Winner Takes All

by Sandra Kitt

  Jean shrugged, as if to shake off the aura of the man in question. “I’m not losing sleep, Belle.”

  Belle grimaced at her. “You better not be wasting your time doing that.”

  Jean spoke softly, trying to move the conversation to a safer subject. But she was aware that Belle’s focus had shifted somewhere over her shoulder, and her smile became fixed and cool.

  “Hey, Ross,” Belle drawled, this time overly bright.

  Jean appreciated Belle’s warning. She could feel the male presence behind her. She turned to gaze with nothing more than curiosity at the tall, handsome Black man whose gaze focused just on her. His features were fine but also masculine. A killer smile that he now brought into play for her. With his bearing and confidence, he could easily have been mistaken for a former officer in the military or member of the Secret Service. Ross Franklin got attention and held it. Jean met his gaze without blinking, without returning the smile. She’d long ago gotten over the discomfort that arose when there was an unexpected encounter between her and Ross, her former fiancé. Fortunately, there had only been a few.

  “Nice to see you, Jean.”

  “Hello, Ross,” Jean responded smoothly.

  Uncharacteristically, Belle remained silent, adding nothing to ease the slight tension between her and Ross, but she was watchful.

  Ross broke his gaze and scanned quickly around. “It’s nice that the artist is finally getting his due. Sorry he didn’t live long enough to enjoy the attention and rewards.”

  Jean said nothing.

  “I’m glad I was smart enough to buy his work years ago. Didn’t know much about art then.”

  “Early investment?” Jean asked.

  Ross’s brows shot up, and a muscle tightened in his jaw. He shook his head. “I happen to admire the work.”

  “So then, you aren’t looking to sell now that the market value of his work is going up, even as we speak?”

  Belle also raised her brows at Jean’s sudden tartness under all her calm and pleasant demeanor.

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me, I see the library director, and I want to congratulate her on the new acquisition for the archives. Good to see you both.” Belle beamed and disappeared.

  Left alone, silence rose between Jean and Ross for an awkward few moments. She conceded first, taking a deep breath.

  “Sorry. That was…very unlike me.”

  Ross nodded, gently swirling the wine in his glass. “We’re not there yet,” he said.

  “There?”

  “Where we can behave like we’re over it.”

  “You mean like I’m over it. I am, Ross, but I guess I couldn’t help taking the dig.”

  “It struck home, and I know I deserve it. I’m still hoping we’ll arrive at a point where our past relationship is not the elephant in the room.”

  “Where we’ll kiss and make up?”

  “Maybe not the kissing part,” he said dryly.

  “Definitely not that. I have moved on, despite what I said to you. But it did feel good,” Jean boldly admitted.

  He nodded, accepting the punishment. “It could have been worse.”

  “I’m not looking for revenge. I believe what happened was your loss.”

  “You could be right. We’ll see.”

  There was no mistaking the regret in his tone, and Jean found that very satisfying. But it wasn’t going to change her mind.

  “I should congratulate you.”

  “For what?”

  “I heard you got a promotion at your firm. You’re now a vice president or something like that.”

  “Close, but not yet. I’m doing well. Very well, thanks. You know your dad stuck with me.”

  “Yes, he told me after you and I broke up. It was a smart move, and I don’t blame him. I wouldn’t say he had no loyalty to me and what I went through, but his attitude was ‘If it ain’t broke don’t fix it.’ You made a lot of money for him. My mom? Not so much. She wanted to stab you in the throat for what you did. She especially wasn’t happy that a Black man did what you did to her baby girl. Know what I’m saying?”

  Ross chuckled. “Totally. Your mom was all over me. If she ever changes her mind…”

  “She might, once she can forgive you. Like I did.”

  Ross’s look was one of admiration. “I appreciate that. Thanks.”

  Jean looked around for a place to set her glass. Ross carefully took it from her. “I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thanks. I’m going home.” Jean turned again, making her way slowly through the crowd. She didn’t say good night.

  “I’m glad I got to see you,” Ross said as she walked away.

  But Jean kept walking, not acknowledging that she’d heard. Forgiveness was one thing. Forgetting was going to take a bit longer.

  * * *

  Jean made it a hard-and-fast rule not to leave her cell phone on the nightstand next to her bed when she retired at night. She broke her own rule if her mother was traveling out of state for a conference, or if the mayor’s office had some big event in the works and Brad needed her to be on call. Her father’s calls were completely unpredictable, and she caught them when she could. So when she heard the ringtone coming from her living room, Jean had to rush to grab the device before the call went to voicemail.

  “Hello?”

  “You sound out of breath.”

  It was Patrick.

  “Hey…”

  “Did I wake you?”

  “No.”

  “I didn’t think so. I should have warned you I don’t always stand on ceremony or abide by the rules. I can be pretty spontaneous.”

  “I assume you’re busy. Traveling, still celebrating…recovering.” She heard him laugh quietly.

  “Yeah…I’ve been busy. You won’t believe the crazy stuff that… Well…I won’t go into that now.”

  “It’s nice to hear from you. And thanks for the lovely flowers. They were at the front desk when I got home on Monday. How’s everything going?”

  “I want to see you again.”

  It was a simple declaration that immediately infused her with a warm, quiet surprise.

  “I’d like that,” Jean said honestly.

  “My life has gotten complicated these days, more so since the lottery announcement.”

  “I bet.”

  “I thought I could persuade you to come to me.”

  She hesitated, unsure of the implication.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever watched REPLAY on the weekend?”

  “No, I haven’t. I know you’re part of it, but…”

  “It’s a sports update program. The other co-hosts and myself review…and replay…highlights of games from the previous week. We recognize outstanding plays or rip into terrible moves and unfair ref calls. We joke around a bit, talk about players, make predictions…joke around a bit.”

  “I get the idea. To be honest I had no idea what you do for a living. So I Googled you.”

  He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  “What you’ve done since high school is pretty impressive.”

  “What did you find out?” Patrick asked.

  Did she hear a little concern in the question? Jean mentally organized what she’d learned by browsing the internet and kept her response brief. She didn’t want to come across as a newly minted groupie. Or someone looking for dirt on him.

  “After college you were recruited to the minors for one of the league’s farm teams.”

  “I came to the game late. I played on a team in college. It was meant to be for a semester but I turned out to be pretty good.”

  “The bio said that was unusual for someone who didn’t come up through Little League or was sponsored by a club.”

  “You say that like a pro,” he teased.

  “Not. I had to lo
ok up what all that meant. I read that you made it to the majors and played for several years…until an off-season accident ended it all. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. I was a twentysomething bonehead who took a lot for granted. I was careless and boom! It was all gone.”

  “You seem to have come through really well. Now you’re in broadcasting.”

  She heard him sigh, grunt. Jean was starting to suspect that Patrick was not comfortable talking about himself. Was it really modesty? Or secrets?

  “You do know you can’t hide on the internet, right? Wikipedia is notorious for putting your business out there. I hope that doesn’t sound like I was prying.”

  Patrick didn’t respond right away. Jean waited him out.

  “What else did you find out?”

  “That you were married. That you’re divorced.”

  “Now you know everything.”

  “I’m sure not everything. It’s life. It happens.”

  “Yeah. But I can promise I’ve never been to jail. I don’t do drugs. I’m good to my family…”

  “And I think it’s fair to say you’re a good person.”

  “My ex might not agree.”

  “Maybe not. I don’t think divorces are pleasant no matter the reason. Marriage takes work like everything else.”

  “We tried to reconcile at the eleventh hour. Just before the legal separation was due to run out.”

  “A last-minute attempt to save it?”

  Patrick chuckled without humor. “It was more like a lost weekend. A very brief moment in time when we both looked good to each other again. The attraction exploded. Big mistake. We were right the first time when we decided to end it all. We haven’t been in touch since.”

  “I’m sure it was tough. But you seem to be doing well.”

  “I appreciate the vote of confidence. I’ve been lucky. And I know I shouldn’t complain.”

  He went quiet again.

  “But?”

  “It’s nothing.”

  He sighed heavily in her ear, although Jean wasn’t sure he was aware.

  “I didn’t call to rehash my past history or failed marriage. Can I persuade you to come out to the studio to watch a taping? I can give you a tour of the station. We have an amazing collection of signed footballs and baseball jerseys. Not to be missed.”

  Jean laughed. “Wow. I’m speechless.”

  “Maybe not the collection. It’s real but dusty. And all the original owners are dead and…”

  She kept laughing.

  “Two shows are taped and then aired later. We do a live broadcast on the weekend. I don’t know how much you know about sports…”

  “Almost nothing, but I like watching tennis.”

  “Good enough. Will you come?”

  “I’d love to,” Jean responded, her heart rate slightly elevated. “When?”

  The rest of the call was spent comparing calendar dates and schedules, finding one that worked for both of them.

  “I’ll make all the arrangements. I’ll have a car come pick you up.”

  “I can do that, Patrick. The mayor’s office has official vehicles. I know I can sign one out.”

  “This isn’t that kind of invitation, Jean. It isn’t about publicity or your job in the mayor’s office. This is about you and me getting together again. I’m glad I have a chance at a relationship with you beyond high school.”

  A relationship.

  “Thank you,” Jean murmured, catching her breath and surprised by her reaction.

  “The taping is impersonal and, frankly, not all that interesting. You might even zone out as soon as we start talking. There’s a lot of stat slang and dude-like terminology. Consider this a half date. For now, okay?”

  A half date.

  “Sure. I’d love to see what you do.”

  Chapter 5

  Jean paid no attention to the scenery, such as it was, after the luxury midsize SUV sped through the Lincoln Tunnel and made its way south on the Jersey Turnpike. She was still processing the local morning news account that a woman had gone public with her story of having been cheated by Patrick Bennett of part of his lottery win.

  Jean had been catching up on city news on her tablet when the text messages and calls started coming in from her office, from her mom. Just the headline was enough to make her stomach churn, a sudden heat rushing over her as she wondered if the story was true. There were not enough details to come to any conclusion on her own, and she wasn’t going to try. But she hated to think Patrick might have done something so questionable.

  The ride from city hall was under an hour. As the Porsche Cayenne was turning into a gate with a single-storied nondescript building in the background, Jean noticed half a dozen vehicles outside, with a handful of men and women milling about. Two vans with call letters printed on the side doors identified them as being from a local network and had transmission towers mounted on top. Media outlets had obviously gotten wind of the story and were circling, hoping for a glimpse of Patrick…or anyone from the station willing to make a statement. Jean was used to reporters aggressively chasing after a hot tip and staking out city hall for comments from the mayor, but somehow it felt very personal that the people here were in pursuit of someone she knew. She was still mulling over the morning report and hoping there was more to the story.

  Jean didn’t believe for a second that Patrick was the villain he was being portrayed as.

  She hoped not.

  * * *

  Having been summoned by security that the Cayenne SUV had been cleared and was at the entrance, Patrick reached the building doors as Jean was climbing out of the back seat, aided by the driver. Patrick watched her thank the driver with a brief exchange of words and a smile. Then she turned to him.

  He knew right away Jean was a little nervous. But there was something else. Maybe to another person, her wide-eyed inquiry might appear a little aloof, doubtful, cautious. Patrick’s guess was that she was trying to decide whether to be the professional Jean or the one who knew him back in the day and who had hosted him one night at her apartment. Patrick hoped it was the latter but erred on the side of caution.

  “Jean, hey. Really glad you could make it.”

  Patrick took her hand, squeezing briefly as he looked into her eyes. Understanding the subtle signal, Jean seemed to relax and tentatively smiled.

  “Thanks for inviting me. I love field trips out of the office.”

  He grinned. “How was the ride out?”

  “Luxurious. Smooth and comfortable. The car smelled like it was brand-new.”

  “It is. I picked it up a few days ago.”

  “It’s your personal car?”

  He chortled. “ESPN might have a fleet of Toyotas or Nissans for company cars…not Porsche. It finally sunk in that I have a lot of disposable income. The Porsche Cayenne is the first thing I’ve bought myself since the win. I can tell you it felt weird not having to finance.”

  They’d been walking along a lengthy corridor with small offices on either side. They finally turned a corner, and Patrick opened the door of one that was bigger and better appointed with a desk, two chairs, and a small love seat sofa. There were lots of promo merchandise and sports paraphernalia on nearly every surface. Framed photos on the walls of him with star athletes. He positioned a chair for Jean. She sat, looking around.

  “And you hired a driver?”

  “He’s not my driver. He works behind one of the cameras. When I asked how he felt about taking my car into the city to get you, he jumped all over it. I warned him that if anything happened to you or my car he was roadkill.”

  Jean smiled warmly at him.

  Patrick sat behind his desk and gazed at Jean. It fully registered that they had not seen each other since the night of the lottery announcement and the party afterward. Or, more accurately, th
e next morning after Patrick slept over at her place. He thought about that a lot. He thought about kissing her before leaving. For now, he was trying to read what Jean was thinking. He couldn’t quite get a handle on it, and it bothered him. Was she glad to see him?

  “You know, you blush.”

  Her hands went right to her cheeks. “Do I?”

  Patrick nodded. “It shows through the tan of your skin. Beautiful,” he murmured.

  He knew he’d gone too far. Jean averted her gaze and shifted in her chair.

  “Is this…the inner sanctum, your man-cave?”

  Patrick settled into his high-back chair. “We got the memo. This is an equal opportunity workplace. We have our share of jockettes as well…or is that sexist?”

  “No comment.” Jean arched a brow.

  “Like man-cave?”

  She nodded. “Touché.”

  There was a quiet buzzing sound, and Patrick dug out his smartphone. He looked at the screen and answered, his expression inadvertently signaling the call, and caller, were inopportune.

  “Hey…yeah, everything’s good…thanks. Look, I meant to get back in touch…” Patrick chuckled, trying to avoid meeting Jean’s gaze. He knew she was trying not to listen, but was impossible to avoid in a thirteen-by-sixteen-foot space. He began nervously swiveling back and forth in his chair. He stopped and leaned forward over the desk. “Can I get back to you? I have a taping in a few minutes… Yeah, that will work. Bye.”

  Patrick put the smartphone aside, as if something about it had offended him. And he sensed a bit of withdrawal in Jean. She clearly knew the nature of the call. He was about to launch into an apology.

  There was a rap on the door. It opened and a tall Black man appeared, filling the frame.

  “Hey! You made it.”

  Patrick sat back and silently waited as the man joined them, giving his attention to Jean.

  “Remember me? Brian Abbott, from the party.”

  “Yes, hello again.”

  Brian placed a broad hand over his chest, his gaze feigned sadness. “You know, you broke my heart. You left before we could finish our conversation that night.”

  “You mean you left before you could finish the conversation,” Jean said. “I was still on the job. And I was one of the last to leave.”