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DeMarcus jerked his chin, indicating his office. “This is what I want, an opportunity to lead the Brooklyn Monarchs to a winning season. And, in a few years, bring home the championship. We have to be realistic. That won’t happen this season. But it will happen. That’s my goal. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let anyone deny me.”
Jaclyn’s gaze wavered. But then she raised her chin and squared her shoulders. “That’s a very moving speech, Guinn. Can you back it up?”
“Watch me.” DeMarcus settled back into his seat and nodded toward his doorway. “But do it from the other side of the door.”
The heat of her anger battered his cold control. DeMarcus held her gaze and his silence. Finally, Jaclyn inclined her head. She grabbed her purse from the guest chair and left.
DeMarcus scrubbed his face with both hands, hoping to ease his temper. The Lady Assassin had charged him like a lead-footed defender at the post.
Why?
They shared the same goal—a winning season for the Monarchs. Then why was she determined to get rid of him?
Cold air cut into Jaclyn’s skirt suit as she exited the Empire Arena. Leaving her coat at home during autumn in Brooklyn hadn’t been a good idea. But at least the chilled breeze was cooling her temper.
She shivered as she hustled toward the curb. “Thanks for waiting, Herb.” Jaclyn gave the liveried limousine driver a grateful smile.
Yes, she was angry about the Mighty Guinn’s galactic stubbornness and mammoth ego. But she wouldn’t project her wrath onto Herbert Trasker. The quiet older gentleman from the limo service she retained had been driving her around the city for years.
Herbert straightened away from the silver Bentley sedan. The black suit and tie made his wiry frame seem taller. “You’re welcome, Ms. Jones.”
Herbert’s emerald eyes twinkled at her. With a familiar gesture, the driver touched the brim of the black leather hat covering his iron gray hair. He opened the back passenger-side door and waited while Jaclyn thanked him before settling in. Their routine eased some of her tension.
Herbert slid behind the wheel. “The Bonner and Taylor office, Ms. Jones?”
“Yes, thank you, Herb.” She’d stopped trying to get him to call her Jaclyn.
Herbert muscled the Bentley into the crowded, chaotic streets and set it on a course toward the downtown law firm. Bonner & Taylor represented the owners of the Empire Arena, which had been
the home of the Brooklyn Monarchs since the franchise’s birth in 1956.
Herbert maneuvered them past the neighborhoods of the borough in which she’d been born and raised—the congested city sidewalks, packed bodegas and busy storefronts. Framing these streets were trees, young and old, their brilliant autumn colors vying for attention.
The glass and metal corporate building that housed Bonner & Taylor rose into view. Jaclyn beat back her cresting nervousness. Could she convince the arena owners’ lawyers to extend the franchise’s opt-out clause?
Herbert double-parked beside a delivery van and activated the Bentley’s hazard lights. He climbed from the driver’s seat and circled the sedan to hand Jaclyn from the car. Stepping onto the street, Jaclyn felt as though she were moving in slow motion.
“I’ll meet you right here, Ms. Jones.”
She smiled with more confidence than she felt. “Thank you.”
Jaclyn strode to the offices. Revolving doors swung her into the tall, thin building. Her stilettos clicked against the stone floor as she crossed the lobby. The business directory mounted to the marbled teal wall listed Bonner & Taylor’s offices on the twenty-eighth floor of the thirty-floor structure.
Jaclyn wove through the hustling crowd toward the express elevators. The lobby reeked of wealth, prestige and self-importance. As she waited for the elevators, Jaclyn straightened the jacket of her power suit. Hopefully, it would prove more effective with Bonner & Taylor than it had with the Mighty Guinn.
Despite its claim to express service, the elevator ride gave her plenty of time to settle her nerves. It wasn’t until its doors opened to the firm’s offices that she realized she hadn’t been successful.
A thin-faced, blond receptionist looked up as Jaclyn approached. “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
Jaclyn tried another confident smile. “Jaclyn Jones to see Misters Bonner and Taylor.”
The receptionist’s expression warmed to a polite welcome. “Yes, Ms. Jones. They’re expecting you.” She gestured toward a grouping of beige armchairs to the left of her desk. “Please make yourself comfortable. I’ll let them know you’re here.”
She’d just settled into the chair, which was as comfortable as her sofa, when a tall, middle-aged gentleman in a double-breasted, navy pin-striped suit strode toward her. “Ms. Jones, I’m Greg Bonner. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Jaclyn stood and accepted Gregory’s outstretched hand. “Thank you for meeting with me, Mr. Bonner.”
“Greg, please.” The firm’s senior partner studied her with sharp, gray eyes. His salon-styled chestnut hair grew back from his forehead.
