Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)
“That’s what I told her.” DeMarcus straightened off the window shelf. He propped his hands on his hips and studied the gleaming hardwood floor. “I can coach her team, but she has to keep Gerry and Bert out of trouble.”
“Can she?”
DeMarcus looked up. He couldn’t read Julian’s expression. He had a lot riding on this decision. Whatever he chose to do, he didn’t want the outcome to reflect badly on his family’s name. “I don’t know. What should I do?”
Julian arched a brow. “If you decide to coach the Monarchs, you’ll give the team your best effort. But no one could blame you if you decide not to. The front office is in disarray.”
“Jack called it dysfunctional.”
“That, too.”
“I wish I knew whether we could win.” DeMarcus sighed. “The Monarchs have taken all the losing they can stand. It’s time to put up some W’s.”
“Sometimes winning isn’t determined on the scoreboard.”
DeMarcus’s brows knitted. His father was doing his Star Wars Obi-Wan Kenobe impersonation again. “What does that mean?”
“As far as the community is concerned, a winning season means the Monarchs stay in Brooklyn.”
DeMarcus blew out a breath. “I can’t guarantee that, either.”
Jaclyn rubbed her eyes. That annoying noise was her cell phone ringing beside her. She checked the clock on her home laptop. It was almost ten o’clock at night. Who was that? She saved the client summary she was drafting and picked up the phone. She didn’t recognize the number. Great. “Hello?”
“Jack, it’s Marc Guinn. I
hope I’m not calling too late.”
Her mind spun, trying to anticipate the reason for his call. Had she left something in his car? At his home, perhaps? And why was he calling her Jack? “It’s not too late. What can I do for you?”
A heavy sigh. “I’ll coach the Monarchs, but on one condition.”
Her grip tightened around the slim, black metal phone. “What’s that?”
“I want a one-year contract. At the end of the year, we’ll reevaluate the situation and decide whether we want to continue the agreement.”
Jaclyn wanted to do back flips across her cramped and cluttered home office. Instead, she swallowed a primeval scream of victory and responded with admirable calm. “That’s fair.”
She closed the client summary—it could wait—and opened the electronic file of DeMarcus’s employment contract. “I’ll e-mail the new contract language to you in the morning. If you still agree to the terms, Gerry, Bert and I will sign it tomorrow.”
“Fine. Then I’ll be in the office Wednesday.” His tone was resolute, determined. Sexy.
Jaclyn hesitated. “That’s tomorrow. You don’t want to wait until you get the revised contract?”
“I don’t have time to wait. Preseason starts in twelve days, October fourth.”
Jaclyn wanted to pump her fist. The team had a coach committed to winning. She had an ally to help her save the franchise. Her joy had nothing to do with DeMarcus’s coal black eyes, chiseled chin or the dimples that creased his cheeks when he smiled. She wouldn’t dwell on his lack of experience. That would come. For now, she’d focus on his drive and dedication.
“Thank you, Marc. I appreciate your giving us another chance.” Jaclyn didn’t care if DeMarcus heard her relief. He’d just given her the best news she’d had in years.
“I can’t guarantee a winning season.”
She recognized concern in his voice. “All I’m asking is that you try. The team can win. I know we can. We just need someone as committed to the season as we are.”
“You’ve got that. I hate to lose. I really hate to lose, even more than I love to win.” His chuckle was self-deprecating.
“We have that in common, then. I’ll call you in the morning.”
“Good night, Jack.”