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Rubbing his fist, Warrick turned to DeMarcus. “Go ahead and suspend me. And I’ll pay the fine gladly.”
DeMarcus glanced up from Jamal’s shocked and pained expression to Warrick’s strained and tight features. “Suspend you for what?”
The two men exchanged a long look. Warrick relaxed. DeMarcus inclined his head, giving his veteran guard a small smile of gratitude.
Anthony scratched his head. “I didn’t see anything.”
Barron stood, putting distance between himself and Jamal. “Me neither.”
Vincent Jardine, the quiet center, slapped Warrick on the back. “Not a thing.”
Serge Gateau spread his arms wide. “Que s’est produit?”
Oscar scowled at Jamal. “What are you doing on the floor, rookie?”
DeMarcus listened to the chorus of disclaimers all avowing that they hadn’t seen Warrick knock Jamal to the ground. He turned to his assistant coach. “Hundreds of hours of practice, travel and games couldn’t bring them together. But seeing Jamal knocked on his ass has helped them bond.”
Oscar grunted. “It’s united them against Ward. That won’t help us in the long run.”
DeMarcus watched Jamal limp toward the bleachers. His lip was busted. It would bloom like a red rose before the end of the day. “He brought it on himself.”
“The kid’s got a bad attitude, that’s for sure. And the older players all like and respect Jackie. So do I.” Oscar shifted to look DeMarcus in the eyes. “Treat her right.”
DeMarcus watched his assistant coach walk away. This practice had gone more like a daytime drama. He didn’t know what to expect after the commercial break.
“You’re very persistent, Jaclyn.” Mortimer Gandy’s thin, wrinkled lips curved with unwilling amusement.
The Empire Arena’s majority owner helped her out of her silver cashmere coat. There was more than a week until Thanksgiving, but already it felt like winter.
Mortimer cupped her forearm as he and Jaclyn crossed the two-story entrance of his Saddle River, New Jersey, home. Mortimer was approaching ninety years of age, if he wasn’t already there. Jaclyn cupped her hand over his frail one. Who was leading whom?
Jaclyn’s scarlet stilettos—a perfect match to her power skirt suit—tapped against the green and brown
stone flooring. She was careful to match his much slower pace. “I appreciate your time, Mr. Gandy.”
His brother’s voice reached her just as she accompanied Mortimer into his sitting room. “Come now, Jackie. Your grandfather never called either of us Mr. Gandy. I’m Sandy and he’s Morty. Otherwise how will we know to whom you’re speaking?”
Jaclyn smiled at Mortimer’s younger brother. Sanford Gandy’s scarlet Rutgers University sweatshirt and baggy black jeans stood in striking contrast to Mortimer’s beige and cocoa, diamond-patterned sweater and cocoa corduroy pants.
“You know that I don’t like to be called Morty, Sanford. Franklin Jones never called me that.” Mortimer spoke with long-suffering patience. They must have had this conversation numerous times before.
Hiding her amusement at the brothers’ exchange, Jaclyn allowed Mortimer to escort her to an armchair beside the fireplace. Assured Jaclyn was comfortable, Mortimer ambled to the matching chair on the other side of the tan sofa.
“And I don’t like to be called Sanford, Mort.” Sanford filled a gold-rimmed china cup from the tea service on the coffee table in front of him. He rose from the sofa to offer the cup to Jaclyn. “It’s Earl Grey. Would you like a cookie?”
Jaclyn took the cup and used the napkin Sanford offered to select a lemon cream cookie. “Thank you, Sandy.”
Mortimer lifted his teacup and saucer from the corner table on his right. “If my brother is done with his petulance, perhaps you can tell us how we can help you, my dear. Our attorneys assured us they have explained that we’re not inclined to change the terms of the Empire contract.”
“Yes, they have.” Jaclyn shifted forward on the fluffy chair and crossed her ankles. “But I wanted to present my proposal to you personally.”
Sanford settled back in the sofa. “Great. We’re listening.”
Pushing past her nerves, Jaclyn noted Sanford’s excited energy and Mortimer’s respectful silence. She called upon her cool negotiator’s personae from her days with Jonas & Prather. But this negotiation was too personal. The outcome meant too much.
Jaclyn lowered her shoulders and straightened her back. “Our event revenue is up more than seventy-five percent over last season from ticket, refreshment and product sales. This season, we should double our income compared to last year.”
Mortimer crossed his right leg over his left and balanced the cup and saucer on his knee. “You said you should double your income. What would prevent you from accomplishing that goal?”
