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She looked at him with wide surprised eyes. “That I don’t want the paper’s staff skulking around my employees’ hotel rooms. They have a right to feel safe and to be left alone during away games.”
DeMarcus hesitated. He turned his hand over to hold hers. “That sounds reasonable.”
Jaclyn waved the cell phone clenched in her left fist. “Then I’m going to tell the scum-sucking rodents that the next time I see them and their morally deficient minions, I’m going to tear their throats out.”
DeMarcus froze. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?” Jaclyn slipped her right hand from his grasp. Storm clouds settled over her features.
DeMarcus held her sizzling cinnamon gaze. She’d moved seamlessly between cool entrepreneur and hot-headed warrior. She was a confident, beautiful woman and a talented, driven athlete. “I know you’re upset. So am I. Neither of us has ever had our personal lives on display before. But we can’t give the media the satisfaction of a reaction.”
His father’s advice seemed even more sound as he spoke it to Jaclyn. But it seemed to irritate her.
She threw her hands up. “Why not?”
“Giving them a reaction will keep the story in the news. If we ignore it, it’ll go away.”
Jaclyn lifted the sports section, waving its crumpled front page in her hand. “I want to meet this photographer.”
“What good will that do?”
“First, I want to make sure he’s not included in our media events or press release distribution.”
Again she sounded reasonable. But this time, DeMarcus was suspicious. “And then what?”
“And then, when I see whoever took the picture, I’m going to shove his pencil up his nose.”
DeMarcus took her hand between both of his. It was cool and delicate, in contrast to her fierce mood. “You’ve got to let this go. Focus on the franchise, the players and the season. They’re what’s important.” He nodded toward the newspaper. “That isn’t.”
Jaclyn returned the sports section to the dining table, her gaze fixed on their photo. “The people who expose these private moments don’t realize or care about the damage they could be doing. How am I supposed to face Gerry and Bert? Or the other members of our franchise?”
Still holding her hands in one of his, DeMarcus rubbed the area of his chest above his heart with his other palm. “We didn’t do anything wrong.”
Jaclyn’s eyes met his. “I know that. I don’t regret last night. Not one bit.” She frowned. Her attention shifting back to the paper. “But I’m really not pleased about this morning. How are you supposed to coach the team?”
Her words stopped the tearing in his heart. “I’ll be fine. So will you. But in the meantime, if the team continues to lose, people will think you’re keeping me as the coach because we’re sleeping together.”
Jaclyn shrugged. “We know you’re my head coach because you have what it takes to turn the Monarchs around.”
“Thank you.” His throat dried at her words.
“But to win, you have to get to know the people behind your game plans. What motivates them? What keeps them from winning?”
DeMarcus crossed his arms. “I can’t be the Monarchs’ counselor.”
“Try, you stubborn man. If you’d like, I?
??ll even order your subscription to Oprah Winfrey’s magazine.”
DeMarcus arched a brow. “You’re barely paying me enough to be their coach.”
“You’re going to need the players behind you, and the only way to ensure that is to get to know them.”
He frowned. “I don’t believe in that touchy-feely stuff.”
Jaclyn moved closer. She ran the fingertips of her right hand over his forehead. “I believe in you, and I believe in the team. The team won’t keep losing. And I don’t care what other people think. So don’t worry about that.”
DeMarcus dragged his fingers over his close-cropped hair and paced away. “There’s something you should know.”
