by Regina Hart
“It’s not that.” She faced him as she tucked her blouse into her pants.
“I would never take advantage of you.”
“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about me.” Andrea picked up her blazer from the floor.
He masked his sudden fear beneath a smile. “That sounds like a brush-off.”
She spun toward him. Her bright eyes were wide and surprised. “It’s not.” Three hurried strides brought her back to him. Andrea stroked his goatee. Her gentle touch soothed him. “It’s definitely not. I just need to move a little more slowly. Is that all right?”
He nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you.” She kissed him, then turned away.
He wasn’t ready to let her go. “I’ll ride down with you.”
Troy shoved his hands into the front pockets of his warm-up pants. He’d been attracted to her forever. And, after tonight, he wanted her even more. But how could he be certain her passion was for him and not some story?
“Thanks for meeting with me away from the arena.” Troy looked at Jaclyn seated across the table in the little neighborhood café.
“You’re welcome.” Jaclyn looked up as the server returned with their drinks. “I don’t think either you or Gerry is ready to see the other yet.”
“You’re right.” Troy scanned the Friday lunch crowd as he drank his soda.
He and Jaclyn already had placed their orders. They’d both requested the soup of the day and a half sandwich. The young woman had assured them their food would be ready soon.
Jaclyn met Troy’s gaze. “What’s on your mind?”
Direct as always. He thought about Jaclyn forgiving Andrea for the libelous article the reporter had written about her. He’d never once sensed tension between the two women. And, because of Jaclyn’s generosity, Andrea had been able to start putting her life back together. Would Jaclyn also be able to help him?
“Gerry’s telling the other New York sports franchises to blackball me.”
Jaclyn closed her eyes briefly with a sigh. “That shouldn’t surprise us. Gerry is spiteful.”
Troy tightened his hold on his glass. It was cold and damp in his grip. “Can you stop him?”
Jaclyn sipped her soda. “Most team owners don’t respect Gerry.”
He couldn’t blame them. “Why not?”
“New York teams are loyal to their fans and the fans are loyal to their teams. When the public found out Gerry was trying to move the Monarchs out of Brooklyn, they realized he didn’t have any loyalty.”
Troy wasn’t comforted. “You think because of that the other owners aren’t listening to what he’s saying about me?”
“I don’t think Gerry has any credibility with the other owners.” She pinned him with her gaze. “But, Troy, most employers expect loyalty from their employees. You went on ESPN to call your boss a liar. Don’t worry about Gerry attacking your character. You’ve done enough damage on your own.”
He didn’t look away. “Gerry hasn’t given up on his plan to ruin the franchise. If he isn’t the Insider, he knows who is. That blog is his M.O.”
“Knowing Gerry’s involved with that blog and proving it are two different things.”
Troy leaned forward. “If I can prove it, will you give me my job back?”
“Of course.” Jaclyn’s prompt response was gratifying. “It was Gerry’s decision to fire you, not mine. But you’d have to prove that Gerry lied.”
“That shouldn’t be hard.” Troy spoke with more confidence than he felt.
Judging by the look she gave him, Jaclyn had her own doubts. “Until we’re able to rehire you, I’ll be happy to give you references.”
Troy tried a smile. “Thanks, but I’m coming back to the Monarchs.”
“Then you’d better find proof that Gerry’s still targeting us.” Jaclyn paused to thank the young woman serving their lunch. “Every major sports owner in New York as well as several NBA owners all over the country have told me they’re watching Gerry like a hawk and hoping he’ll do something to get tossed out of the league.”
Fierce satisfaction gave Troy an adrenaline rush. “Does Gerry know about his fan club?”
Jaclyn shrugged. “I’m sure he’s noticed the cool reception he gets from other owners, but he doesn’t care. He’s more focused on destroying what my grandfather built.”
“Even though he’s destroying his family’s legacy as well?”
“As long as he gets his way, he doesn’t care who he runs over.”
Troy picked up his chicken sandwich. “I’m not going to be Gerry Bimm’s roadkill.”
Andrea squinted at her work computer monitor. Her eyes were dry and scratchy. It had been a long Friday after a long and sleepless Thursday. Troy. He was on her mind and in her blood. The problem was, she couldn’t afford another addiction.
She looked up as Willis walked into the newsroom and stood surveying the cramped, cluttered space. His green gaze met hers. Something in his eyes made her muscles tense.
Willis raised his deep graveled voice to be heard above the typing, talking, and telephones. “Can I have everyone’s attention? I have an announcement to make.” He had to repeat himself before the cub reporters heard him. “Let’s step into the conference room.”
Andrea and her fellow reporters exchanged concerned looks before two of the five followed their publisher and the administrative assistant, Vella, into the large meeting room. From the anxious expressions on the faces of the three reporters on the telephone, they would be ending their calls quickly to join the group.
Peter Story, who covered New York’s hockey teams—the Islanders and Rangers—leaned his hips against the room’s far wall. “What’s going on, Will?”
Willis waited until the staff had filed into the room, circling the large, battered rectangular conference table. No one opted to sit.
Henry Chin, the baseball reporter, rushed into the room. He must have hung up on the person with whom he’d been speaking. “What did I miss?”
“Nothing.” Willis shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded brown pants. “Where are John and Alice?”
Henry jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re still on the phone. Sounds like Alice’s talking to one of the Red Bulls’ coaches and John’s interviewing Eli Manning.”
“I’ll speak with them later, then.” Willis scanned the room, which was teaming with boxes, dust, and edgy reporters. “There’s no easy way to say this. Sports has been struggling for several years now. I’d hoped we would make it to the end of this year, but I don’t know if we’ll make it to the summer.”
The air sucked out of the office. A couple of Andrea’s colleagues seemed to check their balance. Andrea’s shoulders slumped under the weight of another uncertain future.
Henry’s jaw dropped. “What?”
“The paper’s folding?” John Adai, the football reporter, had just joined them.
“How long have you known?”
Andrea winced at the accusation in Peter’s tone. “The signs have been here for a while.” She just hadn’t been brave enough to see them. The message was carved on Willis’s face. His hollowed green eyes and grayish pallor told the story of the strain he bore.
Peter turned on her. “He told you?”
Andrea shook her head. “He didn’t have to. Why do you think the freelance budget went away?”
Vella nodded. “The holiday party was cancelled, too.”
“How long do we have?” Alice Ramirez’s question came from the conference room doorway. The soccer reporter looked resigned.
Willis pulled his fingers through what remained of his lank, gray hair. “I’m not sure yet.”
Peter heaved a frustrated sigh. “At least give us an idea.”
“A few months. June or July.” Willis shared his gaze with the rest of his staff. “I’ll give everyone here a letter of recommendation. You’ve all earned it.”
Peter snorted. “A fat lot of good that’ll do us. We don’t need your
letter of recommendation. We need jobs.”
Willis nodded. “And I’ll do everything I can to help you find jobs as soon as possible.”
Vella wrung her hands. “Maybe we could take pay cuts, at least until the paper’s finances are stable again.”
Peter turned his scowl on the assistant. “Are you kidding me? He’s barely paying us anything now. I’ve got bills to cover.”
Andrea clenched her teeth. “Everyone in this room is going to be devastated if this paper folds, including Will. Vella is trying to come up with a solution.”
Willis held up one hand, palm out. “Cutting the payroll isn’t an option. I realize I don’t pay you what you deserve. But I pay you as much as I can.”
John frowned. “Will there be any cutbacks? Training camp’s going to start soon. Will our expenses be covered?”
Willis lowered his hand. “Yes, just try to keep expenses down.” He looked at Andrea. “You can travel for the play-off away games, too.” His gaze took in the rest of the room. “As soon as I work out more of the details, I’ll let everyone know what’s going to happen when. I’m sorry. More sorry than I can tell you.”
Andrea watched her editor and publisher leave the room. His gait was slow, his shoulders stooped. He loved the paper. She could tell he was dying with it.
Peter’s harsh tone broke the silence. “He’s sorry? He’s sorry? Is that supposed to make us feel better?”
Alice glared across the scarred conference table toward the agitated hockey reporter. “Your ranting isn’t helping. Pull yourself together.”
Henry nodded. “Why don’t you chill, man? This isn’t easy for him, either.”
Peter swung an arm toward the door. “His financial mismanagement got us into this mess.”
“With a little help from the failing economy.” John’s tone was dry. “Or haven’t you noticed what’s been going on outside of your own little world?”
Peter scowled. “Oh, I’ve noticed all right. I’ve noticed all of my bills going up.”
Andrea crossed her arms. “We’ve all got bills to pay, Pete. That’s why we need to come up with a solution. Are you going to help us or just continue to attack everyone?”
Peter narrowed his eyes. “You must be pretty scared about all this. Do you think three years has been long enough for other papers to forget your stunt with that Jackie Jones story?”
Andrea stared at the angry young man. In all the time they’d worked together—almost a year—he’d never brought up her past. Her gaze circled the room. Had Willis’s announcement changed the rules? Would her coworkers ostracize her now, too?
She returned her attention to Peter. “I guess I’ll find out. But don’t worry about me, Pete. I’ve landed on my feet before. I can do it again.”
Peter spread his arms wide. “You call this landing on your feet?”
“Since we’re both standing here, what would you call it?” Andrea left the conference room. Peter’s question followed her.
What would she do if the industry hadn’t forgiven her past transgressions?
What would she do if she’d run out of chances?
13
Something’s wrong.
Troy found Andrea standing beside the security desk of his condominium’s marble and mirrored lobby. She seemed nervous as she shifted her weight from one leg to another.
Troy glanced at the young security guard. “Thanks, Ted.”
Ted nodded. “You’re welcome, Mr. Marshall.”
Her gaze was uncertain as she stood clutching her purse strap. “Sorry for the surprise visit.”
“No problem. Come on up.” Troy followed her into the elevator. The doors closed, and they climbed to his condo on the twentieth floor.
Unable to take the awkward silence, Troy closed the distance between them. He placed his fingers under Andrea’s chin. Her skin was smooth and warm. Just as it had been last night.
He tipped her face to his. This way, she couldn’t avoid his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes were worried. “Sports is folding.”
The news wasn’t surprising. The company practically advertised its financial troubles. But he was disappointed for her sake. They were in similar situations now, with uncertain employment futures. Was she experiencing the same anger, fear, and frustration?
“I’m sorry.” Troy lowered his hand.
Andrea stared at the liquid crystal display tracking their progress to his condo. “So am I.” She expelled a tired breath.
Troy leaned a shoulder against the elevator’s back wall. His eyes traced her profile, from her smooth forehead and high cheekbones to her stubborn chin. His heart contracted knowing she’d come to him first after receiving the bad news. What did that say about him? About them? He couldn’t get last night out of his mind. Could she?
The elevator doors opened. Troy escorted her to his condo. “How much notice did Will give you?”
She shrugged as she preceded him into his home. “Two or three months. He’s not sure.”
Her voice was tense. How much of her emotions was she keeping inside? He’d run for miles after Gerald had fired him. How did Andrea deal with stress?
Troy walked with her to his living room. “How do you feel?”
Andrea stopped beside his sofa. “The numbness is starting to thaw. I think I’m heading toward panic.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?”
“I just needed someone to talk to.” She sounded surprised.
“I’m glad you came to me.” He couldn’t describe the feeling. It was too strong, too special. “Do you want a drink?”
“No, thank you.” Her response was slow in coming.
He started toward the cupboard where he kept his wine rack. “It’ll take the edge off your panic.”
Andrea caught his arm before he passed her. “As much as I want a drink, I can’t have one. I’m a recovering alcoholic.”
Shock ricocheted through Troy. “I didn’t know.”
“How would you?” She released his arm and gave him a proud, if unsteady, smile. “I’ve been sober for three years.”
“Congratulations.” Troy studied her, trying to piece together this new information with what he knew—or thought he knew—of Andrea Benson.
“Thank you.” Andrea settled onto his sofa. “I started drinking—a lot—when my mother got ill. She was my best friend. My everything. I know it sounds like an excuse, but my judgment was impaired when I decided to write that article on Jackie. Self-pity and alcohol make for a dangerous combination.”
Troy sat beside her. “It doesn’t sound like an excuse. You went through a difficult time.”
Andrea rose to wander the living room. “Stress is the trigger. If I’m not careful, I could lose control again.”
Her words were familiar. She’d said something similar the night before. “You’re afraid of losing control because you’re a recovering alcoholic?”
Andrea paused in front of his display of family photographs. “I can’t afford to fall off the wagon. I have enough strikes against me without resurrecting my drinking problem.”
Troy leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his thighs. He couldn’t imagine the calm, disciplined woman in front of him ever losing control. “This is the push you’ve needed to get a better job. You’re a good reporter, Andy. Don’t sell yourself short.”
She turned to him in surprise. “You’ve never told me that before.”
Perhaps he’d been unfair, but the team had to come first. “We’re on opposite sides. You’re the reporter who wants to uncover the news. I’m the marketing executive who wants to control the message.”
Andrea folded her arms. “I’m not worried about your messaging. I’m concerned about my readers. I want to give them information they can use to better understand the sport they enjoy.”
Troy stood. This part of their disagreement always made him impatient. “What family wants a spotlight on their dysfunction?” He thought of his own family and the dispute
s he’d had with them over the years. “You do a more balanced job with our faults than other papers, but those articles still hurt our image.”
Andrea blinked. Had Troy finally admitted she’d been balanced in her coverage of the Monarchs? She’d needed those words, especially now. They had been a long time coming. What had changed his mind?
She continued her trek around his spacious living room, pausing to study his family photos again. “I don’t expect other papers to forget my poor judgment with the article on Jackie.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “But is three years long enough for them to give me another chance?”
“You got a lot of positive buzz with your exclusive on Gerry’s attempt to move the Monarchs out of Brooklyn.” Troy shoved his hands into the front pockets of his khaki pants. “Why didn’t you use that article to get another job?”
Andrea shifted her shoulders in a restless movement and turned away from him. “I should have.”
She sensed Troy’s approach. His hand on her shoulder was such a simple touch, so light she barely felt it. So warm, it seeped into her bones.
“You’ll get another job, Andy.” His words pulled her from the edge of her pity party.
His hand fell away from her shoulder as she turned to him. Troy replaced the touch of his hand with the warmth of his gaze.
Andrea stared into his ebony eyes. The concern was still there, joined by curiosity. But there wasn’t any pity, thank goodness. “Thank you for believing in me. I needed that.”
The right corner of Troy’s lips kicked up. Andrea’s cheeks heated as she read admiration in his gaze.
“We can use the buddy system for our job searches.”
Andrea exhaled a laugh. “You’ll get your job back with the Monarchs.”
Troy chuckled low in his throat, a rumbling sound that reverberated in her abdomen. “Our being on the same side feels strange, but I like it.”
Andrea arched a brow. “You said you’ve been my secret admirer for a while.”
He stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers. “Then it’s not a secret anymore, is it?” He dropped his hand.