by Regina Hart
Violet’s chuckle wobbled. “Thanks. I’ll take your advice. Maybe then Aidan will stop looking at me as though he thinks I need therapy.”
Jaclyn smiled. “How is our favorite financial advisor?”
“Busy taking care of his accounts.”
“That’s good to hear.” Jaclyn paused as the young mother with the sobbing toddler stopped in front of her. Jaclyn nodded toward the little girl. “Will she be all right?”
The mother nodded. “She lost her teddy bear.”
Jaclyn looked at the little girl. Silent tears streamed down her flushed, rounded cheeks. “I’m sorry, honey.” The little girl returned her gaze with wounded big green eyes. “I’m Jackie. What’s your name?”
“Tiff.” The watery whisper was barely audible.
“Tiffany.” The mother extended their two lunch plates.
As she nudged vegetables onto each of the dishes, Jaclyn noted the two tote bags that dragged on each of the thin woman’s shoulders. Heavy makeup didn’t mask the bruises on her face, nor did the limp, honey-blond hair swinging loosely to hide her features. Tiffany’s mother moved on to Violet, checking to make sure her daughter kept up with her.
Violet added mashed potatoes to both plates. “Enough about me. How was your meeting with the Empire owners’ lawyers?”
Jaclyn looked away from Tiffany and her mother. She scowled. “The lawyers told me Gerry and Bert want to end the arena contract so they can move the team.”
Violet gasped. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.” Jaclyn served another guest.
“Where do they want to go?”
She shrugged, checking the clock. She’d have to return to her office soon. “Someplace where they won’t be competing with another basketball team. Gerry likes the sound of the Nevada Monarchs.”
“Nevada?” Violet sounded as baffled as Jaclyn felt. “Have they gotten any offers?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
“I can’t believe them. Is Bert really on board with Gerry’s plan?”
Jaclyn had been wondering the same thing. “I haven’t spoken with him yet.”
“Jackie.” Her former teammate’s tone demanded her attention. Violet’s eyes were dark with concern. “I know you’re upset. But, if you’re going to save the team, you’ve got to keep your emotions on the sidelines and approach this problem as a business.”
That pulled Jaclyn up short. “I am treating this as a business.”
“Then why don’t you know whether Gerry has an offer from another market?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.” Jaclyn pursed her lips. “And I was too upset to push.”
“You’ve got to ask. Gerry’s decision to move the team isn’t an emotional choice. It’s a business decision. You’ve got to treat it the same way.”
“You’re right.”
Violet used her serving spoon to gesture toward Jaclyn. “You can start by reclaiming your position as general manager. Your grandfather made Gerry interim GM when he was sick and you were taking care of him. Gerry’s been interim for almost two years now. You need to take your spot back before Gerry grows roots.”
Jaclyn relaxed slightly. “I know. I wasn’t ready before, but I am now. I gave the firm my two weeks’ notice this morning.”
“Good for you.” Violet’s eyes twinkled. Color warmed her cheeks. “You have to regain control. Gerry and Bert are on the verge of destroying everything your family helped build. You need to stop them.”
Jaclyn nodded. “I’ve also got to figure out a way to increase the franchise’s revenue.”
Violet smiled as she added potatoes to another plate. Concentrating on Jaclyn’s problems seemed to lift her spirits. “Pre-sales will shoot up with the Mighty Guinn taking over as head coach.”
“Maybe for the first game. But to sustain sales, we’ve got to win.”
“Don’t worry. The Mighty Guinn knows how to win.”
Jaclyn paused as their replacements showed up. The two women took over Violet and Jaclyn’s stations.
Jaclyn walked beside Violet back to the kitchen area. She tossed her apron and hairnet into the laundry basket. “But does he know how to coach? You know as well as I do that it takes three things for a team to win—talent, coaching and chemistry. We have talent. But we need coaching and chemistry to bring it out.”
“You don’t think Marc Guinn has what it takes to bring out the chemistry in the Monarchs?”
“No, I don’t. And, even worse, he doesn’t want to.” Jaclyn led the way out of the chapel. She stood at the top of the front steps and swept her gaze over the aging storefronts, pedestrian lunch traffic and persistent street vendors. “After three losing seasons, if we don’t change the team’s attitude, we won’t have a prayer of winning.”
Gerald Bimm was pretentious. His office was a showcase for his museum-quality art. DeMarcus considered the track lighting that lit the professionally framed modern paintings hanging on every wall. Abstract metal sculptures posed on shelves and tables all around him. There wasn’t a single picture of the Monarchs or any team paraphernalia in the room. Not even a logo.
DeMarcus sat in one of the three green armchairs facing the franchise partner’s desk. His office was smaller than Gerald’s. Still, he felt lost in his room, whereas Gerald had wedged himself into this space. DeMarcus felt crowded by the other man’s belongs.
“Is it true you hired me to lose?” DeMarcus didn’t see the point in beating around the bush.
Gerald’s body seemed to relax. His narrow form was impeccably dressed in a pin-striped brown suit. He was buttoned into his jacket even as he reclined behind his desk. “I’m glad that’s out in the open. Who told you?”
He couldn’t have heard correctly. “It’s true?”
There was an edgy look in Gerald’s small brown eyes. “It doesn’t matter how you found out. All that matters now is that you know the plan.”
DeMarcus narrowed his eyes. “You lied about the reason you were hiring me.”
Gerald looked surprised. “I didn’t tell you I wanted you to win.”
DeMarcus gritted his teeth. “It was implied.”
Gerald waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. You’re in on the plan now.”
“You want me to lose.” Losing was a foreign concept to DeMarcus. He never allowed himself to imagine it. He always envisioned success.
“Yes, we do.” Gerald’s tone was definite.
“‘We’ who? You and Bert?” DeMarcus pictured the third Monarchs franchise partner, Albert Tipton. The smaller man hadn’t spoken much during DeMarcus’s job interview.
“And Jackie. All of us.”
DeMarcus stilled. “The three of you discussed it?”
“Yes. We’ve had several in-depth discussions.” Gerald’s expression was earnest. The liar made a good actor.
“And what did Jackie say?”
Gerald shrugged his shoulders. “She agrees that we should go for a losing season.”
DeMarcus’s blood heated. Gerald’s dishonesty didn’t bode well for their working relationship. “Why?”
Gerald pulled his chair farther under his desk and leaned across it. “We want to break the arena contract and relocate the team.”
DeMarcus hadn’t considered that. “Have you had any offers?”
“Not yet. But I’m sure the offers will come once we put out the feelers.”
“Where are you looking?”
Gerald shrugged again. “We’d prefer a state that doesn’t have an NBA team. Like Nevada.”
The situation couldn’t get any worse if he tried. “What would my role be?”
“Of course, we want you with us.” Gerald settled deeper into his green executive chair. “Once we’re out of this arena and have an NBA market to ourselves, we want someone who can take us to a winning season. Someone who could rebuild the team for us and create a dynasty.”
Gerald lied as easily as he breathed. Could DeMarcus trust anything out of the man’s mouth? A deep breath eased th
e tightness in his shoulders. His eyes were cold and his voice flat as he began to unravel Gerald’s tall tales. “Jackie Jones would never go along with this idea.”
Gerald narrowed his eyes. “What makes you say that?”
“She told me when she asked for my resignation.” DeMarcus took small satisfaction from Gerald’s shock.
The other man’s eyes stretched wide. His mouth opened, then closed. “Don’t worry about Jackie. Bert and I can handle her. After all, she was against hiring you, but you’re here, aren’t you?”
“You and Bert offered me this job under false pretenses.”
Gerald frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I thought you wanted me to coach. Instead you want me to bend over.”
Gerald shook his head. “We’re just asking you not to win. Not this season.”
“When I accepted your offer, I wasn’t handing over my integrity.” DeMarcus stood. “I quit.”
Gerald raised his chin to maintain eye contact with DeMarcus. “You can’t quit. We have a contract.”
“My lawyers will shred your contract.”
Gerald popped out of his chair. “That contract is airtight.”
“You misrepresented your intent.” DeMarcus laughed without humor. “You don’t want to go public with that when you’re looking for a new market. You won’t come across as trustworthy.”
“How will you come across once the media reports that you couldn’t keep the coaching job for even a week?”
DeMarcus remembered the reason he’d wanted to coach the Monarchs. “My integrity is more important than what the media thinks.”
“Dammit. We just need one more losing season. You can win next year.”
DeMarcus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have any idea what it takes to be a champion. A champion doesn’t take a season off. Ever.”
“I thought you wanted to coach.”
“You don’t want a coach. You want a stooge. I’m not anyone’s stooge.” He ignored the partner’s demands and turned to leave.
DeMarcus strode into the main office area. The two administrative assistants regarded him with open curiosity. Two doors to the right, Troy stepped from his office. DeMarcus exchanged a long look with him before marching down the hall.
“Marc.”
DeMarcus couldn’t hear Troy’s footsteps on the plush, wall-to-wall silver carpet behind him, but the other man’s voice sounded close. He didn’t stop until he came to the elevators.
“The rumors are true?”
DeMarcus looked over his shoulder at Troy. “Yes.”
The elevators arrived. Troy stepped on with him. “Are you really going to quit?”
“I already have.” DeMarcus ignored the sudden silence surrounding him and watched the elevator’s liquid crystal display count down the floors. He didn’t know why the media executive was following him around the arena to his office. He didn’t care.
DeMarcus strode to his desk and punched the keys to log back on to the system.
Troy finally spoke. “You should talk to Jackie.”
“We talked yesterday.” He should have listened to her. She’d told him Gerald and Albert weren’t trustworthy.
DeMarcus selected the word-processing program and typed a short, curt resignation letter. Two more mouse clicks and he sent the document to the printer.
“It doesn’t matter if you don’t have Gerry or Bert’s support as long as Jackie’s on your side.”
“She’s not.” DeMarcus went through the process of shutting down programs that were running on his computer.
“What makes you think that?”
“She asked for my resignation.”
“What? When?” Troy seemed as baffled as DeMarcus was angry.
“Yesterday.” DeMarcus switched to his Microsoft Outlook program. He checked his Calendar schedule and scanned his e-mails. He forwarded his messages to other coaches to handle and canceled meetings he’d scheduled for the day. He didn’t bother with explanations. He didn’t have the time or the patience to make them.
“You should call her. Tell her what Gerry told you.”
“She already knows.” DeMarcus stood. “I can’t dig this team out of the league’s basement without management’s support, and I don’t have that. Two of your three partners don’t want me to win, and the third one doesn’t think I can.”
DeMarcus gathered the few belongings he’d brought to what used to be his office. He shoved his stopwatch into the front pocket of his dark gray warm-up pants. He placed the antique silver-framed photograph of his parents into his briefcase. But he’d carry the green and blue Miami Waves water bottle.
“What are you going to tell the media about your quitting?”
DeMarcus studied the other man. He had the sense Troy wouldn’t let him leave the arena until he was satisfied with DeMarcus’s response. “I’m not speaking to the media.”
Troy gave a dry laugh. “You were our coach for one day. They’ll want to speak with you.”
DeMarcus expelled an impatient breath. “Fine. I’ll feed them the usual leaving-for-personal-reasons crap. Tell them I want to spend more time with my father.”
“That won’t satisfy them.”
“It’ll have to.” DeMarcus itched to walk out the door.
Troy shoved his hands into the front pockets of his tan suit pants. “All right. And I’ll tell them we’re sorry things didn’t work out, but that we understand your reason for leaving.”
The media executive’s statement seemed personal. His words helped ease DeMarcus’s temper. “I appreciate that.”
Troy inclined his head, then left the office.
DeMarcus dropped back into his chair and scrubbed his palms over his face. What a rotten option: lose or quit. He couldn’t stomach either choice. DeMarcus dropped his arms and clenched his fists. Being a quitter seemed the lesser of two evils, but it still didn’t sit well.
He grabbed the executive binder human resources had given him yesterday—his first and only full day on the job—and turned to the contact information page. DeMarcus found Jaclyn’s direct phone extension at the fancy law firm where she worked. He punched the number into his cell phone and waited for the call to connect. Her voice mail activated almost immediately.
Jaclyn’s honey-and-whiskey voice took the edge off his temper. He remembered her pacing this office. The sway of her hips; the fire in her eyes. The discordant beep at the end of her message broke the spell.
DeMarcus straightened in his chair. “This is Marc Guinn. You were right. Gerry admitted he’d hired me to lose. I’ll leave my resignation with his secretary.” He hesitated, unsure how to end his message. “Good luck. With Gerry and Bert as partners, you’ll need it.”
He disconnected the call and stood. Removing his resignation letter from the printer, he folded it into an envelope he found in one of his desk drawers. He’d deliver the letter on his way out. Then he had to tell his father why he’d quit the team.
4
“You did the right thing.” Julian Guinn’s response came after a contemplative silence that had stretched forever. However, the clock above their fireplace mantel said it had only been minutes.
Some of DeMarcus’s tension drained with his father’s approval. Would his mother also have agreed with his decision?
The Park Slope neighborhood outside the den’s bay window was quiet. It was after noon on a sunny and warm Tuesday. Most of their neighbors were working. The retirees were enjoying Brooklyn’s waning summer. The long, dark winter wasn’t far away.
DeMarcus paced away from the bay window toward the fireplace. His sneakers were silent against the rich mahogany floor. He stood with his back to his father. “I’ve never given up on a job without at least trying. I wasn’t cut out to be a broadcast reporter, but I stayed with ESPN for a full NBA season. I wasn’t comfortable in that management position with the sports apparel line, but I stayed there, too.”
“Those situations were different. The Monarchs or
ganization doesn’t want you to win.” Julian paused. “As a Monarchs fan, I’m disappointed by that.”
DeMarcus paced back to the window. “You and Mom didn’t raise a quitter.”
“If your mother were still alive, she’d support your decision, too.”
The rest of DeMarcus’s tension drained away. “I hope so.”
“I know so.” Julian settled deeper into the overstuffed, dark brown armchair. His stocking feet were flat against the scarlet-patterned Oriental rug. “Coaching the Monarchs now would be an exercise in futility. Jackie Jones doesn’t trust you with her team, and the other two don’t care about it—or the fans.”
“Could I have helped the team win despite that? I’ll never know because I didn’t try.” DeMarcus paced back to the fireplace.
“Marc, sit down, son. You’re making me dizzy.” His father gestured toward the matching armchair.
DeMarcus looked at the plump, brown chair before lowering himself into it. For years, he’d considered it his mother’s chair. After her passing, it had taken him months to feel comfortable sitting in it. “Sorry, Pop.”
His father’s eyes were solemn. “Son, I understand you think there are only two ways of looking at this situation: losing or quitting. You’ve always seen things as either win or lose, right or wrong, early or late. No one was ever on time.” He smiled to soften the observation.
“Eighty percent of a game is mental. That’s why you can’t arrive on time. You have to be early to prepare.”
Julian raised his left hand, palm out. “I know, son. But what I’m saying is, sometimes there’s a third perspective, another way of looking at the situation. And this is one of those times.”
DeMarcus’s brow knitted. “What do you mean?”
“I’m glad you quit.”
His brows jumped. “Why?”
“Because Gerry and Bert were trying to buy your integrity.” Julian’s voice deepened with anger. “They were trying to buy the name and reputation you’ve worked so hard to build your entire life.”
DeMarcus sat back in his mother’s armchair and considered his father’s observation. Julian had a point. Instead of beating himself up for quitting, he should consider whether his motivation for leaving was as valid as the reason he’d wanted to stay. “I’d wanted to win a championship for you.”