunned as Andrea felt.

  Andrea studied the Monarchs as the game clock counted down the final two minutes of the first half. The players looked like they were sleepwalking through this first twenty-four minutes of the game. Their sloppy passes and flat-footed defense had made the Cavaliers look like legends. As a reporter, Andrea had to remain objective. But more than once, she’d wanted to jump to her feet and scream, “Wake up!”

  “Cleveland owes their double-digit lead more to the Monarchs’ mistakes than their own skills.” Frederick Pritchard of the Daily News was more interested in the numbers of the game than the emotions. He was a human calculator with a sports media pass.

  The halftime score was careening toward an embarrassing 55 to 35, Cavaliers. Those 35 points were mainly courtesy of forward Serge Gateau and center Vincent Jardine. The team hadn’t even completed the first quarter before head coach DeMarcus Guinn had used all but one twenty-second time-out.

  Jenna glanced around. “Cavs fans don’t care how their team got their lead. They just love the score.”

  The Times reporter was right. Early in the second quarter, the Cavaliers’ fans were so loud, Andrea feared the roof would collapse.

  “Fan frenzy’s never a good thing for the visiting team.” Sean Wolf studied the crowd. “It’ll be hard for the Monarchs to get into the game. They’ll probably be swept out of the series.”

  Andrea was desperate to join the debate. But she knew the other reporters wouldn’t welcome her contributions. Instead she listened, agreeing with most comments and disagreeing with a few. For example, she didn’t think the Monarchs would be swept as Sean predicted. DeMarcus Guinn wouldn’t allow that.

  The coach looked furious. The Monarchs had more turnovers than possessions and more fouls than scores. They’d sent Cleveland to the free throw line so often that Andrea thought Cleveland’s power forward, Antawn Jamison, should just stand at the line for the rest of the half.

  Andrea’s scrutiny shifted to Warrick Evans. The shooting guard had been riding the bench for the whole game. That wasn’t like him. Usually, he ran up and down the sideline, calling encouragement to his teammates. Tonight, he looked as though he’d lost his best friend. The Monarchs Insider ’s attack on Warrick’s wife was responsible for that. She was certain of it.

  With seconds remaining to the first half, Andrea hustled down the eight rows to the court level, hoping to intercept DeMarcus on his way to the locker room at halftime. She’d normally wait for the postgame news conference. But Andrea thought she’d have a better chance of getting a candid response from him away from other reporters. She wove through the crowds on their way to the restrooms or the food courts. Several traveling Monarchs fans groused about returning to their hotels. They’d rather leave at the half than watch their team embarrass them.

  Andrea arrived near the entrance to the locker room tunnel just as the buzzer sounded the start of the halftime break. She looked up and saw Troy approaching her. The Monarchs’ ever-vigilant protector. She wished she’d waited for the postgame conference after all.

  Troy ignored the groupies vying for his attention. Curious stares and a few daggers were aimed her way. His wicked smile had the power to distract and disarm. Andrea fought to stay focused.

  “Looking for me?” This playful side was another weapon in his arsenal.

  “You know I’m not.”

  “My loss.” His eyes danced with humor.
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br />   Their exchange set off a chorus of pleas from the other women who promised they’d treat him better. Andrea ignored them. She scanned the crowd for DeMarcus.

  Troy moved closer to her. “What are you going to ask him?”

  What was the point in asking, “Him who?” They both knew she was waiting for DeMarcus.

  “You’ll see.” She echoed his response to her question about his unmasking the Monarchs Insider.

  Troy’s bedroom eyes twinkled. By the time Andrea pulled away from his gaze, DeMarcus had appeared. She stepped into his path. “Coach, Barron Douglas looked tired and sluggish during the first half. Are you going to bench him and put Rick Evans in?”

  DeMarcus looked frustrated. “I’ll have to see how Barron starts the first half.”

  “What are you going to do about the rumors of his late-nightclubbing?”

  Anger snapped in DeMarcus’s eyes. He looked at Troy before responding to Andrea’s question. “You mean that blogger? I’m not going to let a gossip columnist tell me how to coach my team. Excuse me.”

  Andrea stepped aside so DeMarcus could join his players. The former NBA superstar-turned-head-coach disappeared into Vom Two, the tunnel leading to the visiting team’s locker room.

  “Probably not the quote you were looking for.” Troy’s tone was dry.

  Andrea studied his features. “I don’t think it was the response you wanted, either.”

  Troy shrugged. “What else could he say? His job is to coach the team. Media is my job.”

  Andrea briefly closed her eyes, almost weary with frustration. Everyone was in denial. “Locking the players away from the media isn’t going to stop Barron’s drinking. And now he’s taking other players with him.”

  “They went to that club to get Barron.”

  Andrea had thought as much. “Is that going to be the pattern for the rest of the play-off series? Players scouring clubs the night before every game looking for Barron?”

  “Barron is a Monarch. We’ll worry about how many clubs we have to search to find him.” There was tension in Troy’s voice. How much pressure was he under because of the Monarchs Insider blog, and how was he dealing with the stress?

  “And when will you start helping him?” She didn’t wait for a response. What was the point?

  Andrea dove back into the arena crowd. The smell of French fries, chicken nuggets, and hot dogs soaking the arena made her mouth water. Reaching the media section, Andrea pulled up short at the sight of a familiar face. “Mindy?”

  “Hello, Andy.” Troy’s former secretary didn’t seem surprised to see her.

  “It’s Andrea.” She stepped closer to the tall, slender woman to get out of the crowd’s way.

  Mindy Sneal pulled her well-manicured, black-tipped nails through her thick auburn hair. “Oh. Is Troy the only one who can call you that?”

  Andrea narrowed her gaze. Was the other woman deliberately antagonizing her? “He’s the only one who won’t stop calling me that. I thought you no longer worked for the Monarchs.”

  Mindy shrugged. Her manner seemed sulky. “I left a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Where are you now?” It seemed polite to ask.

  “I’m between jobs.”

  Andrea’s eyebrows jumped. “You left the Monarchs without having another offer?” In this economy? Had she left voluntarily or had Troy asked her to go?

  “I was ready for a new challenge.” Mindy’s expression dared Andrea to call her a liar.

  “A new challenge.” That was one way to describe being unemployed. Andrea glanced around the arena. “I take it the Monarchs let you keep the play-off tickets.”

  Mindy folded her arms. “Why shouldn’t they? It’s not as though I left on bad terms.” Was her tone just a little defensive?

  Andrea glanced at her watch. Less than ten minutes remained to the break, but she didn’t want to talk to Mindy for that long. The other woman’s subtle hostility always made her uncomfortable.

  She started to turn away. “I hope you enjoy the game.”

  Mindy reached out to stop her, then let her hand drop from Andrea’s forearm. “I saw Troy speaking to you earlier. He isn’t usually so friendly with reporters. He must consider you special.”

  Andrea’s brows knitted. Nothing could be further from the truth. “We were discussing Troy’s new secretary.”

  The other woman flinched at the mention of her replacement. “It’s probably a matter of time before you’re watching the games with Troy in the owners’ booth.”

  Was that hatred in Mindy’s cool blue eyes? What could Andrea have done to cause such a reaction? “I have my own seat in the media section.”

  Troy’s former assistant gave her a condescending smile. “Do you still have a crush on him?”

  Andrea’s lips parted. “I’ve never had a crush on him.” In fact, it seemed to her Mindy had been unusually possessive of her former boss and his attentions.

  “I had access to his personal communications. I know a great deal about our Troy.”

  Had Mindy been eavesdropping on Troy? Is that why she had to leave? “He’s not ‘our Troy.’”

  Mindy drew her nails through her auburn locks again. “Be careful around him. He’s a heartbreaker. Just ask his ex-wife.”

  Troy had been married? Why was she surprised? Why did she care? “There’s nothing for you to worry about, Mindy. I don’t have a personal interest in Troy.” She spoke with finality and turned to leave.

  Mindy’s warning about Troy has been completely unnecessary. Troy may look like every woman’s fantasy, but she found his aversion to reporters a turnoff. It also had seemed as though Mindy had wanted information. About what? Or who? And why?

  Andrea slapped the steering wheel of the rental car as she drove back to the hotel Monday night. Sports reporter or not, she was upset over the Monarchs’ second straight loss to the Cleveland Cavaliers in their best-of-seven-games series. At 105 to 78, it hadn’t even been close. Most of the Monarchs fans had left Quicken Loans Arena midway through the fourth quarter. She’d lead with that for her story.

  It was almost eleven-thirty by the time she’d parked in the hotel’s garage and returned to her room. Her cell phone started ringing as she logged on to her computer.

  Her caller identification displayed her editor’s home phone number. “Why are you still up, Will?”

  “Turn to ESPN.” Willis sounded as excited as a kid with a favorite toy—or a newspaper publisher with a hot lead story.

  Andrea found the television remote control and tuned into the station. “OK. What am I supposed to—” She broke off when the camera framed the female sports reporter sitting beside Troy Marshall.

  The young woman smiled into the camera. “... here with Troy Marshall, the vice president of media and marketing for the Brooklyn Monarchs.” She turned toward her guest. “Troy, you said you had an announcement for us tonight. I’m sure our viewers would agree that the suspense is killing us. What’s your announcement?”

  Troy wore the suit she’d seen him in earlier. This piece must have been taped right after the game. She recognized the Quicken Loans Arena’s press room.

  The Monarchs executive looked at the anchorwoman rather than the camera. “I know the identity of the blogger who posts as the New York Horn’s Monarchs Insider.”

  The anchor woman’s perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “Really? Who is it?”

  Troy didn’t blink. “Gerald Bimm, the Monarchs’ co-owner.”

  The remote fell from Andrea’s hand. “Oh, my God. What has he done?”

  9

  The raging cell phone beside his bed jerked Troy awake. He grabbed the cellular in the dark and blinked at the red liquid crystal display numbers on his radio alarm clock. Who the hell would be calling him at one-thirty in the morning?

  “Hello?”

  “You’re fired!”

  Gerald’s bellow of fury slapped the cobwebs from Troy’s mind. He sat up, turned on the lamp beside his bed, and blinked to clear his
vision. Troy looked away from his bare-chested reflection in the oak-framed mirror on the wall across the room. “Gerry?”

  “You’ll have a security escort when you arrive at the arena Tuesday. I’ll be waiting to watch you pack your belongings, then vacate the building.”

  Troy clenched the phone with his right hand and clutched the lightweight green quilt pooling around his hips with his left. “On what grounds are you firing me?”

  “Are you kidding me!? Was that your witless twin being interviewed on ESPN or were you having an out-of-body experience?”

  “I know you’re the Insider.”

  “Two words, Troy. Prove. It. You can’t, can you?”

  Troy’s anger outpaced his nerves. “Can you deny encouraging the media to write damaging stories about the Monarchs?”

  Gerald sneered down the phone line. “Despite your playing on a championship college team, I see I need to use simple concepts. I’m the boss. That means I don’t have to answer your questions.”

  The fact that Gerald was familiar with any part of his resume took Troy off guard. He recovered quickly. “Your smear campaign against the team makes my job harder.”

  “You don’t have any proof that I’m the Insider. But that didn’t stop you from going on television and accusing me of being the blogger. Your actions make my job harder.”

  Troy frowned. “What job?”

  “The job of being your boss. No employer wants a disloyal employee.”

  Troy felt the sting of Gerald’s words. “You’re calling me disloyal? I’m working my ass off to protect the team. What do you gain by continuing to trash them?”