Bigger Than Beckham

by V. K. Sykes

  “As hard as it is, all you can do now is chill and wait it out,” Nate said, glancing at the dinner menu. “And not torture yourself any more than you already have.”

  Martha appreciated his continuing efforts to prop up her spirits, but the fact that she had no interest in even opening the menu emphasized how tense and out of control she felt. “Waiting sucks. No patience in these genes, I’m afraid. Not when my future is in other people’s hands.”

  “Maybe not much patience, but I know for a fact that there’s at least a ton of pure grit in there, babe.” Nate tipped up his glass, toasted her, and then took a mighty swallow of beer.

  She dredged up a smile. “Aw, thank you, darlin’. But right now it feels like a whole damn ton of grit is sitting right here in my gut.” She rubbed a hand across her belly.

  “At least your meeting with Ginny Cross was a success. Tony sure came through for you on that one,” Nate said.

  “He did, indeed. It’s not in the bag by any means, but I’m hopeful.”

  She did feel genuinely hopeful about Ginny, but her mind remained stuck on the wrenching meeting with Tony. When she told him what Steam Train had offered, his face had first blanched and then turned grim. Her heart had gone out to him because she knew it wasn’t a matter of his not wanting to match the brewery’s offer; he simply couldn’t afford to do so. After all, he’d made it clear to her when they first met that he didn’t have the means to compete with the big-spending teams in Britain. That inescapable fact was what had propelled him to seek a new kind of success in America. Clearly, there was a limit to his bankroll and his credit, and Steam Train had apparently breached it.

  Which sucked for him and her both.

  What she couldn’t quite figure was why Tony had asked for more time, since she couldn’t imagine what kind of magic he could conjure up in a few hours. And now it had been more than a few hours since she made him the promise. She’d already let one call from the Steam Train boss go to voice mail. Malone’s terse message had made it clear he expected her to get back to him with no delay. She’d ignored it, but it hadn’t left her mind for an instant.

  “Did you finally get hold of your uncle?” Nate asked after they’d given their orders to the server.

  Martha held back a vulgar retort since such language wouldn’t do in the upscale bistro Nate had selected. “Not exactly. He finally left me a message this afternoon, right when I was with Ginny, unfortunately. When I tried calling him back he still didn’t answer.” She let out a snort. “Want to know what the wiener’s message said?”

  “I’m not sure,” Nate said with mock alarm. “You look pretty pissed off.”

  “Don’t worry. I won’t slug you, even though you’re the closest human. The jerk claimed he came down with some sort of semi-terminal virus yesterday and hasn’t been able to get out of bed since. Other than to run to the bathroom, which was way more information than I needed on that front.”

  Martha hadn’t believed a word of it. Despite his often blustering personality, cowardice had always flowed through Geoffrey Winston’s clogged arteries. She figured that was a big reason why he’d never made anything of himself.

  “If you can believe it,” she continued in a bitter tone, “he had the nerve to ask me to keep him posted on the state of negotiations. As if he wasn’t talking to Steam Train or Rex Daltry or both behind my back.”

  Nate shook his head in disgust. “I always say there’s no enemy like the one in your own family.”

  “Amen, brother.” Martha raised her wine glass to salute him. “Geoffrey played some of the same games with my father when he was alive. Whatever deal I make, he’s not going to be a part of it. I’ll sell my shares and let the buyer deal with him and his twenty percent. I’m done for good with Geoffrey Winston.”

  A frown collected in Nate’s assessing gaze. “You’ve got every right to be pissed at him, that’s for sure. But are you sure that’s what your father would want? Cutting him completely out of your life?”

  Ouch.

  Of course it wasn’t. Geoffrey had been his brother’s cross to bear, and Will Winston had borne it with dignity and grace until the day he died. Martha knew there had been times when her father could have cut off Geoffrey’s funds, or lopped off something even worse. But he’d always held himself in check, offering it up to God. But, sadly, she wasn’t her father, not when it came to forbearance.

  “So, how is Holly going to feel about you blowing out of town for six weeks of spring training?” she said in a falsely chipper voice.

  Nate laughed. “Nice diversionary tactic, babe.”

  “Well, I already know the answer to that question, anyway. She’s not one bit happy about it.”

  Nate rolled his eyes. “Is that what you guys jaw about when you’re supposed to be working on the bridal party outfits?”

  “Among other things,” Martha teased.

  Her phone jangled inside her bag. She reached down and snatched it up, glancing at the display. Rance Malone. The man was probably already out of his mind that she hadn’t called him back.

  “It’s Malone. I guess I’d better take it. Sorry, hon.”

  Giving an apologetic smile to the couple at the next table who were clearly offended that some thoughtless soul would let her cell phone ring during dinner, she got up and hurried through the tightly-packed tables.

  “Yes, Rance?” she asked as she opened the door and stepped onto the sidewalk.

  “Good evening, Martha. I’m so glad you answered this time, since you haven’t returned my call. You have more pressing business to attend to?” Malone’s voice sounded markedly different from their earlier call. More aggressive. Edgy, even.

  “Sorry,” she said, slightly taken aback by his tone. “I’ve been tied up for hours, and now I’m having dinner with my best friend who flew in from Philly for the day just to see me.”

  “Tied up, huh? I’ll bet,” he mocked.

  Now he was starting to piss her off. “So, what’s up, Rance?” she said in something close to a snarl.

  “What’s up is that I’ve got an answer for you, as I promised I would.”

  Her stomach pitched. “Ah. Well, let’s have it, then.”

  “Well, I’m afraid it’s not the one you wanted to hear. I heard what you said loud and clear, but Steam Train simply can’t give you the kind of guarantee you’re looking for with respect to retaining all your staff. I assure you we gave your position due consideration, but our management team is unanimously opposed to the very idea. Not only would it set a bad precedent in our business, we already have plans for a new leadership group for the Thunder. In fact, those plans are more advanced than I was personally aware of before this afternoon.”

  She leaned one arm against the doorframe, bracing against the deep stab of disappointment that lanced her. Strangely, she felt entirely lost for words all of a sudden. Why hadn’t she rehearsed how she’d respond to a flat no on the staffing issue?

  Because you’ve been living in some kind of fantasy land, girl.

  “Martha?” Malone said. “Are you still there?”

  “Yes, I’m here,” she managed. “Is that your final answer, Rance?”

  “I’m afraid so. But we’re still firmly committed to the figure I laid out this morning. And 13.5 million dollars is a hell of a fine offer, Martha. In fact, we’re fully confident you won’t get a better one. Not from Tony Branch. Not from anybody.”

  Smug self-confidence permeated his words, a sharp contrast to his attitude during this morning’s conversation. She could only guess that his people had taken a harder look at Tony’s financials and concluded that their offer had them on very safe ground. Malone definitely seemed to know that Tony wasn’t going to be able to match the brewery’s bid.

  Thirteen point five million from Steam Train. Twelve million from Tony.

  Did she care about the difference? Though it was undoubtedly a lot of money, she didn’t care one bit. In a perfect world, she’d tell Malone to stuff his offer and
his arrogance in the same dark place. Still, she hadn’t been exaggerating when she told Tony that taking a significantly inferior offer from him would make her a public laughing-stock. She even worried that Geoffrey might slap her with a lawsuit, because choosing Tony’s bid would amount to her vaporizing three hundred thousand dollars on its way to Geoffrey’s pocket. At least that was the way he’d surely view it, and she could hardly blame him.

  And as much as she wanted to protect Kieran and Sam and all the others, Geoffrey had no such loyalty, so there was no way that security for the staff—even if Tony somehow granted it—could be seen as compensating her uncle in any way for the three hundred grand in hard cash he’d be foregoing.

  “That’s disappointing, Rance,” she replied in as professional a voice as she could manage, “especially since I told you it was my bottom line.”

  Malone gave a derisive snort. “Listen, Martha, I’ve been making business deals all my life, and one thing I’ve learned is that so-called bottom lines have a strong tendency to change. You know that famous saying—the best laid battle plans only last until the first encounter with the enemy.”

  “Thanks for that pearl of military wisdom,” she bit out, shivering now in the cool night breeze. “I’m going to hang up now and go back to enjoying the meal that I regret interrupting.”

  Malone ignored her jibe. “Martha, when can I expect your response? By the end of the evening, I hope, because let’s face it, it’s in both our interests to get this deal wrapped up quickly.”

  The bastard is so confident I’ll come running to him.

  She’d had more than enough of his bullying tone. “I’ll get back to you when and if I get finished talking to Tony Branch. So long, Rance, ol’ buddy,” she cooed sarcastically before hanging up.

  Okay, she’d definitely let her anger get the better of her with that parting shot, but there was no point worrying about that now. With his smug condescension, Malone had deserved worse than she’d dished out. The thought that she might have to ultimately say yes to the man sickened her.

  As she rejoined Nate, she felt like she must be dragging her heart on the ground behind her. The bit of sass she’d been able to muster with Malone had been just enough to make her feel she’d preserved a shred of dignity, but it had deserted her by the time she got to the table.

  “Not good, huh?” Nate said as he refilled her wine glass. She reached for it like a drowning man grabbing at a life preserver.

  “The jerk said no dice to my demand.”

  Nate grimaced. “I’m sorry. But, look, maybe Tony will come through with a better offer. He’s obviously trying to come up with something, so it’s not over yet.”

  “No, not yet.” The words almost stuck in her throat. All her bottled-up emotions threatened to overwhelm her increasingly fragile defenses. “But Tony’s got no magic to conjure up, Nate. I’m going to have to sell my father’s team to a stinking brewery headed up by a monumental asshat. Daddy must be dying a second death up there in heaven right now.”

  Swallowing against threatening tears, Martha could scarcely believe how fast it had all unraveled, spinning out of control in barely a week. But, then again, maybe she’d been playing out of her league all along.

  When it came to running a sports team, the only big league she played in was the one marked Failure.

  * * *

  After Tony greeted him at the door, Derek Kavanagh sauntered into the suite for their impromptu discussion. Kavanagh hadn’t wanted to change his plans for the evening, but Tony had made it crystal clear on the phone that such a discussion might mean life or death as far as his bid for the Thunder was concerned.

  Kavanagh shook hands with Rex before plunking his rangy body down on the sofa. Tony fixed all three of them a Scotch before taking a seat directly across from Kavanagh. For him, the drink was more for appearances sake than anything else, especially since his stomach was bobbing and weaving like a prize fighter. The jittery feeling surprised him because he almost never suffered from nerves. Still, right now he was way more wired than when he’d played in the FA Cup final.

  After Martha left, Tony and Rex had argued heatedly over the consequences of putting even more on the table than the twelve million dollars Tony had already offered her. Rex, chagrined that he had gone even that far, had coldly run through a series of projections for the Thunder’s first year of operation under their control. Even with a twelve million dollar price tag, Rex’s best case scenario projected a deficit of close to seven figures. If they had to pay fourteen million, the shortfall would blow right through their ability to finance the debt. That kind of financial Armageddon would render them unable to re-sign all their Blackhampton stars, much less pay the hefty transfer fees for any new, top-caliber players.

  Tony hadn’t been able to bring himself to overrule Rex—not when the numbers were so brutally black and white. To pay anything more than what he’d already offered risked calamity, and would in all likelihood end up forcing him to turn his glorious American opportunity into an ignominious, costly retreat.

  He propped his elbows on his thighs and leaned into them, weaving his fingers together in a tight grip as he stared at Kavanagh. “There’s going to be no bullshit here, mate. I’m going to give it to you straight, even though you’re sure as hell not going to like what I have to say.”

  Kavanagh’s brows snapped together in a scowl, but he held his fire.

  “I asked you to meet us tonight,” Tony continued, “because negotiations for the Thunder have reached the critical stage. In fact, the clock’s run out, Derek. We’re into injury time now.”

  “And, to continue Tony’s analogy,” Rex interjected, “our side is playing a couple of men down.”

  Kavanagh’s mustached upper lip curved into a sneer. “So, the goddamn brewery really wants it, do they? I’ll wager those wankers wouldn’t know a striker from a sodding middle linebacker.”

  Tony forced a chuckle. “I wouldn’t take that bet. Look, I know you can’t stand Martha Winston, but do you think Steam Train would be any better as owner?”

  Kavanagh shrugged. “Neither one knows a damn thing about football.”

  “Maybe. But the way I see it, Steam Train’s got enough financial juice to make your life miserable, Derek. The way you’ve been playing, their new managers will probably ship you off somewhere even if they have to eat a lot of your contract.”

  Concern flickered across Kavanagh’s face, but he shrugged it off. “Yeah, of course they could. But I seriously doubt that it could be worse than it is here now.”

  Tony repressed the impulse to shake the idiot by the shoulders. “My point is that you and I both know you can get your form back. In fact, you can be a dominant player again. Right here in Jacksonville. But on my team, not Steam Train’s.”

  The other man waved an impatient hand. “Yeah, yeah. I get it, Tony. Why are you going on like this? I already told you I’d play my arse off for you, and the other guys will follow my lead. I’m not getting the bloody point of what you’re saying.”

  Tony gave Kavanagh a hard, man-to-man stare. “Then listen hard, mate. I’ve got one last chance to convince Martha Winston to sell to me instead of Steam Train. I can’t outbid the bastards, or even match what they’ve already offered her. That part’s over and done. All I can do is put something on the table that Steam Train probably won’t. Something that means a lot to her.”

  Kavanagh pinched his heavy brows. “Go on.”

  “Martha’s fixated on making sure her people are protected. All of them. So, if I was able to give her that concession, I might still stand a chance.” Christ, it pained him to even have to say the words. “It’s the only chance I’ve got, and I think it’s your best chance, too.”

  His jaw slack, Kavanagh stared at him as if he’d escaped from an asylum. “You’re joking, right?” he said, slapping his glass down onto the table with a thunk. “Jesus, I knew the woman was loony, but not stark, raving mad.”

  Tony was done with Kavanagh ins
ulting Martha. “Look,” he said in an icy voice, “you and I don’t much think like Martha Winston when it comes to running a football team. But I guarantee you she’s far from crazy. What she’s doing is putting her loyalty to her people ahead of her own interests, and I bloody well admire her for it. Even if I can’t agree with the result.”

  Incredulity pulled Kavanagh’s face into a question mark. “Fuck me. You’re actually thinking about giving her what she wants? Keeping asshole losers like Brockton and McLeod?”

  Tony didn’t break eye contact. He didn’t have to say a word.

  Kavanagh jerked his hands up in the air. “I don’t bloody believe it.”

  “It’s either that, or for sure I don’t get the team, Derek. There’s the stark choice, like it or not. I sure as hell don’t, but I can recognize reality when it’s staring me in the face.”

  Kavanagh shook his head. “No. I can’t play for Brockton. Neither can Diego. No way. The man might have known what he was doing years ago, but he’s lost it now. Hell, I’d never have signed here if I’d known McLeod was going to bring Brockton over.” He started to get up. “You bloody promised me you’d get rid of them, and now you’re breaking your word. I thought better of you than that, Tony.”

  Bullshit, you did.

  “Sit down, for Christ’s sake,” Tony snapped. “We’re not done here. Just listen for another bloody minute before you storm out.”

  Kavanagh glowered at him, but then collapsed back onto the sofa.

  Tony dug down to find his patience. “Derek, if I wind up buying the Thunder, and if I have to keep Sam Brockton on as manager as part of the deal, it doesn’t mean that the man’s going to have the kind of free rein he’s apparently had under Martha and McLeod. Those days would be over under my leadership, I guarantee it. For starters, I’m committed to bringing Owen Clark here as assistant manager. You know what a good football man he is. And even though Brockton will be the nominal manager, he won’t be running the show—Owen will.”