Bigger Than Beckham (49 page)

Nate shot him a sly grin as he unfolded his
rangy body from the couch. “I’d say that depends on where exactly
you two might have the debate, if you catch my drift. Maybe you’ll
end up wanting to share a whole lot of things, Tony.
If
you
don’t let this stupid mess you’re in now fuck everything up.
Everything that really counts, that is.”

Once Nate dropped her off at home, Martha
descended deeper into the blue funk that had enveloped her since
Rance Malone delivered his bitter news. Wearily, she climbed the
stairs to her bedroom, all too aware of the lonely silence in the
rambling house. Shucking off her suit, pantyhose and jewelry, she
pulled on jeans and a yellow cotton tank top, desperate to defeat
the tension that knotted her insides into a wretched mess. If she
could take a picture of her gut, it would probably resemble the
ridiculous tangle of cords and wires under her computer desk.

Impatient and out of sorts, it took all her
will power not to pick up the phone and dial Tony’s number. What
had he needed more time for, anyway? He’d made it spectacularly
clear that he wasn’t going to be able to match Steam Train’s offer.
Not even close. How long was she supposed to hang on while he
racked his brain for an answer that would probably never come?
Though she dreaded the ultimate outcome, the waiting was driving
her mad. Plus, she expected either her uncle or Steam Train or
maybe both to keep leaking information or misinformation about the
negotiations. By tomorrow morning the media would be banging down
her door again, demanding answers in the pushy fashion she
scathingly associated with the broadcast media.

The more she thought about it the more she
realized how much she longed to get the deal over with tonight. Why
prolong the agony? She’d failed in her promise to her father. She’d
even failed in her attempt to protect her staff. But she damn well
wasn’t going to wallow in a borderless slough of self-pity and
regret. Yes, she’d made a hash of things, but she took comfort in
the fact that at least her mistakes hadn’t stemmed from a failure
of will or a lack of courage. She’d absorb the hurt and
humiliation, then head back to Philadelphia and the career she
loved. In truth, she had more blessings in her life than any one
woman had a right to, and it would be immoral and downright stupid
not to be grateful for everything she had.

And although the past weeks had been
torturous, she had to acknowledge that those days had brought her
both pleasure and opportunity, too. Her particular silver lining
had ironically come in the form of Tony Branch. Too many times
she’d treated him with suspicion and outright hostility, little of
which he’d deserved. Yes, he’d been steadfast—dogged—in his
campaign to get her team, but how could she blame him for that?
Tony knew what he wanted and he went after it with everything he
had. Even now, at the very last minute, he was still trying to come
up with something that would make a deal more palatable to her.
He’d fail, of course, but the important point was that he tried.
She sensed that now, at least, Tony was trying for her sake as much
as his own.

And, of course, he’d brought her Ginny Cross,
risking their longstanding friendship. Sometimes Tony had merited
Martha’s ire and sharp tongue, but the man was solid and decent to
the very core of his being. What had started out so badly between
them had turned into a blessing. With a little luck—and surely she
deserved some right about now—she and Tony could forge a new and
very different relationship once they got this dreary mess behind
them.

At least she prayed to God they could. She
had to believe she meant more to him than just a pathway to further
his business ambitions in America.

Her home phone rang as she was rattling
around the kitchen, filling a carafe to get a pot of decaf going.
The sudden jarring noise made her hand jerk backward hard enough to
splash water all over the counter. Putting down the carafe, she
snatched the phone from its cradle. “Hello?”

“Hello, darling.” Geoffrey’s unctuous tone
slid over her like thick motor oil long past its change date.

“Ah…are you feeling better, Uncle?” She’d
desperately hoped it would be Tony, and now she had to try to hide
the disappointment that no doubt came through in her tone.

“A little, yes, thank you. These damnable
viruses can knock the stuffing out of someone my age, you know.
But, in any case, I’m anxious to hear the latest news. Where do
things stand with Steam Train and Tony Branch, dear?”

Martha stifled an instinctive snort, unable
to believe he wasn’t talking to at least one of them, if not both.
Then it suddenly struck her that tonight would mark the beginning
of the end of her relationship with her uncle, at least as business
partners and probably more. Part of her knew she’d welcome that
eventuality. Still, it nevertheless marked a milestone and she had
to wonder if any relationship between them would survive the
family’s loss of the team. It added to her sense of melancholy,
knowing her father would have hated the prospect of a complete
estrangement.

Geoffrey huffed heavily a few times but
didn’t say a word as Martha briefly explained where things
stood.

“Interesting. Very interesting. Steam Train’s
offer is really rather exciting, isn’t it?” Geoffrey said after she
finished the quick recap. “Of course, Branch would have been a
marvelous owner from a soccer point of view, but we can’t have
everything, can we?”

Martha suspected her uncle was positively
salivating at the thought of a couple of million dollars soon
arrowing into his rapidly depleting bank account, even though a
goodly chunk of that would have to go straight to covering his
burgeoning debts. “Let’s see what Branch comes back with, shall
we?” she said. “After all, the opera’s not over until the chubby
woman sings, is it?”

She had no intention of discussing the matter
of job security for her staff with Geoffrey, especially since it
wasn’t going to happen.

“Yes, of course. But I’d appreciate a call as
soon as you hear back from him, Martha,” he said a bit sternly.

“Absolutely, Uncle. So long for now, and make
sure you keep taking care of that nasty ol’ virus,” she said.

Sighing, she hung up. At least one family
member would be happy.

Ten minutes later, while she was surfing the
internet for leaked details on the impending sale, the phone rang
again. The call display showed the Hyatt Regency’s number.

Martha snatched it up. “Tony?”

“Yes, Martha. I’m sorry it took so long to
get back to you.”

Despite how difficult this conversation would
surely turn out to be, his deep rumble seemed to soothe her
skittish nerves.

“It’s fine,” she said, working to keep a
betraying quaver out of her voice. God, more than anything she
wanted Tony with her. Holding and comforting her in his powerful
embrace.

“I need to see you, Martha. And right now.
So, I’ll jump into a cab and come straight to your place.” He
paused for a moment, but finally spoke into the awkward silence.
“Did you hear back from Steam Train? I’m not too late, am I?”

She frowned, her excitement dialing back a
few notches. Did he really think she would break her word and agree
to the brewery’s offer without speaking to him first?

“Yes, I heard from Malone,” she said coolly,
“and no, I haven’t signed anything yet. Have you forgotten that you
asked me not to?”

“No. God, no,” he said quickly. “I guess I
was fishing for whether Steam Train had said yes to your bottom
line.”

She supposed he had reason to worry, since if
Malone had said the right words the deal would have indeed been as
good as done. “They didn’t, but I expect you had a good idea that
was going to be the case. Nobody in the so-called business world
seems to share my naiveté on that score, do they?” Bitterness had
seeped into her voice, so she clamped her lips shut, hating that
she might sound like an old crone.

“Martha, love, we need to talk face-to-face.
Please.”

Tony had obviously picked up on her depressed
state of mind, and he was right that a phone call was probably
going to get them nowhere. “Fine, then,” she said.

“See you in ten.”

Martha put the phone down, ashamed that she’d
let her misery loose on poor Tony. She had to wonder how long the
guilt over failing her father twice would continue to dog her. Only
her promise to take over his team had finally healed the awful
breach between them, but at least that decision had given them both
a measure of peace during the last wrenching months of his
life.

For that she would always be grateful.

Nate, of course, was right about her father’s
misguided expectations. She knew that now. But how could she sit in
cold judgment of the man who had done everything for her sake and
had loved her as much as any father could love a child? Together,
the two of them had somehow fought their way through the wasteland
that followed of her mother’s sudden death, and had taken care of
each other with a loving dedication forged by sudden, unthinkable
tragedy. So what if his expectations might have been beyond what a
father, in some dispassionate theory, should ask of his daughter?
Will Winston had earned the right, hadn’t he?

Damn right he had.

Wiping away a few unwelcome tears, Martha
headed into the living room to straighten up before Tony’s arrival.
Why she cared at this point whether the throw cushions on the sofa
were in their proper places or the magazines on the coffee table
were neatly squared was a mystery, but she took a few moments to
try to make the room look close to perfect, anyway.

But then she made the mistake of glancing at
her father’s portrait and her tears started to flow in earnest.
Abandoning any more tidying, she hurried past the painting and up
to her bathroom. There, she scrubbed off her ruined makeup and
willed herself to get the hell
off
the emotional
rollercoaster before Tony showed up at her door. She glared at
herself in the mirror and delivered a silent lecture, ignoring the
fact that she looked like a demented, bleary-eyed fool.

Cab lights shone into her front window about
ten minutes after Tony called. Martha didn’t wait for him to ring
the bell. Instead, she threw open the door as he paid the driver. A
moment later, he enveloped her in a fiercely warm embrace and she
clung for a few moments, taking refuge in his strength. Neither of
them tried to prolong the clinch, though. She chalked it up to them
both being too battered by nerves to contemplate even a chaste
kiss.

“Did you leave Ginny to her own devices for
the evening?” Martha led him into the living room. “Or is Rex
taking care of her?” She waved him into one of the wingback
chairs.

“She sacked out early. Jet lagged,
apparently. She’s not used to that kind of travel.”

“Not like you, anyway, hot shot jet-setter
that you are,” she quipped, trying to ease the tension. “Lord, you
look as fresh as new powder in the Rocky Mountains.”

In truth, Tony looked about as ragged as she
felt. His blue, open-necked shirt and black slacks might have been
slept in, his dark hair was mussed, and the dark, heavy stubble on
his chin could have served as a perfect surface to strike a match.
Only his eyes looked near normal, retaining their hawkish
gleam.

And those eyes were trained on her with
familiar but still startling intensity.

“And you look hot enough for me to want to
peel off those skintight jeans and rediscover what I’ve been
missing so bloody much,” he said in a sexy, gravelly voice that
threatened to melt her from the inside out.

“Um, that’s nice. Coffee or bourbon?” she
blurted nervously. God, she sounded like a moron, but the squadron
of butterflies flapping around in her stomach made it hard to think
coherently, much less form elegant sentences.

“Neither, thanks. Just sit, Martha, please.
Maybe we’ll have a drink later. I hope so, anyway.” He gave her a
reassuring smile.

God, I hope so, too.
Martha perched
warily on the edge of the sofa, near him but not too near. “It’s
your move, Tony,” she said, folding her hands primly in her
lap.

She meant that in every possible sense.

He leaned toward her, resting his
heavily-muscled arms on his thighs. He’d rolled his shirt up to his
elbows, and the top two buttons at the collar were undone,
revealing a glimpse of dark chest hair. Against all reason,
Martha’s mind was immediately flooded with memories of how her
cheek had felt resting on his warm chest, rising and falling in a
gentle rhythm as Tony, exhausted from their lovemaking, slept
peacefully beneath her. In those moments, she’d felt utterly safe
and serene.

After a deep breath, he launched into it.
“Martha, until an hour ago, I was all set to come here and take one
last, desperate shot at buying the Thunder. It was going to be the
best offer I could give, but unfortunately it was also going to be
one you’d probably have to reject.” He paused a moment. “I say that
even though it
would
have met your demand to keep your staff
in their jobs. Believe me, deciding to give in on that aspect was
just about the hardest business decision I’ve ever had to
make.”