by Regina Hart
“Classic.”
“Oscar was right.” DeMarcus walked back to his desk.
“About what?”
“Sometimes you have to risk losing if you want to win.”
Troy shook his head with a grin. “Who would have thought that grouchy old guy would be so wise in matters of the heart?”
“We were talking about the season. But I should have listened to him.” DeMarcus sat, propping his right ankle on his left knee.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to prove that I can keep our personal and professional relationships separate.”
“How?
DeMarcus considered the media executive’s question for several moments. “I don’t know.”
20
“Well played, Jackie.” Gerald’s voice came over her office phone line less than an hour after the ten o’clock press conference ended. His tone made the words sound more like an insult than a compliment.
“What is it, Gerry? I’m kind of busy getting ready for the trip to D.C.” Jaclyn worked her computer’s mouse. She selected commands that sent to the printer the documents she wanted to review during the trip.
“Why are you going to Washington?” Gerald’s confusion seemed genuine.
Jaclyn almost dropped the phone. “The Monarchs are playing the Wizards tomorrow night.” Was she more surprised or angry that Gerald wasn’t aware of the team’s schedule? “It wouldn’t hurt you to post a copy of the Monarchs’ season schedule on your refrigerator.”
“I heard you held a press conference to dispel the rumors that our Golden Boy is a drug addict.”
“Did your office spy tell you all about it?” Jaclyn reached for the printer beside her computer monitor. She retrieved the first set of documents and stapled the pages together.
“I’m an equal partner in the franchise. You should have told me you were calling a press conference. I had a right to be there.”
Jaclyn almost choked. He was the reason she had to call a press conference, and he wanted to know why he hadn’t been invited? “First of all, Gerry, Marc Guinn isn’t a boy. He’s a man. Second, whoever started this rumor is a petty, vindictive little worm. Do you have any idea who it might be?”
“Haven’t you heard, Jackie? Where there’s smoke, there’s always fire. Maybe Marc is addicted to drugs.” Gerald sounded as though he relished the accusation.
“You and I both know Marc has never done drugs. We did a thorough background check and testing before we hired him.” Jaclyn took another document from the printer and stapled it.
“And you don’t sleep with drug addicts.” Gerald’s tone was dry.
Jaclyn froze at the familiar words. “Your spy gave you the play-by-play from the press conference.”
“I should have been there.”
“What would your presence have accomplished?”
“As an equal partner, I would have welcomed the opportunity to show my support for the Monarchs’ head coach.”
What a liar. “The only interest you have in the team is to ruin it. We both know that, so cut the crap, Gerry.”
“That hurts, Jackie.” He didn’t sound as wounded as he wanted her to believe. “By any chance is your lack of faith in my intentions the reason you told Andrea Benson to call me?”
Jaclyn smiled. “Has Andrea contacted you already? That was quick.”
“She seems to think I started the rumors of Marc’s drug addiction. Do you have any idea why she would believe that?” An edge entered Gerald’s tone. He wasn’t happy or smug anymore. Good. It was past time he felt even a little of the anger he’d caused her.
“Because it’s true. Marc told us you’d threatened to smear his character in the press if he didn’t throw the season for you. Did you think he wouldn’t tell us?” Jaclyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath. He almost hadn’t.
“Maybe we should drug test Marc again. He sounds delusional. And, while we’re at it, we should screen you, too.” Gerald’s pleasantries seemed to be over. He sounded ready to chew nails.
“Why would that be, Gerry?” Her documents printed, Jaclyn settled into her chair.
“Why did you tell Andrea about my intent to move the team to Nevada?”
Jaclyn pursed her lips to squelch a smile. She wanted to wine and dine the reporter for moving so quickly on the story. “Was that supposed to be a secret?”
“As a former contracts lawyer, I’d think you’d be aware that such delicate negotiations shouldn’t be leaked to the media.”
“I have a better question for you, Gerry.” Jaclyn’s temper had started to stir. “Why are you negotiating a deal when you know your partner is opposed to it?”
Gerald continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “None of those plans are finalized. I’m still in the exploratory phase. It was very precipitous of you to leak the information to the media. You could have damaged my negotiations.”
“Good.” His accusation brought a sharp surge of satisfaction. “The Monarchs aren’t leaving Brooklyn, Gerry. Get over it.”
“And you had no right to give a reporter Carville Abbottson’s contact information.”
Jaclyn arched a brow at Gerald’s raised tone. Her business partner was fraying around the edges. Good. She hoped the stress was getting to him. “I didn’t trust you not to lie about your attempts to move the team to Nevada. Carville Abbottson corroborated your plans. You should be happy. Now all of your machinations are out in the open.”
The silence on the other end of the line was long and tense before Gerald spoke again. “I don’t know what you thought you’d accomplish by discussing my plans with the media, but you haven’t won.”
“But then again, Gerry, neither have you.” Jaclyn recradled her phone, disconnecting the call.
Gerald was right. She hadn’t won. The Monarchs had their first winning record in three seasons, but they faced a long and challenging road to the play-offs.
And despite the press conference disputing Gerald’s claim that the Monarchs’ coach was a drug addict, her business partner’s threat to smear DeMarcus in the media still hung over them. Gerald had proven how easily he could destroy the image DeMarcus had worked so long and hard to build. What other lies would he spread to try to capture the media’s attention? How long would it take before the public started believing him?
Faced with that realization, would DeMarcus still do all he could to lead the Monarchs to the play-offs? Jaclyn would have to wait and see.
DeMarcus knocked on Jaclyn’s hotel room door just down the hall from his own. His pulse was racing and his palms were sweating. He hadn’t even been this nervous during his NBA draft fifteen years ago.
During the team dinner, Jaclyn had kept herself surrounded by players who’d seemed to sense she wanted to be shielded from their head coach. He’d been frustrated, but he’d understood the team’s desire to protect her. Despite Jaclyn’s independent image, the Lady Assassin was the kind of woman who brought out the chivalrous knight in men.
The room door opened. Jaclyn braced one hand on the threshold. The other gripped the doorknob. “I’m not really surprised to see you. Pigheadness is characteristic of a champion.”
DeMarcus leaned against the outer wall, crowding her. He gazed down into her cool cinnamon eyes. “You have the trophies to prove it.”
“It’s not politic to call your boss pigheaded.” She didn’t give him the smile he’d been hoping for. “I don’t know what you think you’ll accomplish by coming to my room. We don’t have anything to discuss, and I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
Her words rocked DeMarcus back on his feet, but he remained standing. “You’re wrong. We have a team to discuss.”
Jaclyn gave him a dubious look. “Why do I suspect you only want to discuss the team now because I’m angry with you?”
“Because you have a suspicious nature.” He lowered his voice and shifted closer. “If we’re going to disagree, could we do it in your room?”
Her cheeks heated. Her gasp was audible. “No, we can’t. Go away.” Jaclyn stepped back to close the door, but DeMarcus pressed his hand against it.
“Please, Jack. I really do want to talk about the team.”
Jaclyn glared at him. DeMarcus saw hurt was well as anger in her expression. How could he show her how very sorry he was?
Finally, she stepped back, letting him in. “Keep it brief.”
He’d welcome even the little victories. “Thank you, Jack.”
DeMarcus strode past the small dining section and into the living area. He lowered himself to the puffy green and gold sofa and waited for Jaclyn to join him. She came as close as the armchair that bordered the living area.
At one time, they couldn’t get close enough to each other. Now, she couldn’t get far enough away. This is what his fear had cost him. A priceless, irreplaceable treasure. How could he get her back?
Jaclyn gripped the chair’s back. “What do you want, Marc?”
She looked beautiful in a long-sleeved orange dress, like a sunrise bursting over a gold horizon.
When had he become a poet?
DeMarcus collected his thoughts. “I heard the press conference this morning was rough. I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. Somehow the movement created an even greater distance between them. “It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”
“You mean if I’d been there.”
“I’m certain, if you’d attended the press conference, the questions would have gotten out of hand.”
DeMarcus inclined his head. “Probably. But my absence didn’t stop them from asking about our relationship.”
Jaclyn arched a brow. “It seems that everyone else has sources in the franchise. I’m the only one who doesn’t have a connection to insider information.”
He wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I appreciate your public support.”
Her wave was dismissive. “Of course. If I thought you’d had a drug problem, I wouldn’t ask you to lead my team.”
DeMarcus met her troubled gaze. “If you believe in me, why won’t you give me another chance?”
Her smile didn’t lift the clouds from her eyes. “Because I also believe you can’t separate your lover from your boss.”
“Give me another chance, Jack.”
Jaclyn’s lips tightened. “I’ve already given you two. The first was after you and Jamal had an altercation during practice. Oscar told me about that. And, today, with the drug rumors that Andrea told me about. You know what they say? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. I can’t let you fool me a third time, Marc.”
DeMarcus stood. “I never meant to hurt or disrespect you. When I get the ball, I tend to run with it. That’s my failing. I can fix that.”
Jaclyn shook her head. “You were never a ball hog, Marc. You just didn’t trust me with the ball. You thought you could carry it better. Well, maybe you can. But, as the franchise owner, I’d like a chance to at least discuss it.”
“OK. I can do that.”
“You’ve said that before. I want to believe you, but I’m afraid that I’ll keep being misled.”
DeMarcus ran an impatient hand over his hair. His fingers were shaking. “Is it really that easy for you to throw away our relationship? Tell me how you’ve made it so easy so I can do it, too.”
Jaclyn exploded. “You think this is easy for me? I’m in love with you. But I can’t walk away from the Monarchs. It would be like walking away from my family.”
DeMarcus saw stars. His blood buzzed in his ears. “You’re in love with me? Since when?”
She made an irritated sound. “How does that even matter?”
“Then why are you keeping us apart?”
“I’m not the one keeping us apart.” She swung her arm to point at him. “You are.”
“No, I’m not. How can I when I’m in love with you, too, Jack.”
Jaclyn blinked. She stared at him blankly as though trying to translate his words. She swayed forward, then stepped back. “You love a part of me. The part outside of the office. I deserve someone who loves all of me. Inside and outside of the arena.”
DeMarcus spread his arms. “I was trying to help you. You’re already stressed about the arena. I wanted to take care of the media problem for you.”
“I don’t need you to be my knight in shining armor in the office. I need you to be my head coach.” Jaclyn spun away from him to pace into the dining area. “Between Gerry and Nessa, I have enough people to keep track of. I don’t want to worry about what you’re not telling me as well.”
DeMarcus turned to keep Jaclyn in sight. If he remembered correctly, Vanessa was Gerald’s administrative assistant. “What’s Nessa doing?”
Jaclyn sighed, pushing her hair back from her face. “Don’t worry about Nessa. I’ll deal with her when we get back to Brooklyn.”
“I can’t believe you’ve put me in the same category as Gerry. He’s trying to hurt the team.”
Jaclyn froze him with her eyes. “And what were you doing when you didn’t tell me about Gerry’s blackmail?”
DeMarcus studied Jaclyn, her body language, her tone, the look in her eyes. “I’m not the only one who has trouble separating the personal and the professional.”
“What are you talking about?”
DeMarcus paced toward her. “You don’t trust me. But it’s not professional. It’s personal.”
Jaclyn narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
He stopped less than an arm’s length from her. He felt her warmth, sensed her confusion. “You’re not upset because you think I don’t respect you professionally. You know that I do. You’re upset because you think I’ll choose my family over yours, and you’ll be left alone again.”
Jaclyn stepped back. A look of incredulity settled over her features. “Where did you get that idea?”
DeMarcus inclined his head. “From you.” He followed her, refusing to let her put any more distance between them. “You lost your parents and your brother when you were three. You lost your grandmother when you were eleven. I figure that’s about the same time you lost your grandfather.”
Jaclyn shook her head. “My grandfather died two years ago.”
“But he shut you out more like twenty years ago. He’d lost his son, daughter-in-law, grandson and wife. I don’t know why, but he closed himself off from you and made you feel second best to a basketball team.”
“Stop it.” Jaclyn hissed the command between her teeth. “That’s not true. I never felt that way. This franchise is his legacy.”
“No, you’re his legacy.” DeMarcus cornered her against the sofa. “He may not have known that, but I do and you should.”
“He left his team for me.”
“He should have left you with memories of who your parents were. What your father was like as a little boy. After your grandmother died, the franchise became your family. Your words. You said yourself the house you grew up in was never a home. Instead, your grandfather left you with a cold building and a grown man’s game.”
Jaclyn blinked back the tears pooling in her eyes. She planted her hands on his chest and shoved at him. “My grandfather was a good man. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
DeMarcus stepped back, giving her a breath of room. “Deep down, because of Gerry’s threats, you think I’m going to choose to protect my family and help him destroy what’s left of yours. Just like Bert and just like Nessa.”
Jaclyn’s lips tightened. “Why else wouldn’t you tell me he was blackmailing you?”
DeMarcus nodded. “I know you won’t believe me if I tell you you’re wrong. I’ll show you instead.”
Anthony Chambers snatched the ball and charged back up the court. The Monarchs trailed the Washington Wizards by one point. DeMarcus checked the shot clock. Sixteen seconds left. He read the game clock: 29.3 seconds. Anthony was driving to the basket.
DeMarcus clapped his ha
nds. “Barron, guard the post. Jamal watch your defender. Stay aggressive. Keep moving. No fouls.”
Anthony pulled up at the three-point line, passing the ball to Barron. The Wizards’ Rashard Lewis and Andray Blatche swarmed the point guard, forcing him to bounce the ball to Serge. The Frenchman pump faked the ball before returning it to Anthony. Eight seconds remained on the shot clock. Jamal fought free of the Wizards’ John Wall, signaling for the ball. Four seconds on the shot clock. Barron sent the ball to the rookie shooting guard.
DeMarcus watched in disbelief as Jamal stepped behind the three-point line. The shooting guard bent his knees and launched himself into the air. He propelled the ball over Wall and Lewis, a straight shot to the basket.
Silence dropped into the arena.
His shoulders tight, his neck tense, DeMarcus followed the trajectory of the ball from the tips of Jamal’s fingers over the straining arms of Lewis and Wall, across the paint—short of the basket.
Wizards faithful chanted, “Air ball! Air ball! Air ball!” The buzzer sounded and the fans erupted into shouts and roars of approval.
The announcer screamed into the microphone. “Ward shot an air ball! The Wizards win! The Wizards win! Ninety-two to ninety-one.”
DeMarcus turned to make the long walk across the court to congratulate the Washington Wizards’ head coach, Flip Saunders. “Good game, Coach.” The words felt heavy passing his numb lips.
He released Flip Saunders’s hand and maneuvered his way to Vom Two, the tunnel to the visitors’ locker room. DeMarcus passed reporters, television crews, rowdy fans and flirty groupies. He wasn’t aware of any of them. He’d been so certain the Monarchs would win this game. He’d promised Jaclyn he’d give her a win. How had things fallen apart in the fourth quarter? It wasn’t a rhetorical question. He needed an answer or he’d sit out the postseason—by himself.
DeMarcus stood as Jaclyn marched across his office. She circled his desk to confront him. Her stilettos brought her almost to eye level. Her lilac scent wrapped around him. “Start Rick. Jamal isn’t ready.”