Smooth Play (Brooklyn Monarchs 2)

“If that’s what she wanted, she could have picked up the phone.”

Jaclyn’s gaze scrutinized him. “I know you’re under a lot of pressure since we made the play-offs, but let’s not lose sight of what’s really important—our players.”

Was she saying he couldn’t handle his job? “I know the players are important. That’s why I want to make sure the papers treat them fairly.”

Jaclyn’s stare seemed to reach into his mind. “I’ve heard that some reporters are complaining about you.”

His brows shot up his forehead. “Why?”

“They’re saying you’re limiting their access to the players and trying to direct their stories.”

Troy couldn’t deny the

charges. He wouldn’t apologize, either. He gestured toward the newspaper in Jaclyn’s hand. “I don’t want them distracting the team with stories like that.”

Jaclyn lifted the paper. “Bad press hurts our revenue, and I’m depending on you to minimize the damage. But we’re still obligated to address any problem we may have with the franchise and our employees. Not bury them.”

Troy watched Jaclyn exit the conference room. His boss was right. He had to find a way to protect the team—and his job. But how do you keep thirteen hardworking, hard-playing athletes out of the media spotlight, especially when they had targets on their backs?

3

“Tell me your secret.” Vella Wong whispered into the phone.

Andrea frowned at the New York Sports receptionist’s command. “Why are you whispering?”

Vella continued in hushed tones. “Another wealthy, handsome man is asking for you. This one’s a little older, though. His name’s Gerald Bimm.”

Andrea’s mind went blank. “Gerald Bimm?” She needed confirmation that the Monarchs’ co-owner actually was here.

Vella’s voice returned to normal. “Gerald Bimm is at the front desk for you.”

This couldn’t be good. “I’ll be right there.”

Andrea pushed away from her desk and set off for the reception area. The last time she’d spoken to the Monarchs’ co-owner, he’d been furious that her story had exposed his attempts to move the Brooklyn Monarchs to Nevada, despite the fact the National Basketball Association still had reservations about allowing a franchise in the country’s gambling capital.

Gerald stood watching her enter the waiting area. He looked like Hollywood’s casting of a wealthy, pampered executive with delusions of entitlement. His pinstriped navy suit was custom fit to his tall, lean frame. His pink and blue tie probably cost more than her pantsuit and pumps combined.

Andrea extended her hand. “Good morning, Gerry.” She bit her tongue to keep from asking why he was here. She didn’t want him to know she was uneasy with his surprise visit. Strange. She hadn’t been uncomfortable with Troy’s unexpected appearance. At least not until he’d started telling her how to do her job.

Gerald held her hand too long. “Forgive me for not calling first. Can we talk privately?”

Another man who wanted to speak with her in private? What was going on?

“Sure.” Andrea pulled her hand free and turned to lead him to the newspaper’s conference room. The same room in which she’d spoken with Troy. The similarities were unnerving.

His hold on her shoulder stopped her.

Gerald wrinkled his nose and looked around the worn-and-tattered waiting area. “I noticed a coffee shop around the corner. Could we go there?”

Andrea looked around the room. During the three years she’d worked for New York Sports, she’d become oblivious to the office’s shabby appearance. It hadn’t seemed to disturb Troy this morning, either. Now she tried to see it through a stranger’s eyes, through a wealthy, pampered stranger’s eyes.

There wasn’t any point in mentioning the neighborhood coffee shop wasn’t much better. “I’ll get my purse.”

The screech of athletic shoes across the Monarchs’ practice facility almost drowned the echo of Troy’s dress shoes against the high-gloss hardwood floor. He paused beside the black wire carts of NBA-regulation basketballs and the counters on which stood about a dozen water bottles. A deep breath brought with it the scent of floor wax. Above the floor, following the ceiling’s perimeter, were twelve baskets.

Troy took a moment to watch as players in baggy black shorts and either black or white T-shirts used the baskets for shooting drills. The starters were in black T-shirts. The bench players wore the white ones. From the center of the rectangular room came the rhythmic smacking of jump ropes against the court as other players did their cardio warm-ups. The remaining members of the thirteen-man roster sat on the floor, stretching their legs, hips, and hamstrings with oversized purple exercise bands.

Dressed in Monarchs-logo silver warm-up pants and black T-shirts, the head athletic trainer and three of the four assistant coaches were on the court working with the athletes. The scene brought back bittersweet memories of his college basketball career at Georgetown University. It had ended abruptly.