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Troy’s attention shifted from Andrea’s long, graceful neck to her face. “What do you mean?”
Andrea lowered the sandwich to the napkin on her knee. “He offered to use his connections to get me a better paying job provided I agreed to write negative stories about the Monarchs.”
Troy clenched his jaw. “What did you say?”
Andrea looked offended. “I said no, of course. Would I be here other wise?”
“Thank you.”
“It doesn’t end there. Gerry said he’ll find someone else to write the articles.”
Troy stood, turning away from what was left of h
is lunch. He massaged the back of his neck as he paced to his black mini-fridge and back. “Just like last time when he tried to use you to plant a fake story about Marc.”
“And when I refused to help him, he went to another paper.”
Thinking about it, Troy ground his teeth. If Gerald had succeeded, the Monarchs would have lost respect for DeMarcus and his leadership. The team would have had a hard time finishing the season much less making it to the play-offs.
He sank back into his chair and stared at his half-eaten sandwich and cooling soup. “I have to find a way to stop him.”
“Let Jackie handle Gerry. You have to get in front of this like we did last time.”
Warning whispers stirred the hairs on the back of Troy’s neck. “Are you using Gerry’s threat to convince me to let you write another damaging story on the team?”
A flicker of anger moved across her heart-shaped features before her impressive control steadied her emotions. “It doesn’t benefit me to attack the Monarchs.”
Troy cocked a brow. “Do you expect me to believe your newspaper’s sales didn’t go up when you wrote about Gerry’s attempts to move the team out of Brooklyn?”
Andrea ignored him. “Many of the players are going to the play-offs for the first time. There’s a story here about how they’re handling the pressure.”
Troy drummed his fingertips on his desk. “Do you want to paint a picture of the players crumbling under postseason stress?”
“Only if it’s true. Their first trip to the postseason in four years is a subject that will interest my readers, who, by the way, are also your fans.”
“And I’d like them to stay that way. I’m not sure your article will help us.”
“Why are you treating me like the enemy? You know I never take a position with my articles. Readers will decide whether the Monarchs are handling the postseason well. I only report what the players tell me.”
Troy stopped drumming his fingers. “How can I be sure of that?”
Andrea narrowed her eyes. She’d worked too hard rebuilding her career to allow anyone to question her integrity. She especially resented that attitude coming from Troy, who’d probably never known failure in his life.
She took a slow, deep breath. “I’ve covered the Monarchs for three years. In that time, I’ve written scores of articles about the team. Not one of them gives you the right to question my motives.”
“You’ve been better than most.” Troy’s grudging words stoked her temper.
She dug her nails into her chair’s padded arms. “You were a reporter. Were your stories always complimentary to the teams?”
“I’m not a reporter anymore.” Troy settled back into his chair, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “How can I be sure you won’t spice up your story?”
Andrea’s cheeks stung as the blood drained from her face. “My job is to give my readers context for the game, not to make up information.”
“And my job is to make sure the Monarchs aren’t tarnished in the press. Who do you think will get their way?”
She forced her fingers to relax against the chair’s arms. “I could speak to the players without your permission.”
Troy spread his arms. “You could try. But Marc and I told them not to speak to reporters, including you.”
