Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)

Warrick jumped for the ball. The Knicks’ Stoudemire deflected his pass to Vincent. DeMarcus felt his Monarchs’ thirst for victory as Warrick leaped forward, clawing for the ball. Stoudemire chased him down. Both players fell to the court in a tangle of arms and legs. The referees blew the whistle.

Jump ball.

Eight seconds remained on the game clock. The Knicks lined up on the left, Monarchs on the right. DeMarcus bent his legs, willing Warrick to win the battle of ascensions. The ref blew the whistle, tossed the basketball into the air and stepped back. Warrick leaped, body stretching, arm straining. His large hand smacked the ball just out of Stoudemire’s reach. Anthony and the Knicks’ Chandler tussled for position. Chandler ripped the ball from Anthony’s hands.

Vincent joined Anthony in pursuit of the ball from behind. Jamal intercepted Chandler from the front. With a flick of his wrist, the rookie stole the ball and hustled up the court.

Four seconds to the buzzer.

Jamal landed on the perimeter line. DeMarcus held his breath. The rookie pulled up. He tossed the ball to Warrick far beyond the perimeter.

One second to the buzzer.

The veteran saved the ball in one hand—and sent a rainbow to the net. The arena went silent. DeMarcus didn’t breathe. He tracked the ball from Warrick’s hand. It sailed a high arc to the Knicks’ basket.

Three points.

The arena exploded. The Monarchs had stolen the win, 101 to 100.

DeMarcus raised both fists in the air and threw his head back. He looked up at the visiting owner’s box, at Jaclyn and his father. They were hugging and jumping like little kids at Christmas. As he watched, they separated to look at the court. His father waved. He waved back. He couldn’t see Jaclyn’s features clearly, but he could see her grin. He thought she’d blown a kiss. Then she turned and grabbed his father in another bear hug.

DeMarcus met Mike D’Antoni, the Knicks’ head coach, in the middle of the court. “Good game, Coach. You gave us a scare.” Then he savored the words, “We’ll see you in the play-offs.”

Althea raced into her office. The sight of her painfully professional administrative assistant engaged in such undignified behavior stopped Jaclyn midsentence.

“Jackie, get off the phone. Now.” Althea leaned over her desk to issue the order. Her hair was mussed. Her eyes were wild. Her cheeks were flushed.

Jaclyn could feel the other woman’s breath puffing against her face. “Vi, I’ve got to call you back.” Jaclyn stood as she recradled the phone. Her pulse was beating in her throat. “What’s happened?”

“Elia’s been trying to reach you. Marc’s agent’s in his office talking to him right now about an opening with the Knicks’ coaching staff.”

Jaclyn had already circled her desk and was racing to her door. She cursed her stilettos for slowing her down. Then she cursed the elevators for doing the same. Minutes later, she tried to run past Elia’s desk. The diminutive woman threw herself in front of Jaclyn and held a finger to her lips.

DeMarcus’s executive assistant motioned Jaclyn to the door. Surprisingly, it had been left open a few inches. Was that by chance or did Elia have a habit of eavesdropping? Jaclyn tiptoed closer and strained to hear the conversation inside.

DeMarcus chuckled. “You won’t change my mind, Chris.”

Another man’s voice, presumably Chris, responded. “The Monarchs are paying you peanuts. I told you when they first came knocking on your door, you should walk away from their offer. You deserve more money.”

“And I told you, it wasn’t about the money.”

“It should always be about the money.” Chris is annoyingly persistent.

“I’m happy with what I’m making now.” Jaclyn knew that wasn’t true. She remembered his comment about being paid minimum wage. Obviously, the Mighty Guinn didn’t know what minimum wage was. But why would he lie to his agent?

“I can get you at least five percent more with the Knicks—and that’s for an assistant coaching spot. More money, less stress. Who wouldn’t want that?”

Jaclyn held her breath.

“My contract is up in July. You can renegotiate for more money then.”

She exhaled.

“Marc, be realistic. The Monarchs aren’t going to be able to offer you five percent more than what you’re making now. They’re cash strapped and watching every penny.” Chris made the Monarchs sound like the church mice of the NBA. She disliked him intensely.

“I’m not going to change my mind. Tell the Knicks thanks, but no thanks. Then renegotiate my Monarchs contract for more money. I don’t care how much more, even if it’s only half of a percent.”

“Half of a percent?” Chris sounded like he was having a stroke. “What’s the point of that?”