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Gerald leaned back in the thick visitor’s chair. He’d buried his impatience and agitation and put his mask of superiority back in place. “I’m concerned with the bottom line. If that makes me a cold-hearted businessman, then that’s what I am.”
Jaclyn counted to ten. She kept her tone flat. “And you think the franchise’s bottom line will improve if we move the team to Nevada?”
“I already have an offer.”
He was lying. He had to be.
Jaclyn paced back to her chair. She needed to sit before she fell. “From whom?”
“A corporation in Las Vegas has offered to build the Monarchs an arena. All we’d have to do is move in.” His words were muffled beneath the buzzing in her ears.
“What’s the name of this corporation?”
“Abbottson Investments Inc. Carville Abbottson is the CEO.”
Jaclyn’s fingers itched to do an Internet search on the corporation and its chief executive. Did they exist? She couldn’t trust anything Gerald said. “Will the arena be ready by next season?”
Gerald shrugged. His eyes never wavered. “They haven’t broken ground yet. They’re working on financing now.”
They didn’t have financing? Astonishment wiped the frown from Jaclyn’s brow. Could Gerald possibly be serious? “What are the contract terms?”
He crossed his legs. “Abbottson’s coming in next week to discuss those.”
Jaclyn blinked. “You scheduled a meeting with him without first consulting me?”
“I’m consulting you now.”
Jaclyn lifted her right fingers, counting their unanswered questions. “Abbottson doesn’t know how he’s going to finance the arena. He doesn’t know when the arena will open, and you don’t know the contract terms. That’s a lot of unknowns. Are you ad-libbing this or are you seriously considering this offer?”
Gerald’s grin was mean around the edges. “You can ask him yourself.”
“Wake up, Gerry. Abbottson didn’t give you an offer. He expressed an interest.”
Gerald straightened the crease on his silk pants. “Which is more than you have now, isn’t it? Or didn’t the Gandy brothers tell you that they’re selling the arena?”
Jaclyn leaned back in her executive chair. Althea was right. They had a spy in the front office. That was the only way Gerald would have known she’d spoken with the arena owners. “I’m aware of that.”
Gerald inclined his head. “Then you’d better hope Abbottson’s interest becomes an offer and soon. Even if the revenues increase by the end of the season, it would be too little, too late, and the Monarchs will be homeless next year.”
“This situation couldn’t have worked out better for you if you’d planned it yourself.” She tipped her head. “Or did you?”
“You give me too much credit.” Gerald pushed himself to his feet and stared down at her. “You can either sell your shares to me or move with the team to Las Vegas. Either way, I don’t care.”
Her features stiffened. Gerald knew she’d never leave Brooklyn. “Sell my shares to you? Can your clothing budget afford another hit?”
Gerald’s glare was pure hate. “You Joneses think you’re better than everyone else. Enjoy it while you can.”
“When is Abbottson coming?”
Gerald shrugged again. “We have to finalize that. The Monarchs have a couple of games next week, don’t they?”
Was he baiting her or did he seriously not know the team’s schedule? “We play the Sacramento Kings Tuesday, February ninth, then we break for the All-Star Game and weekend. Why don’t you ask Nessa to send you a schedule so you can keep up?”
The right corner of Gerald’s lips curved upward in a wry smile. He looked around her office again. “We should change the team’s colors. Silver and black are too drab for Las Vegas. Of course, you’ll have to redo your interior decorating.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Gerry.”
He turned to leave. “You can’t fight progress, Jackie.”
