by Regina Hart
“I’d appreciate that.”
“Unless there’s something you want to tell me first?”
DeMarcus spread his arms. “I don’t have anything to say.”
Andrea extended her hand. “I’m sorry for barging in uninvited, Marc. Thanks for your time, and good luck against the Wizards Friday night.”
DeMarcus held Andrea’s hand. “Thank you for believing me.”
She grinned. “I’ve been a Marc Guinn fan longer than I’ve been a Monarchs fan.”
DeMarcus relaxed enough to return her smile. “Thank you.”
The reporter left his office. Her strides were brisk and confident. She would be disappointed when she learned he’d kept information from her. But as she’d said, he wasn’t going to engage in a war of words in the media. He’d handle the situation quietly.
First, though, he wanted to talk with his father. DeMarcus hated that negative publicity against him would reflect on his parents. He’d warn his father tonight, prepare him for the fallout.
Then, he’d confront Gerald.
DeMarcus stabbed Gerald’s doorbell. His anger had built by the minute since he’d realized the spineless franchise co-owner must have gone forward with his threat. The timing was too much of a coincidence. Who else would have started this story? He jabbed the bell again, giving serious consideration to kicking down the heavy oak barrier.
The door swung open. Gerald stood in the threshold, his bronze leather overcoat hanging open over a teal crewneck sweater and navy pants.
DeMarcus didn’t wait for him to speak. He stepped forward, forcing the other man back into his white stone entryway. “What the hell are you doing?”
Gerald walked backward. “I’m meeting friends for a drink. Is there something I can do for you?”
The smug smile on the franchise partner’s face threatened to cut the last of DeMarcus’s control. He slammed the front door closed behind him. “Grow a pair.”
Gerald’s eyes narrowed. His smile dimmed. “Excuse me?”
“There’s no excuse for you. You’re a coward and a liar.”
Anger was edging out Gerald’s self-satisfied expression. “Those are serious allegations against your boss.”
“You can’t deny them. You lied about why you wanted me to coach the Monarchs. You lied when you said Jack wanted to move the team. Now you’re feeding the press a story about my being a drug addict.”
Gerald held DeMarcus’s gaze. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
DeMarcus wanted to grab Gerald by his sweater and slam him against the wall. He stepped back before he could give in to the urge that would have landed him in jail. That was probably what Gerald wanted. “You mean it’s just a coincidence that you threatened to plant a story about my being addicted to drugs if the Monarchs kept winning, and now people are asking me about these rumors?”
Gerald shrugged. “It seems that way.”
DeMarcus narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
“Then I don’t know what to say. I don’t think I can help you.”
“I don’t need your help.” DeMarcus shoved his fists into the front pockets of his black suede jacket. “Do you think I won’t tell the press that you’ve planted these lies?”
Gerald’s smug expression returned. “They won’t believe you.”
“Is that a chance you want to take? I’ll even tell them why you decided to sell lies about me. A large mansion for an aging bachelor. Priceless artwork hanging from your walls. Expensive clothes, while the Monarchs’ revenue has been shrinking the past four years. You’re living way above your means, Gerry.”
Gerald’s features hardened. He opened and closed his fists. “That’s a lie.”
“So is the crap you’re peddling about me to the papers.”
“No one will believe you.” Gerald’s voice was rough with anger.
It gave DeMarcus a fierce satisfaction to feed Gerald his own medicine. It didn’t appear to be going down well. Hopefully, the other man would choke on it. “There’s as much of a chance of the public believing what I say as there is of them believing your lies.”
Gerald shook his head. “No, there isn’t. Sex, drugs and violence. Those are a baller’s vices. That’s why the rumors of your drug activities will be infinitely more believable than lies about any corrupt dealings you allege against me. After all, I’m an upstanding team owner. We don’t do things like that.”
DeMarcus closed the distance between him and Gerald to add weight to his words. “I don’t care if there are dueling lies about us in the media. If you try to destroy my family, I’ll drag your name through the same mud.”
Gerald arched a brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
DeMarcus turned toward the front door. “You’ve been warned, Gerry.”
“And I’m warning you. Lose or leave, Marc. Those are your choices.”
Whether he stayed with the Monarchs and played Gerald’s game or broke his commitment to the team, the result would be the same. The reputation he’d worked so hard to build to honor his parents’ sacrifices for him would be ruined. Worse, he’d lose Jaclyn’s respect. He’d lose Jaclyn. DeMarcus didn’t have a choice. He had to stay and play this out. There was more than a season at stake. He was playing for his future.
“Why didn’t you tell that reporter Gerry planted the story?” Julian stood in the kitchen behind DeMarcus. His voice was tight with anger.
DeMarcus dropped the last dinner fork into the dishwasher and shook in the detergent. It had been hard to tell his father what Gerald was doing. It would be even harder telling Jaclyn. “When you take arguments outside of the team, you can tear the team apart. That’s why whatever happens in the locker room, stays in the locker room. You don’t take it to the media.”
“That’s an admirable sentiment, son. What makes you think Gerry shares it?”
“I don’t think he does, but I’m hoping he can learn.” DeMarcus started the dishwasher.
“You’re deluding yourself.”
DeMarcus heard Julian pacing the kitchen. He kept his back to his father. He took a sponge from the corner of the sink and started wiping down the counter. “Maybe. But I’m not going to let Gerry change who I am. If I do, he wins.”
“And if you let Gerry drag your name through the mud, he wins. So it’s a win-win situation for him.” Sarcasm, the second stage of his father’s temper.
DeMarcus forced himself to face his father. Julian stood across the kitchen at the foot of the table. His hands were hooked on the hips of his blue Dockers. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his cream crewneck sweater. The older man looked ready to knock someone on his butt.
Even though his father didn’t blame him for what was happening, DeMarcus blamed himself. He should have realized there was more to Gerald’s interest in him than his playing days. He was embarrassed and angry—with himself. “Gerry’s not going to push this story. He knows that, if he does, I’ll tell the media he planted it and why.”
“Because he wants to move the Monarchs to Nevada?”
“Right.”
Julian rubbed his face with both hands. “That’s fine, Marc. But by that time it will be too late. Once a lie is in print, people think it’s true. You’ll always have that shadow on your name.”
Julian was right. DeMarcus continued wiping down the counter. He needed to think. There had to be another way. “If I respond to the press’s questions, they’ll have a story. If I don’t, all they have are allegations from a drug dealer.”
“Which some people would think is enough.”
“Andrea Benson isn’t going to cover the story.”
“Good for her. But she isn’t the only sports reporter in the city.” Julian’s words were clipped with exasperation. “Call Jackie. Now.”
DeMarcus rinsed the sponge and cleaned the stove top. “She’s having dinner with a girlfriend. They’re discussing the Empire.” He turned away from the stove. His muscles tensed. “Besides, I
can handle this.”
“I know you can. That’s not the point.” Julian crossed to the kitchen table and lowered onto a seat. “Jackie needs to know about Gerry’s threats. They affect her and her team just as much as they affect you.”
“I know. And I’ll tell her but not tonight.”
“Why not?”
DeMarcus rinsed the sponge again and set it on the board beside the sink. “Jack’s dealing with enough, trying to keep the team in the Empire and finding a way to prevent Gerry from moving the franchise to Nevada.”
“Nevada,” Julian muttered. “I still can’t believe that.”
“Yeah. Well, Gerry has his own agenda.”
Julian sat back in his chair. “What’s your agenda?”
DeMarcus’s back stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Why don’t you want to tell Jackie what’s going on?”
DeMarcus leaned his hips against the kitchen counter and crossed his legs at his ankles. He should have known his father would see through him. No one knew him better. “I don’t want to lose Jack’s faith in me. I don’t want to lose her trust.”
Julian looked startled. “Jackie would never believe you were addicted to drugs.”
DeMarcus pushed away from the counter to wander the kitchen. “I know that.”
“Then what is it?”
DeMarcus paused. He took a deep breath, a preamble to stating his fears. “I don’t want her to ever have a reason to look at me differently.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The next time I lose a game, will she wonder if I’ve lost on purpose because of Gerry’s threats?” DeMarcus met his father’s gaze, hoping he had the answer.
Julian’s frown cleared. “Jackie knows what kind of man Gerry is and what kind of man you are. The last time Gerry tried to pull you into his scheme, you quit.”
DeMarcus turned to cross the kitchen again. He needed a stronger guarantee. “I don’t want her to ever doubt me. Not even for a minute. And I don’t want to ever wonder if she does.”
“Why are you worried? If you tell her the truth, she won’t have a reason to doubt you.”
But Jaclyn knew how important his image and family name were to him. The truth was, knowing that, she had every reason to doubt him.
How could he convince her he was willing to risk everything he was to give her all that she wanted and more?
“We need to talk.”
Jaclyn looked up as Troy Marshall strode into her office Thursday morning, followed by Andrea Benson. They looked as serious as though they were going to announce the NBA was disbanding in the middle of the season.
She set down her pen and gave them her full attention. “What’s wrong?”
Troy stepped aside to allow Andrea to precede him. He pulled Jaclyn’s office door shut and approached her desk. The media executive was coatless. His pale gold shirt was tucked into navy blue pants, but the sleeves were rolled to his elbows. His copper-colored tie was loosened. Troy didn’t usually achieve this level of disarray until late in the afternoon.
He pressed his fists into the top of one of Jaclyn’s black visitor’s chairs. “Andy got a call from a drug dealer claiming to be Marc’s supplier.”
Jaclyn wasn’t following. “Marc who?”
Troy held her gaze. “DeMarcus Guinn. Our head coach.”
Jaclyn’s eyes widened. Her thoughts scattered and everything flashed white. “What?”
Troy shoved his hands into the front pockets of his slacks. “I take it you haven’t spoken to him yet.”
Jaclyn’s gaze bounced from Troy to Andrea before dropping to her Rolex. It was just after eight o’clock in the morning. She and DeMarcus hadn’t seen each other after work last night, but she knew he’d been in his office for at least an hour. He always arrived between six-thirty and seven o’clock in the morning.
Get it together, Jones. This isn’t the time or the place to freak out.
Jaclyn looked up at Andrea, then Troy. “No, he hasn’t stopped by.” She gestured toward the chairs. “Please sit down, both of you, and tell me exactly what happened.”
Troy waited for Andrea to sit before taking the chair to her left. “Tell Jackie what you told me.”
Andrea crossed her legs and laid her hands on the beige material of her pantsuit. “I got a call yesterday from someone claiming to be Marc Guinn’s cocaine supplier and offering me an exclusive interview. I didn’t believe the guy. It’s obvious someone put him up to posing as a drug dealer to the stars. But when I asked Marc about it, he said he didn’t know who would have planted the story.”
Jaclyn stared at Andrea. In the reporter’s entire recount, Jaclyn was stuck on one point. “You spoke to Marc yesterday?”
Andrea nodded. “Around four o’clock. I told him the supposed dealer said if he didn’t hear back from me by the end of the day, he was going to call around to other papers. Well, he must have started calling because there was a message on my machine from a reporter at another paper asking what I knew about Guinn and drugs.”
Jaclyn bit back a stream of vocabulary words more suited to an assassin than a lady. She sat forward and looked the reporter in the eye. “Thank you, Andrea. You’ve always been very fair to the Monarchs organization, and we’ve really appreciated it. But what you’ve done now is tremendous. I don’t know of another reporter who would have taken the steps you’ve taken to ensure a fair and accurate story. I’m glad you’re where you are today.”
Andrea blushed. “I didn’t do this for the Monarchs, Ms. Jones. I did it for myself. I don’t deal in rumors and innuendos. Not anymore. I deal in facts. I’m not going to cover the drug story. I know it’s based on a lie. I’d rather do a story on the reason someone wants to destroy the Mighty Guinn’s reputation.”
Jaclyn smiled. “I think I can accommodate you, if I can ask for one more favor.”
Troy looked at Jaclyn. “You know who’s behind this?”
Jaclyn folded her hands on her desk. She looked from Troy to Andrea, then back to her media executive. “I’m ninety-nine percent certain.”
Andrea shook her head. “Marc said he didn’t know who was responsible for this story. How could you know if he doesn’t?”
Jaclyn arched a brow. “Marc lied.” She leaned back in her chair and held up her hands, palms out. “Maybe ‘lied’ is too strong of a term. He believes conflicts shouldn’t be aired outside of the team. I agree with him—to an extent. But when someone is threatening my team, the code goes out the window.”
Andrea leaned forward. “So who is it? Who’s behind the story?”
“Let me talk to Marc first. Then I’ll give you the exclusive you were hoping for.” Jaclyn checked her watch. It was edging toward eight-twenty. She wouldn’t have much time to talk with DeMarcus. Practice started at eleven o’clock. She turned to her media executive. “Troy, set up a press conference for ten A.M. Tell them I want to discuss rumors of the Monarchs’ head coach’s drug addiction. We need to get in front of this story before our alleged drug dealer lets his fingers do the walking to every news media in Kings County. For once, I’m not going to play catch up.”
Andrea sat back. “What about the favor you mentioned?”
Jaclyn contemplated the reporter. “I think this could be a nice addition to your exclusive.”
Andrea tilted her head. “What could?”
Jaclyn pursed her lips. She had to think this through. “A meeting between your drug dealer source and a couple of New York’s finest.”
Troy’s eyebrows shot up. “The police? You can arrange that?”
Jaclyn nodded toward Andrea. “With a little help. I know a prosecutor in the Brooklyn District Attorney’s office who might be able to interest a couple of police officers in having lunch with an alleged drug dealer.”
Troy grinned. “You’re going to have him arrested?”
Jaclyn shook her head. “Think of it as more of a friendly, nonthreatening version of Scared Straight.” She turned to Andrea. “Do you th
ink you could get him to meet you at that sandwich shop a couple of blocks from here?”
Andrea smiled. “What time?”
Jaclyn picked up the phone. “Let me make a call.”
Then she’d ask her head coach why she was the last to find out that someone was trying to destroy him and her team.
19
Jaclyn knocked twice on DeMarcus’s open door before crossing the threshold into his office. She closed the door quietly behind her. DeMarcus stood from his chair. The chivalrous gesture didn’t evoke the pleasure it had in the past. She was too angry.
Measured steps brought her to the opposite side of his desk. He had plenty of time to break the silence. His expression was more curious than concerned, but he never uttered a word.
She kept her voice low and slow. “When were you going to tell me Gerry is spreading lies in the media about you being a drug addict?”
Shock cleared his features. “Who told you?”
His words sucked the breath right out of her. She’d been right. Gerald Bimm was behind this latest assault on her team. And DeMarcus hadn’t warned her.
Why not?
She was looking at a stranger. “That’s your response? Didn’t it occur to you that I might find out from someone else if you didn’t tell me first?”
At this moment, it was a toss-up as to whom she was angriest with, Gerald for his petty vindictiveness or DeMarcus for his damning silence. She hated being caught off guard this way. DeMarcus knew that. Yet he’d put her in the position of having to cross examine him like a criminal defendant at court to get the information she needed to protect herself and her team. She hated that, too.
“I was going to tell you, Jack.” His coal black eyes apologized.
Jaclyn wasn’t ready to see it. “I know you’re not that crazy. That’s why I asked when you were going to tell me as opposed to were you going to tell me.”
“I was going to tell you today.”
She clenched her fists. “When, Marc? I need to know when. Practice starts in two hours. Were you going to tell me on the hour-long flight to D.C. tonight? Were you planning on texting me during the game tomorrow? When?”