Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)

“Because I don’t have one.” He wasn’t lying. DeMarcus was pretty sure Gerald was behind the bogus story, but he didn’t have proof. Without proof, he wouldn’t make allegations against the franchise partner—his boss—in the media. He’d deal with Gerald himself.

Andrea shifted in her chair, crossing her legs. “I’m curious—”

“I’m sure you are.”

She continued as though DeMarcus hadn’t tried to interrupt her. “Is the person behind this fake story trying to hurt you, your team, your family or all of the above?”

DeMarcus felt his tension building. The intrepid reporter was too close to the truth. “When you find the person, ask.”

“I will. I respect that you don’t want to get into an exchange of angry words or bad feelings in the press. That never helps anyone.” Andrea stood. “But whoever planted this story doesn’t care about you, your family or the Monarchs.”

DeMarcus stood with her. “Apparently not.”

“So what does he care about?”

“That’s another good question.”

“But one you won’t answer?”

“I can’t.” That, too, was true. Whatever happened in the team had to stay in the team.

Andrea arched a brow. “I’m going to break this story. Not the one alleging your drug use. The one about the person attacking your reputation. And, when I do, I’ll let you know what I find out.”

“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.”