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Constance picked at the cuff of her long-sleeved white blouse. It was pretty and professional but too large for the slender woman. She probably was looking forward to buying some new clothes—after all of her bills were paid. “I don’t know if we should become friends.”
Andrea laughed her surprise. “Why not?”
Constance’s eyes were wide and worried. She knotted her fingers together. “You’re a reporter. I work for the Monarchs. I can’t give you insider information. I’d lose my job.”
Andrea sobered. “I know. That’s why I wouldn’t ask that of you. If we all agree to give this a try, we’ll just be roommates. And, hopefully, friends.”
“My husband beat me.” Constance’s admission rushed out at Andrea. Her cheeks were red with shame. Her gaze remained glued to her knotted fingers.
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“I know.”
Constance’s eyes darted up to her. “You know?”
“Your makeup didn’t conceal everything. I’m glad the bruises have faded.” At least the ones that were visible.
Constance brushed away tears with her fingertips. “When he hit Tiff, I had to leave. She’s just a baby.”
“I understand.” Sometimes it was easier to find courage for someone you love than it was to be brave for yourself. Andrea clenched her hands inside the front pockets of her pants. She imagined using her fists against the man who would beat his wife and child.
Constance’s voice shook. Her eyes filled with panic. “What if he finds out where I work or where I live? I don’t want to involve anyone else in my problems.”
Andrea reached into her purse. She pulled a business card from her wallet and handed it to Constance. “One step at a time. Come for dinner. Don’t expect anything fancy. But we’d really like for you and Tiff to join us.”
She smiled encouragingly while Constance’s frightened gaze skipped from her business card to her face, then back. The struggle between her timidity and temptation was palpable.
Constance reached for the card. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”
“Fair enough.” Andrea turned to leave.
Constance’s voice halted her. “Didn’t you want to see Mr. Marshall? He should be back soon.”
Andrea shook her head. “I came to speak with you.”
Suspicion returned to Constance’s eyes. “You came all this way to invite me to dinner?”
Andrea hesitated. “And to check on a player.”
“Mr. Marshall doesn’t want the media talking to the players or the coaches.”
“This wasn’t for a story.” She sensed Constance’s curiosity, but she wasn’t ready to satisfy her. “If we become roommates, I wouldn’t ask you to jeopardize your job to help advance mine.”
Andrea made it out of the office. She pushed through the double glass doors that led to the elevators and pressed the down button. The black laminate walls gleamed in the fluorescent light. The silver metal elevator doors captured her reflection.
She’d been prepared for Constance’s reservations about raising her daughter in an apartment with two single women. She’d also anticipated her fear that her abusive ex-husband would find her. But she’d never considered Constance would think Andrea wanted to room with her to get insider information on the Monarchs.
Troy would believe that also. Would he try to prevent Constance from moving in with her? Would the other woman let him? Perhaps she could win Troy’s trust if he got to know her. But a closer relationship with Troy was too great a risk.
6
Gerald’s administrative assistant had told Troy he’d find her boss having brunch in this trendy Brooklyn café.
Troy took the empty seat at the table for two. “Mind if I join you?” His calm tone surprised even him, considering the turmoil building inside him.
Gerald lowered his copy of the Wall Street Journal. “As a matter of fact, I do.”
The other man looked surprised to see him. Had Gerald really thought Troy would sit back and allow him to attack the team? It didn’t matter that Gerald was the Monarchs’ co-owner and, therefore, his boss. He wouldn’t allow anyone to jeopardize the Monarchs’ reputation.
