by Regina Hart
“It’s hard to find.” DeMarcus pulled an issue from a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. “My father got a copy from the grocery store yesterday. I also read the articles in the binder you gave me. Thanks for those.”
Troy inclined his head. “Good. I want to make sure you don’t underestimate Andy Benson. She makes Darth Vader look like Jar Jar Binks.”
DeMarcus chuckled at the imagery of the very different Star Wars characters. Darth Vader was the archetypical unstoppable villain. Jar Jar Binks was the good-hearted buffoon. “Is this your way of making me comfortable for the interview?”
“I don’t want you comfortable. I want you prepared. Andy will lull you into a false sense of security, then try to get you to say something you wouldn’t confide to a blood relative.”
DeMarcus considered Troy. “Are you speaking from experience?”
“I’ve had some close calls with her.”
DeMarcus exhaled a deep breath. If the reporter caused the media-savvy executive to stumble, he’d better stay on his toes. “I don’t like reporters. They’re the ones who came up with ‘The Mighty Guinn.’”
Troy grinned. “It’s a great marketing tag.”
“You try being a walking billboard twenty-four seven. It makes it hard to have a normal life.”
“I imagine most future NBA Hall of Famers find it hard to have a normal life.”
“The media make it harder.”
A calculating gleam lit the vice president’s dark eyes. “Does this mean you’d oppose Take-Your-Picture-With-The-Coach Day?”
DeMarcus wasn’t amused. “Yes, I would.” He tapped the cover of his New York Sports, which lay on top of his desk. “How many of these meet-the-coach interviews do we have scheduled?”
“Just this one.”
DeMarcus’s eyes widened. “You didn’t contact any other media?”
“The outlets might run with the press release, but it’s hard to get coverage for the Monarchs. They’re more interested in the Knicks.”
DeMarcus heard the wry humor in the marketing executive’s voice. “But the team’s getting a new head coach.”
“The fourth one in three years. After a while, the franchise’s coaching carousel loses appeal.”
DeMarcus glanced at the paper again. “I would have thought my marketability would have been a bigger draw.”
“There’s some resentment that our native son earned his championship rings with the Miami Waves, our division rivals.” Troy rubbed his bearded chin. “You might actually cost us ticket sales.”
DeMarcus blew a heavy breath, dragging his hand over his hair. “So the Lady Assassin isn’t the only one I have to win over.”
Troy frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Never mind. I’m surprised but I’m not disappointed that I don’t have a lot of interviews scheduled. I don’t enjoy them.”
“What a shock.” Troy’s voice was dry enough for kindling.
The muscles in DeMarcus’s shoulders bunched with tension. “I’ve seen a lot of good players—good people—ruined by reporters who’ve never run a mile in their lives. Still, they sit behind their laptops lecturing us on mental toughness and commitment. They think they know better than we do what it takes to win a championship.”
Troy gave him a considering look, as though trying to read between the lines of DeMarcus’s resentment. “It’s a balance. On the one hand, we need the media to help promote our sport. On the other hand, fans give reporters’ words a lot of weight. The power goes to their heads.”
DeMarcus shrugged, trying to release his tension. “I wouldn’t mind if it stayed in their heads. But instead it comes out of their mouths and causes people a lot of trouble.”
“Your name hasn’t been associated with any scandals.”
“I was lucky. My parents were disciplinarians. They sacrificed a lot of time and money to get my career started. I made sure I repaid their sacrifice by making them proud. The media considered me boring.”
Could he continue to make them proud? Or would this head coaching assignment irreparably damage the legacy he’d created?
A commanding knock on his office door interrupted his thoughts. Elia Gomez, his executive secretary, stood just inside his office. She nodded toward the young woman standing beside her. “Coach, Andrea Benson with the New York Sports is here for the interview.”
DeMarcus got to his feet. From the corner of his eye he saw Troy stand. “Thank you, Elia.”
DeMarcus rounded his desk to greet their guest, but Troy reached her first.
The media executive offered Andrea his hand. “Hi, Andy. It’s good to see you.”
Andrea Benson’s smile was tight, her handshake brief. “Wish I could say the same, Slick.”
DeMarcus’s gaze bounced from the reporter to Troy. The other man looked amused.
The reporter’s appearance was as straightforward as her writing style: tan blazer and black pants. Sensible black shoes boosted her five-foot-nine-inch height. Her dark brown hair fell in a straight shot just past her shoulders.
Troy made the introductions. “Andy Benson, DeMarcus Guinn, the Monarchs’ new head coach.”
“I prefer Andrea, but Slick here is hard of hearing.” Her mocha cheekbones were dusted pink. She scowled in Troy’s direction before taking the hand DeMarcus offered her. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Guinn.”
“Marc.” He smiled at the reporter before giving Troy a warning look. The vice president of media could cool his libido until after the newspaper ran the article. He didn’t need the other man irritating the attractive sports reporter during his interview.
He gestured Andrea to precede him and Troy to the conversation table. Andrea sat with her back to a window, casting her features in shadow. A deliberate move? She crossed her right leg over her left knee and opened her reporter’s notebook on the oak table. DeMarcus chose a seat across from her. Troy sat beside her.
The reporter offered DeMarcus an apologetic smile. “Thank you for meeting with me this morning. I’m sure you’re busy getting to know the organization and your new team.”
DeMarcus relaxed into the black swivel chair and returned Andrea’s direct gaze. Her brown eyes were friendly in her heart-shaped face. “I appreciate your interest in the Monarchs. I understand your paper’s the only publication that regularly covers us.”
Andrea settled back into her chair. She tucked her hair behind her ears. Silver sterling earrings, a match to her thin necklace, winked at him. “How does it feel to be back in New York?”
DeMarcus flashed a grin. “I’ve been home for about two years. It feels good.”
The next twenty minutes passed with similar questions about his likes and dislikes. DeMarcus may have forgotten Troy’s caution about the reporter except for the warning glares the other man kept sending him.
Andrea glanced up from her notepad. “It’s not a secret the Monarchs have struggled for the past four seasons. What are your plans for turning the team around?”
They were moving into the meat of the interview. Her direct question relieved DeMarcus. Maybe Troy was worried for nothing. “We’re going to get back to the basics—offense, defense, shooting and footwork.”
Andrea entered his answer into her notepad as he spoke, then paused as though waiting for him to say something else. DeMarcus didn’t have anything to add.
The reporter glanced at her notes, then back to him. “The Monarchs have the oldest roster in the league. The average age of your players is thirty. Does that concern you?”
DeMarcus had been prepared for that question, too. “No, it doesn’t. We have the talent and the experience to win.”
“Then why aren’t you winning?”
He couldn’t ask for a more direct question than that one. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an answer. Yet. He glanced at Troy. The media executive gave him an I-Warned-You look.
He turned his attention to Andrea’s steady gaze. “It goes back to leadership. In addition to skills and experience, a
team needs a stable structure to succeed.”
Andrea recorded his response even as she kept her questions coming. “Then you’re conceding this season?”
That pulled him up short. “What makes you ask that?”
She scribbled across the sheet of paper. “This is only your first season. You’ll need more than one year to build a stable structure.”
DeMarcus leaned forward, drawing her gaze to his. “We’re going to have a winning season. I’m not conceding anything.”
Troy shifted in his seat. “I’m sure you’re aware of Marc’s reputation. He’s used to winning. Losing isn’t part of his vocabulary.”
“But it’s very much a part of the Monarchs’ vocabulary.” Andrea shifted her attention from Troy back to DeMarcus. “They’ve struggled for the past four years. For the past two years, they’ve been at the bottom of the Atlantic Division. Do you really expect to turn them around in one season?”
Her follow-up questions had him against the ropes like a baby boxer facing a veteran pugilist. “Yes, I do.”
Andrea arched a brow. “By getting back to basics?”
DeMarcus caught her faint sarcasm. “Yes.”
Andrea recorded more notes. “What about the rumors that you were hired to lose?”
DeMarcus went cold. “What rumors?”
Troy turned toward her. “Where did you hear that?”
Andrea glanced at the media executive. “You know I can’t reveal my sources.” She returned to DeMarcus. “How do you respond to those rumors?”
DeMarcus ignored the seed of anger growing in him. “What are you talking about?”
Andrea paused. “You really don’t know? There are rumors the owners hired you for your name, not your ability. They don’t want you to win.”
DeMarcus unclenched his jaw. “Why would I join an organization that didn’t want to win?”
Andrea shook her head. Her straight brown locks shifted over her shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“I wouldn’t. Not as a player or as a coach.” DeMarcus no longer found her brown eyes friendly or her directness refreshing.
Troy leaned into the table, claiming Andrea’s attention. “The Monarchs are committed to reclaiming the team’s winning tradition. That’s why we hired Marc Guinn as our head coach.”
Andrea resettled her gaze on DeMarcus. There was speculation in her eyes. “But you don’t have any coaching experience.”
“I know the Monarchs’ offensive and defensive playbooks.” DeMarcus kept his voice level even as his mind spun. Where had these rumors come from? Who had started them?
Were they true?
Troy argued the point. “He was a leader on the court, and he has what it takes to win.”
Andrea tilted her head. “What’s that?”
Troy sat straighter. “A winning attitude. A winning philosophy.”
DeMarcus interrupted Troy before the media spin cost him his breakfast. “The proof will show in the number of W’s at the end of our season.” Confidence and conviction prompted him to predict more wins than losses this year.
Andrea rose from her chair. “Monarchs fans will be keeping count. Thank you again for the interview. It’s been informative.”
DeMarcus stood. “I take my job as seriously as you take yours, Andrea. To me, winning is everything. Otherwise, why play the game?”
“I wish you luck.” She nodded toward Troy.
DeMarcus escorted Andrea to the door, then shook her hand. With his back to Troy, DeMarcus watched the reporter walk past the assistant coaches’ offices before disappearing beyond Elia’s desk.
He kept his attention on his executive secretary’s desk. “What do you know of these rumors Andrea’s talking about?
3
Silence stretched a little too long. The media executive’s hesitation wasn’t a good sign. DeMarcus half turned to look back into the room. “Was I hired to lose?”
Troy stood beside the conversation table and met DeMarcus’s gaze across the cavernous office. “I don’t know what Andy’s talking about. I haven’t heard any rumors about your being hired to lose.”
Shit. The media executive was more cautious giving an answer than a rookie point guard was at taking a shot. “Let’s try this again. Was I hired to lose?”
Troy shook his head. “I don’t believe that. Jackie wouldn’t do anything to hurt the team.”
“But?”
Troy’s sigh raised his shoulders. “But it’s not all up to her.” He paced back to DeMarcus’s desk. “Combined, Gerry and Bert own fifty-one percent of the franchise. Gerry’s also the interim general manager.”
“Gerry and Bert hired me. Jackie didn’t sign my contract.” DeMarcus read his deduction in Troy’s eyes. Jaclyn wouldn’t do anything to hurt the team. But Gerald and Albert had hired him. Did they want the team to lose? DeMarcus didn’t like uncertainties. “Why would Gerry and Bert want the Monarchs to lose?”
Troy’s expression was tight with frustration. “No idea. But most of Gerry’s personnel decisions don’t make sense. He trades promising young players for older players or problem ones. He forced out one of the best coaches the franchise has ever had for a coach with a losing record.”
“And hires one with no experience.”
“No offense.”
“None taken.” What had he gotten himself into? “How far has the rumor spread? Are the other coaches and players aware of it?” Are people whispering behind my back? He wasn’t used to being a laughingstock.
Troy pushed his hands into his front pants pockets. “I haven’t heard anyone talking about it.”
“Someone must be talking about it. How else would a reporter have heard of it?”
Troy raised an eyebrow. “Don’t look at me. I don’t feed gossip about my team to the media.”
DeMarcus needed to move. He dragged a hand through his hair as he crossed the room. “Would Jackie?”
“Not on your life.” Troy’s answer was quick and definite.
Some of DeMarcus’s tension left him. At least his boss wasn’t known to air her grievances in the media. Dammit. She’d tried to tell him yesterday, but he hadn’t believed it. He still didn’t want to believe it.
DeMarcus checked his watch. It was almost half past eleven. Gerald should be in his office. He pivoted on his heel and marched to his door. “I’m going to talk to Gerry.”
“What will you say?”
DeMarcus pulled up short. “I’m going to ask him about the rumors.”
“What good will that do?”
“If I’m going to turn this team around and start winning, I’ll need the general manager’s support.”
“Interim general manager. And if you don’t have his support?”
DeMarcus continued toward the door. “I’ll quit.”
“Tell me what’s wrong.” Jaclyn frowned at Violet Ebanks O’Neal.
Her friend and former WNBA teammate stood beside her, serving food to the hungry and homeless at Morning Glory Chapel’s kitchen and homeless shelter. Jaclyn added a serving spoon of mixed vegetables to an older homeless woman’s lunch plate.
Violet shrugged listlessly, then added a spoon of mashed potatoes to the plate. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Jaclyn bit her lower lip. The situation was getting worse. Last week, Violet had claimed to be tired. Now her friend wasn’t bothering with an excuse.
Violet had been her teammate for three years and a friend for what seemed a lifetime. But Jaclyn hardly recognized the woman these days. Their teammates had nicknamed Violet the Beauty Queen. But the woman standing beside her had scraped her auburn hair into a stubby, sloppy ponytail beneath the hairnet. Her violet blue eyes were dull, and her porcelain skin was devoid of makeup. The Violet she’d known for the past eleven years had worn cosmetics on the basketball court.
Jaclyn glanced at the clock mounted to the wall across the recreation area. It was almost noon. One day a week for the past five years, she took a longer break to help the lunch c
rew at the chapel. She’d talked Violet into joining her almost two months ago. The activity wasn’t helping.
She served an older gentleman a spoonful of vegetables. “Is Dawnie OK?”
Violet had blamed her two-year-old daughter for her fatigue. The little girl had a truckload of energy. Violet’s parents claimed Dawn was payback for Violet having run them ragged until she’d been drafted to the WNBA.
“Everyone’s fine.” Her friend served the older man mashed potatoes. “It’s me. I’m bored out of my mind and driving everybody crazy, including myself.”
Jaclyn glanced at a young mother comforting her sobbing toddler daughter before returning her attention to Violet. Her friend looked bored and frustrated. And a little scared. “What do you want to do?”
Violet shrugged again. “That’s just it. I don’t know. But I’ve got to do something.”
Jaclyn’s shoulders tensed as she took on her friend’s frustration. “Something will come to you, Vi. You’ll figure it out.”
“When?”
She wished she had the answer. “Be patient. Maybe right now, you just need to get away from the house a couple of afternoons a week to just think. Dawnie can stay with your parents or Aidan’s.”
“I hope you’re right.” Violet shifted her troubled gaze to Jaclyn. “But, Jackie, what kind of mother wants to be away from her own child?”
Jaclyn shook her head adamantly. “Vi, just because you want a few hours to yourself doesn’t make you a bad mother.”
“I love my daughter. I really do.”
“I know.”
“Then why do I want to be away from her?”
Jaclyn continued to add vegetables to the plates of stewed chicken as guests moved down the serving line. “You’re not trying to get away from Dawnie. You just need a little time for yourself.”
“I’m not being selfish?”
“Of course not. A couple of hours away from you won’t hurt her. She’ll be with your parents. And it will help you relax so you don’t drive your family crazy.”
