Fast Break (Brooklyn Monarchs 1)

Jaclyn leaned toward Albert. “I’m sorry if the tension between Gerry and me is making you uncomfortable.” She pinned Gerald with a direct stare. “But we’re going to continue to be at odds until I’m assured that the team will remain in Brooklyn and that you’ll stop trying to sabotage our season.”

Gerald turned away from Jaclyn to address Albert. “Bert, you know I only want what’s best for the franchise.”

Albert crossed his right leg over his left. “Is that really your motivation?”

Jaclyn tensed. “What else could it be?”

Gerald’s expression hardened as he held Albert’s gaze. “You’ve supported every decision I’ve made. What’s your motivation?”

Jaclyn’s neck and shoulders tightened with grown unease. The subtext flowing between the men left Jaclyn out in the cold. “What are you two talking about?”

Albert didn’t flinch. “I’ll tell you my motivation. It was easier for me to leave the business decisions to you, Gerry, so that I could focus on Tipton’s Fashionwear.”

Jaclyn’s gaze wavered. “And I was grieving for my grandfather.” She looked at Gerald. “So what’s behind the decisions you’ve made for the team?”

Gerald glared at Albert before answering. “Building on what our fathers and your grandfather started.”

Jaclyn held Gerald’s gaze as he lied to her.

Albert broke the silence. “You’re focused on the team now, Jackie. But I’m still more interested in running Tipton’s Fashionwear than I am in the Brooklyn Monarchs. And I’m definitely not interested in being in the middle of these power plays between the two of you. That’s why I’ve decided to sell my shares.”

13

Jaclyn stopped breathing. Albert had refused to sell his shares to her earlier. Gerald had asked him not to. So what was he planning to do now?

She swung her attention to Gerald. She sensed her adversary’s shock even from the other end of the conference table. Albert had caught him off guard as well.

Gerald leaned into the table, closing in on Albert. “To whom are you going to sell your shares?”

Albert didn’t appear intimidated by the muted anger in Gerald’s voice. “Don’t worry, Gerry. I’m going to sell my shares to both of you.” He waved his right hand from Jaclyn to Gerald. “One share to Jackie and twenty-five shares to you, making you both equal partners.”

The knots in Jaclyn’s stomach unraveled, allowing her to breathe again. At least Albert wasn’t going to sell all of his shares to Gerald, which would have made Gerald the majority owner with fifty-one percent of the franchise.

Still, she was disappointed—and a little sad. Four friends had started the franchise fifty-five years ago. Soon, only two descending families would remain. She folded her hands on the table’s smooth, cool surface. “I’m sorry that you no longer want to be a part of the Monarchs family, Bert. But I appreciate your dividing your shares evenly. That’s very fair.”

“No, it’s not.” Gerald sounded indignant. “I have to buy a lot more shares than you do.”

“Calm down, Gerry.” Albert stood to leave, shoving his chair under the table. “You don’t have to write the check now. We can work something out.”

Jaclyn caught the bite in Albert’s voice. How anxious was he to get away from the strained atmosphere? “Or I can buy all of your shares, Bert.”

She’d have to sell some of her investments. Her portfolio would take a big hit, but it would be worth it. Albert held her gaze. Was he considering her offer?

He glanced at Gerald, then back to Jaclyn. “I’ll let the two of you figure that o

ut.” Albert strode from the conference room without another word or a second glance.

Jaclyn turned away from the door as Albert disappeared through the threshold. She faced Gerald. “How about it, Gerry? Do you want to make a deal?”

Gerald pushed away from the table. “It will be a cold day in hell before I let you have majority ownership of this franchise.” He followed Albert from the room.

A cold day in hell? One way or another, she’d see to it that Gerald needed a lot of sweaters.

DeMarcus blew the heavy black whistle he carried around his neck, commanding his players’ attention from their Monday morning practice. “Bring it in.”

He waited for the thirteen Monarchs to gather with him and the other coaches near the polished wood bleachers. Their sneakers squeaked as they crossed the practice court. Their bodies dripped sweat from their ninety minutes of warm up and fundamentals—dribbling, shooting, passing and footwork, core skills that would carry the team at least into the play-offs. Hopefully.

DeMarcus settled his hands on his hips, letting his gaze take in the varied expressions looking back at him. “We’re coming off of a hard-earned victory. But it was one win out of nine games. We have another seventy-three on the calendar. Another five months to the season.”