Power Play (Play Makers Book 4) (36 page)

“Oh, and it’s confidential, okay?”

“From whom?”

“The whole world, actually. Except Em.” She
felt her cheeks redden. “You’ll understand when you hear it. And
I’ll probably get some details wrong, but you’ll get the gist of
it. So just bear with me, please?”

“Spit it out, Darce,” he drawled. “Nothing
could be worse than this.”

She grimaced at his teasing tone, knowing he
had no idea how bad things could actually get. But she was here,
and she had promised Wyatt, so . . .

“I’ll just start at the beginning then,” she
said with false confidence. “Remember Wyatt Bourne?”

“Some kind of doctor, right?”

She laughed, and even relaxed a little
before launching into the story beginning with Wyatt’s discontent
with his present team, mega-bucks notwithstanding.

“In other words, he thinks Butler cost him
the ring?” Murf interrupted sharply. “I can see that. I don’t agree
with it, but he’s right about that jerk. A glory hog without the
work ethic to back it up.”

“Really? I can’t wait to watch the game
again. Anyway . . .” She continued on to the chance
encounter between Wyatt and Coach Spurling at the soccer game, and
was perversely proud when Murf sat up a little straighter, as if
finally realizing this wasn’t just an episode from Darcie’s tragic
love life.

Aaron Spurling—legend. Father of Johnny.
Force to be reckoned with.

Murf didn’t interrupt her again. Not during
the part about Luke Stoddard’s complete implosion and subsequent
affair with a whiskey bottle. Nor the part about realigning the
Rustler offense to accommodate a more sophisticated QB. Not even
when she relayed Coach Spurling’s praise of Murf—that he was one of
the few agents who could possibly pull this off, and literally the
only one he could name off the top of his well-informed head.

“So the first question to you is,” she
finished with a flourish. “Can it even be done? And if so, would
you be willing to take a shot at it? We all know Johnny comes first
with you. With
us
. That’s not even debatable. But if there’s
a way to handle it on a single-transaction basis. Or to juggle two
superstar QBs if you don’t think they’ll face off any time soon. Or
if all that’s impossible, then is there someone else you can
recommend? Or . . .” She slowed to a stop, conscious
suddenly of his shell-shocked expression.

“Murf?”

He stared at her for another long moment,
then slapped both palms against his forehead and dragged his
fingers through his wavy hair as though banishing a demon. Then he
told her bluntly, “This is a nightmare.”

“What?”

Without answering, he jumped to his feet and
began to pace. “It’s a nightmare, Darcie. And you’re saying Aaron
Spurling’s on board? Has the world gone effing
nuts?”

“Murf,” she murmured anxiously.

“You want to know if this can be done? The
answer is
no
. Scratch that! The answer is
hell no.
It’s a nightmare. I can’t believe Aaron Spurling bought off on it.
And Wyatt Bourne—the effing
Surgeon?
Have they lost their
collective minds?”

“Murf—”

“Quiet,” he ordered her sternly. “Let me
think.”

She wanted to go to him. To apologize. To
wrap her arms around him and take it all back. But he no longer
seemed aware of her, and she wasn’t about to remind him. Not when
he was in this state.

If she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes she
wouldn’t have believed it. Patrick Murphy going crazy? Lost in a
world of outrage and incoherence as he paced around the room,
gesturing wildly? He
never
lost his cool. Or at least not in
a business setting.

Her memory flashed back to the delivery room
on the night Brian—the first child—was born. Murf had been frantic.
Desperate. Beating himself up for having ever touched his beautiful
bride. Like Darcie, he had believed Emily so special she would
glide through the experience. Instead, there were unexpected
complications. Unbearable pain. And a stubborn patient who, between
agonized screams, refused any drugs whatsoever.

That
had been a nightmare. But this?
If Murf hadn’t been so honestly distressed, it would have almost
seemed funny.

She was just about to text Emily for
assistance when Murf finally returned to his chair, gave her an
exhausted stare, and insisted, “This is nuts.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

“It can’t be done, Darcie. I mean,
how?
What are they thinking? Do either of them even
own
a calendar? It’s almost June, for Christ’s sake.”

“They know there are challenges—”

“
Challenges?”

She bit back a frightened giggle. “Pretend I
never mentioned it. I’ll tell them what you said. That it can’t be
done. They respect your opinion. So if
you
say it’s a bad
idea, that’s gospel to them.”

“A bad idea? Unlimited beer sales in
stadiums is a bad idea.
Grandmother’s
Day is a bad idea.
Velcro
shoes
are a bad idea.”

“Okay, okay. It’s the worst idea ever.
Sheesh.”

“He thinks Mark Serna can step up?” he asked
without missing a beat.

“What?” She nodded quickly. “Yes, that’s
what he said.”

“Interesting. Because some of us think so
too. That he’s wasted as Wyatt’s backup. But again, calendars are
our friends.” He shook his head. “What the hell have these guys
been smoking?”

“Maybe it’s something in the chili
dogs.”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “You’re hilarious.”
Then he leaned forward, his eyes drilling holes in hers. “Who else
knows about this?”

“Me and Wyatt. Aaron Spurling and Jake
Dublin. Now you. And possibly the GM of the Rustlers.”

“That’s it? You’re sure?”

She nodded.

Murf closed his eyes as though the sight of
her offended him. “You’re telling me Wyatt Bourne would give up a
chance—a foregone conclusion, actually—of going to the Super Bowl
in January? Possibly
winning
this time? And getting paid a
shitload to do it? All to salvage someone else’s career? A career
that’s probably toast if we’re being honest.”

“Wyatt thinks Stoddard can still be great.
And Coach Spurling thinks so too.”

“Aaron Spurling feels guilty.
That’s
what this is about. And Wyatt? If ever a guy needed an agent, it’s
him. Someone to kick his ass and make him take the Jets’
offer.”

“It’s not about money to Wyatt.”

“Did he say
that
to Aaron
Spurling?”

“No, why?”

Murf raked his hair again. “You need to call
him. Tell him not to talk to
anyone
. Not even Coach Spurling
from this moment onward. Damn . . .”

“I’ll call right away.”

“John’s in San Diego this weekend. For a
golf tournament with his brother. I’ll fly out tomorrow. Do this in
person. Hopefully his dad won’t get to him first.”

“He won’t.”

“Damn it, Darcie.”

“I’m so sorry,” she said mournfully. “Maybe
you should just recommend someone else.”

“I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy,” he
muttered. Then he demanded, “Are you sleeping with him?”

“No, but that’s more his choice than
mine.”

“Perfect. Just
perfect.
The guy can’t
do
anything
right.”

“Except throw a football.”

“Yeah,” Murf admitted. “He can throw a
football.” He cleared his throat, then leaned forward, his poise
completely restored. “Tell me again. From the beginning. And this
time, don’t leave anything out.”

• • •

After the retelling and another barrage of
questions, Murf made his daily rounds of the PMA offices while
Darcie slipped into her own office and called Wyatt.

He answered on the first ring. “Hey, babe.
How’re we doing?”

Babe?

She forced herself not to take the
endearment to heart. He was excited about the career prospect, and
probably still stoked about meeting his hero. Plus, Sean Decker
called her that too, didn’t he? And
he
was more or less
engaged to someone else!

So she said as calmly as possible, “Murf’s
meeting with Johnny tomorrow evening. So we’ll know more after
that. In the meantime, I’m supposed to remind you not to discuss
this with anyone. Not even Coach Spurling from here on out.”

“That makes sense. Any other preliminary
feedback?”

“You mean after his head exploded?”

Wyatt chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve been questioning
our sanity too. But Aaron Spurling thinks it’s worth a try, so
that’s been keeping me going. That and the fact I have
you
in my corner. That means a lot, Darcie. Especially after the
surrogate clusterfuck. I’m lucky you’re even speaking to me.”

She bit her lip, then reminded him, “I said
some awful things. Especially about your dad. I hope you know I
didn’t mean them.”

“It’s fine. Like you said, he took off. He
had his reasons, but still . . .”

“He’s a hero. Not just because he died for
our country, but because he raised a fine son and brought happiness
to his entire family. Don’t make me cut out my tongue, Wyatt
Bourne.”

He gave a wistful chuckle. “Yeah, I’m pretty
fond of that tongue. So . . . ?” He cleared his
throat. “See you tomorrow?”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me either. We’ll make a plan once we have
our flights. Meanwhile, call me anytime day or night. And thank
your boss for me, okay?”

“I will. Bye, Wyatt.”

Even before she slipped the phone back into
her pocket she missed the sound of his voice. And what did he mean
by “make a plan”? A plan about the Rustlers deal? Hardly, since
they wouldn’t yet have the verdict from Murf and Johnny. So he
meant a plan for getting together socially, didn’t he?

Would he stay at the Bourne ranch? Or at
Darcie’s house? Would they order a pizza or have their long-awaited
dinner date followed by Jag sex? One thing was certain, he wouldn’t
bring up the surrogate thing again, and even though she regretted
her reaction to that, she also knew she couldn’t take another round
of it.

Because you really
do
want to have
his child someday,
she accused herself harshly.
Are you that
far gone?

She didn’t think it was true, but when it
came to Wyatt, how could she trust herself? And she couldn’t talk
to Emily, at least not yet. She needed to focus on “the nightmare,”
as Murf still called it. So she went to the restroom and splashed
cold water on her face in preparation for dinner at the Murphy
home, knowing the questions would come thick and fast from both
spouses. And since she had long since run out of answers, she had a
feeling it would be a rocky meal.

• • •

Over sautéed scallops and risotto, Darcie
told the whole story for a third time, then bounced Nell on her
knee while Emily and Murf proceeded to ignore her completely. They
were in their own little world, where Emily assured Murf it was
indeed a nightmare, then echoed Aaron Spurling’s belief that if
anyone could do it, her brilliant husband could. And it wasn’t just
wifely devotion. Murf drew on Emily’s gift for numbers and
experience as a tax attorney to hash out the financial details of
the many possible deals on the virtual table, and to Darcie’s
surprise, there were quite a few of them.

She had focused on three possibilities—the
Jets for one year, the Jets for five years, or the Rustlers for
five years. But to Emily and Murf that was just the jumping-off
point. What about three years? Or modifying the guaranteed amounts?
And the biggest shocker of them all? When Emily asked if
other
teams might want to get in on this. A chance to grab
the Surgeon? Surely there was at least one franchise that could
blow everyone else out of the water, dollar-wise.

“You’re missing the point,” Darcie tried to
explain as she slipped an extra cookie from the dessert tray to
each of the little boys. “Wyatt wants to mentor Luke Stoddard.”

“Actually,
you’re
missing the point,”
Emily said cheerfully. “It’s adorable.”

Darcie rolled her eyes, then looked at Murf.
“We can’t open this up to other bidders. Wyatt cares about his old
team. He’s not going to leave them over money. Not even a zillion
dollars.”

Murf shrugged. “Maybe not, but the Jets
don’t know that. And the Rustlers can’t be sure either. So why give
up a bargaining chip when we don’t have to?”

She would have argued further, knowing Wyatt
would hate this idea, but she loved the way Murf had used the
pronoun “we” for the first time that day.

Until now, he had treated this like
something Darcie and Wyatt, not to mention Coach Spurling, were
doing
to
him. Some unspeakable crime, or at least dumping an
unsolvable mess into his lap. Taking advantage of his good nature
and his relationship with Darcie and the Spurlings.

In light of that, “we” sounded pretty
good.

“I’d like to stay and visit with my family,
but I’ll be stuck in my den for the rest of the night. Thanks
again, Darcie,” he drawled.

“I
said
I was sorry,” she reminded
him with a laugh.

Grinning, he insisted, “Give me my
Smoochie,” and grabbed Nell up into his arms, nuzzling her tummy
until she giggled. Then he eyed his sons sternly. “Take care of
Mommy. And
don’t
let Aunt Darcie talk to any more football
players.”

“We won’t,” the boys assured him.

Leaning down to kiss Emily’s cheek, he
transferred the baby to her then headed off to his study.

Emily stood and told the boys, “Clear the
dishes, please. Then I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” Brian demanded.

“It’s a robot puzzle,” Zack told him. “I saw
it in the closet.”

“My son the spy,” Emily said with a
laugh.