Roz Fox - Family Fortune

“I don’t kick the football,” he said coldly. “I’m a quarterback. I throw the ball.”

Her arched eyebrow implied it was all the same thing.

Caleb crossed his arms. “I can see you’re dying to give me the perfect alternative. Well, since you’re back, I assume Fraser came up with a counteroffer. Let’s have it, then,” he muttered. “Get this over with.”

Crystal reached into her bag and removed the envelope. This time she handed him the whole thing, instead of taking out the letter as she had before. “There are two copies of the agreement and a list of benefits. Read it carefully, Mr. Tanner. To be offered more, you’d have to be willing to live in New York or L.A. This is on the high end for a station our size. André’s been more than charitable.”

He flung the envelope down, unopened. Lips thinned into a harsh line, he said, “I’m not a charity case yet. You tell that to whoever the hell André is.”

“André Lyon. The Lyons own WDIX radio and TV. His parents were television pioneers. Our station has left its mark on this country.”

“And you don’t want me tarnishing its sterling image, isn’t that right, sugar? I can tell you think I’m not fit to wipe the feet of those Lyon dudes.”

Crystal gasped. As a rule she masked her feelings well. Unable to meet his challenging green eyes, she lowered her lashes. “What I think or don’t think isn’t the issue here, Mr. Tanner. The offer for employment is a good one, and it’s legitimate.”

“Caleb,” he snarled, grabbing the envelope and ripping it open. “Have you got a beef with the name, sugar? Or with me? Was I rude to you at a game once when you tried to flirt? If so, you have my humblest apologies. So many women slink up and wind around players after a game it’s hard to distinguish one from another.”

This time not only did Crystal gasp, she shot right out of her chair, trembling with anger. “I have never been to a game,” she said haughtily. “I realize this may shock your ego, Tanner, but I don’t consider myself deprived. And if you don’t want the other leg to wind up in a cast, I’d advise you to stop calling me sugar.”

Caleb stared at her a moment, then laughed. “I thought it was unAmerican to dislike the national sport. Which is football, sug...uh, Crystal.”

Suddenly glad for André and Nate’s sake that she hadn’t let her temper totally blow the deal with Tanner, Crystal sank into the chair again and smoothed down her skirt. “There’re probably only a couple of us renegades in the entire U.S. of A.,” she said with a deprecating shrug. I’m certainly not representative of the crew at WDIX. Nor of our viewers. Our sports programs have a huge following. And it goes without saying that sports generates sponsors.”

Drawing the sheets from the envelope, Caleb read through the offer twice before he moved on to the page listing the benefits. His heart plunged as he compared what Crystal thought was a generous salary to what he’d been getting. At a hundred thou, with Uncle Sam’s bite, he’d be lucky to pull off Patsy’s wedding and pay Jenny’s college fees. For sure he’d have to find new digs. The five thousand a month he paid in rent now represented a huge chunk of change.

Crystal cleared her throat. “Is there something about the offer you need clarified? Something that particularly bothers you?”

“Everything about it bothers me, sweetheart How long does Fraser expect me to sign on for? I mean, does he understand I’ll go back to playing when my leg gets to a hundred percent?”

She looked perplexed. “I’m not sure I know what you mean. A two-week notice is standard. Jerry Davis gave three, I think. It’s his slot Nate hopes you’ll fill. But he did wonder when you’d be available. If the doctors have given you a release date, that is.”

“You mean I won’t have to sign a contract for a set amount of time?”

Her lips quirked at the corners. “Ever heard of free enterprise, Tanner? Haven’t you worked in the private sector?”

He gave that question consideration. At last he shook his head. “As a kid, I helped on the farm. You don’t get paid for that. You’re lucky to get three squares a day and a roof over your head. I signed with the Cowboys right out of college.”

“The Cowboys?” She looked blank.

Cale snickered. “Are you for real? The Dallas Cowboys, darlin’. As in NFL champions. Emmitt Smith, Deion Sanders, Michael Irvin.” When she continued to look blank, he quit laughing. “Nobody can be that out of touch with sports.”

“I am. And I don’t consider it a laughing matter. I hate team sports. They’re dangerous and violent.”

“Hell, darlin’, driving a car is dangerous. TV movies are violent.”

“Don’t call me darlin’. We were discussing André’s offer. Are you interested in working for Lyon Broadcasting or not?”

“Not. I’m interested in getting back on my feet and into the game again. But as Leland pointed out before he left, Lyon’s offered me an ace in the hole. Give me a pen and I’ll put my John Hancock on this form.”

Feeling smug at her success, Crystal pawed through her bag. When she failed to turn up a pen, she stood and walked over to his nightstand. “You had pens in the middle drawer earlier.”

“Yeah. Say, is the kid happy I signed his football?”

“I haven’t been to the ward to give it to him yet. He’ll be ecstatic. That’s all he’ll talk about for months.”

Cale started to say something, but the phone on his nightstand rang. “Catch that for me, would you?” he asked, his eyes vaguely panicky. “If it’s any of the guys from the team, tell them I’m being X-rayed or something.”

Sympathy kicking in again, she handed him a pen and nodded. “Hello,” she chirped into the phone, sounding a bit rushed and breathless.

“No, I’m not Caleb’s nurse or therapist,” Crystal said smoothly. She nonchalantly handed him the receiver. “I can safely say it’s not one of your teammates,” she whispered.

Eyes narrowed, he tucked the phone against his ear. “Well, hello, sugar pie. ’Course it’s not inconvenient. You can call me anytime, Jenny.” He signed the second copy of the intent letter, shoved both toward Crystal, then settled into the stack of pillows. From the smile that softened his face, Crystal decided the female caller was his special lady. She felt uncomfortable eavesdropping. He tacked endearments on the end of every sentence. Even when they were evidently discussing his caller’s car.

“Sounds like a clogged fuel filter, hon. I wish I could be there to change it, too, sweet pea. You know I can’t. Call Waylon Gill. Tell him what I think the trouble is. Don’t you worry about a thing, darlin’. What’s important is for you to be on wheels I can trust. Have Gill put it on my card.”

Crystal felt a moment’s envy for the woman on the other end of the phone line. Caleb Tanner dispensed love along with his handouts. Her father had lavished her with money, but she couldn’t remember a time he’d offered loving advice. Or any advice. When she was little, Roger Jardin had expected his aunt Anita to handle any problems that arose. And from the time she turned twelve, he assumed Crystal was old enough and capable enough to work things out for herself. For the most part she had. Still, there’d been times during high school and college when she would have liked someone to rely on. At least someone to run decisions by, to discuss things with.

Now she had Margaret. Or maybe not. Crystal’s fear that something might have happened to her favorite relative tied her stomach in knots. From the minute Crystal had applied for an accounting job at WDIX—really from the minute Margaret realized who she was—the kind nurturing woman had brought her into a family who’d welcomed her, who’d opened wide the doors of Lyoncrest. And she loved living in the historic old house.