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A Sound Business Investment, by Ralkana
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Ralkana
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16 January 2012
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A Sound Business Investment
By Ralkana
Disclaimer ~ The In Death series and all associated characters belong to J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts). I'm just playing with them.
Comments and feedback to Ralkana47@yahoo.com would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Timeline ~ Takes place some time before Portrait in Death.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As usual, it was still dark when Roarke awoke. He lay quietly, a smile curving his lips as he listened to Eve breathe beside him.
She'd slept well. No nightmares. He closed his eyes at the memory of the last one she'd had, several nights before. He'd struggled to control his own panic as he'd rocked and soothed her, trying to bring her back to him as, eyes blind with terror, she'd whimpered like an injured, frightened child -- the injured, frightened child she'd once been.
Now, he tightened his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her brow before slipping out of bed. Curling into the empty space he'd left, she hummed low in her throat, a smile dancing swiftly across her face as she dreamed. He nearly considered sliding back into bed to wake her, but it was to be a busy day, and he needed to get started.
He moved into the bathroom, calling quietly for the lights on low, and the jets on full at seventy degrees. The cold water would wake his brain for the day ahead.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He was dressed and drinking his second cup of coffee when Eve began to stir. Watching her was infinitely more fascinating than the stock reports that scrolled soundlessly across the screen, and he indulged himself, smiling as she staggered into the bathroom with barely a grunt of greeting for him. He winced, shaking his head as she called for full jets, hundred and one degrees. Rising, he programmed the coffee he knew she'd be desperate for, and after a moment of thought, added French toast with fresh berries, and a small bowl of kibble for Galahad. Not that it would keep the beast from going after their breakfast, but perhaps it would distract him for a moment or two.
He handed Eve the mug as she strode from the bathroom, naked and rosy from the heat of her shower and the drying tube. Need speared through him, hot and insistent, as she drank deep, eyeing him over the rim of the steaming mug.
"Morning, ace," she said, a fascinating blend of humor and lust in her voice and sparkling in the gold of her eyes, and he felt his belly clutch with the hunger for her that was always there.
"Morning, Lieutenant," he replied, stepping forward to add a kiss to the greeting. She tasted of coffee and the mint from her toothpaste, and love shot through him as strongly as the need had a moment ago.
Sensing the hunt behind him, he turned, aiming a glare as Galahad bellied across the room toward their plates. The cat stopped instantly, projecting innocence from those bi-colored eyes, and Roarke hid his grin as Eve stepped to the closet.
"Breakfast," he added for his wife's benefit, and she turned in the process of pulling a shirt over her head.
"I'll just get -- " Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the plates. "French toast is a cheap shot."
"It is, yes," he agreed, thinking, And so, you'll eat.
He moved to the closet as well, watching as she strapped into her harness with the ease of another woman slipping into silk and lace. He chose and handed her a jacket, eyeing her without comment as the indignation fired in her eyes. Chin jutting, she opened her mouth to argue, only to shut it with an exasperated sigh when he merely smiled at her. Snatching it from his hand, she shrugged it over shirt and harness.
They spoke of her day as they ate. The cases she had open, all of which she expected to close within the next day or so. Most couples probably didn't discuss murder over breakfast -- and dinner -- he mused, but for them it was routine. Normality he'd never had -- they'd never had -- and he basked in it.
Finished, she stood, not one to linger over the remains of a meal.
He stood with her, ignoring the fear that simmered quietly below the surface every time she left the safety of their home with her weapon at her side.
Stroking a fingertip along the shallow dent in her chin, he only said, "Take care of my cop, Lieutenant."
"Plan to," she said, and he smiled as he watched her go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Over the link, Roarke coolly eyed the visibly sweating young man.
"This is unacceptable," he said firmly.
The younger man cleared his throat, tugged at the collar of his shirt, and tried not to squirm. "Yes, sir, I realize that, but -- "
"I've put you there, Fordham, because I know what you are capable of, and because I expected to see these numbers rise. They are falling."
Fordham swallowed audibly. "Yes, sir."
"I'll expect a more detailed report on the moves you've made and those you will be making to correct this situation, by end of day tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. Of course." Fordham was still nodding as Roarke ended the transmission.
His gaze was drawn to the wide panels of glass that made up the walls of his office.
New York spread out beneath him, glittering in the morning sun. With a smile, he reached into his pocket, toying with the small gray button he always carried, and he thought of his cop striding those streets, searching for justice.
His link signaled, drawing his attention back to it.
"Yes, Caro?"
"Your 9 o'clock is here."
His admin smiled, and there was a hint of sharp knowledge just beneath the polite expression. She knew, of course, the importance to him of this next meeting.
She knew him better than nearly everyone. Save for two.
He returned her smile, feeling that exhilarating quickening within him. The thrill of the hunt, the deal. No matter how often he felt it, it was always new. It was always a rush.
"Thank you, Caro. Send him in."
He stood, leaving the gleaming expanse of his desk between him and his visitor.
The man who entered was young -- though still older than Roarke -- and Roarke smothered his satisfied grin as his visitor tried not to gawk -- and failed. Even those weaned from mother's milk in the rarified air of a penthouse boardroom couldn't help but be wide-eyed in Roarke's office. That was half the reason he had it.
The other half was the simple satisfaction of knowing that he could. That it was his.
"Mr. Steinbrenner," he greeted, calm disinterest in his voice.
"What's this about, Roarke?" the other man blustered, his affronted indignation a poor screen for his darting eyes and sweaty palms.
"Let's discuss the mess you've made of your great-grandfather's legacy, shall we?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In his home office, Roarke glanced up from his console as the security system signaled an incoming vehicle.
The small bubble of dread that lived in him every day released into a rush of pleasant anticipation as the screen showed Eve's vehicle gliding up the drive. He watched in amusement as she haphazardly left it at the front door -- as she always did, purely to annoy Summerset.
Saving his work, Roarke rose to meet her, gathering up the small box he'd brought home with him earlier.
He descended the main staircase just in time to hear Summerset say, dryly, "On time and unbloodied, three days in a row. I believe that's a personal record."
"I'd put this boot up your ass if I didn't think I'd break my toe on the stick you have permanently shoved up there."
She turned from Summerset, her smug grin flowing into a real smile as she caught sight of Roarke at the foot of the stairs.
He had but a moment to take in her happiness and let the feeling of rightness settle within him before she caught sight of the elegantly wrapped package he held.
Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in a scowl, and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth in response.
No one was quite as ungracious in accepting a gift as his Eve.
"It's not my birthday," she said defensively.
"No," he agreed.
"And it's not our anniversary, or Valentine's Day, or Christmas."
"No."
"Is there another damn holiday I'm supposed to shop for?" she snarled, crossing her arms angrily, and his smile widened.
"No," he said again. Crossing to her, he shifted the gift to one hand as he ran his thumb gently down her chin, dropping a light kiss on her lips.
"Welcome home, Lieutenant," he murmured.
"I get a present just for coming home now?" she asked flatly.
No, he thought. That's my present. You coming home.
Eve tried valiantly to maintain her defensive posture, but he could see that the kiss had softened her mood. Only slightly, but it was always gratifying to be reassured that he affected her just as her very presence moved him.
"This gift has no particular occasion," he told her. "It may be for you, but I think we'll both benefit from it."
He watched in utter delight as color bloomed in her cheeks and she glanced furtively back to where Summerset had been standing. Roarke's majordomo had, of course, disappeared by now, his daily interaction with Eve complete.
"Whatever it is, I'm not opening it here," she hissed, glaring at the present as though it were an unruly suspect.
Roarke laughed, even as the conclusion to which she'd jumped provided all sorts of interestingly... private ideas for future gifts. Catching her by the hand, he led her into a nearby sitting room.
He sat, gently pulling her unwilling form down to sit beside him. He handed her the gift, which she continued to hold, very gingerly.
"I promise that it won't bite you. Nor will it explode."
Eve sighed. "Roarke -- " she began, but she stopped when he placed a hand over hers on the shiny bow.
"Please," he said softly.
With another sigh, she ripped into the paper.
He watched her face intently as she opened the box and pulled back the tissue covering the contents. The reluctant acceptance on her face creased into puzzlement and confusion as she lifted the gift out of its nest of tissue.
Other teams had come, they had gone, they had changed names, logos, mascots, colors, and uniform design. Fortunes had risen and dynasties fallen, but the classic navy blue background with the white logo that she held remained the same through it all.
"You bought me a Yankees cap?" she asked, bewildered. Then, her expression froze.
The sports, business, and entertainment media had been buzzing with vague but frantic rumors all day, and though she wouldn't have heard them herself, someone would have mentioned them in her presence. After that, it was just a matter of piecing the clues together, and his cop was a brilliant detective.
"Roarke..." she said slowly as the shock settled in. "You didn't."
Her disbelief melted into grim certainty as she caught sight of his satisfied expression.
"You did," she said with a nod of her head. "You went out and bought the damn Yankees!"
Saying nothing, he merely took the cap she held and settled it on her head.
She dragged it back off, staring at him. "Why?"
"It's a business, Eve," he replied. "One that is currently failing after decades of mismanagement. It's a sound investment. I can show you the reports."
Clearly not buying it, she just stared at him, one eyebrow raised, the bill of the cap clenched in one fist.
He sighed, reaching forward to smooth a lock of her hair that had been disturbed by the cap.
"I dislike seeing your unhappiness when they lose," he admitted with a frown.
An incredulous laugh burst from her.
"Some guys bring home a box of chocolates when their wives are pissed, Roarke," she told him. "Some guys bring flowers -- though I don't know why, when they could bring chocolate. You? You buy me a damn baseball team."
Roarke could tell from the unsteady tone of her voice that she wasn't quite sure whether to be touched, thrilled, or furious at him.
"Unbelievable." She fell back against the cushions of the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Silent, Roarke was content to simply watch her.
She glanced sideways at him, and then her eyes widened and she sat bolt upright. "Crap! Thanks to you, my favorite ball club has a new owner who doesn't know anything about baseball!"
He tugged her down again, shifting so that she curled against his chest, her head on his shoulder. "Ah, but you see," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair, "There's the beauty of it. I don't, but you do."
She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Watching it, Roarke! I don't know anything about owning a team!"
"We're quick learners, Darling Eve. I expect we'll figure it out." A teasing smile curled his lip. "It's not as if we can make their situation much worse."
Eve glared at him, and he laughed.
She shook her head again. "I cannot believe you just got up today and decided to buy a baseball team. No. Not just a baseball team. The Yankees."
Roarke's smile faded, and he regarded her seriously. "This wasn't a momentary decision, Eve. I wasn't joking about the reports. I put as much thought and research into this decision as I do into every business decision, and I wouldn't have gone through with it if I didn't believe it would ultimately be extremely profitable."
He could see by the subtle change in her expression that his seriousness helped Eve to stop thinking of it as the whim of a doting husband and start thinking of it as his typical pursuit as a ruthless capitalist. The mental shift made the situation real for her.
"You really own the New York Yankees," she marveled.
"We own them, Darling Eve. Or at least, we will," Roarke clarified. "The initial offer has been made -- and accepted, there was no question of that. There will be weeks -- perhaps months -- of meetings and hearings and negotiations before the deal is complete."
He curled his fingers around hers. "I will, of course, do everything I can to... facilitate the process, but the league apparently enjoys taking its time."
Eve snorted. "Yeah. That much I do know."
His thumb rubbed in small circles over the skin of her hand. "What will you do with your Yankees, a ghra?"
A slow grin dawned over her face, and Roarke's breath caught in his throat at the sight.
"My Yankees," she repeated, and her grin slipped into a look of intense calculation as she sat up again.
"Right," she told him, settling the cap firmly on her head. "The first thing we need is a new GM."
Roarke studied the fierce determination on his beloved's face and knew, without a doubt, that they would be celebrating a championship soon.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Another disclaimer ~ Unlike Eve & Roarke (or the Steinbrenners), I do not own the New York Yankees. Nor do I own Major League Baseball.
By Ralkana
Disclaimer ~ The In Death series and all associated characters belong to J.D. Robb (Nora Roberts). I'm just playing with them.
Comments and feedback to Ralkana47@yahoo.com would be greatly appreciated. Thanks!
Timeline ~ Takes place some time before Portrait in Death.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
As usual, it was still dark when Roarke awoke. He lay quietly, a smile curving his lips as he listened to Eve breathe beside him.
She'd slept well. No nightmares. He closed his eyes at the memory of the last one she'd had, several nights before. He'd struggled to control his own panic as he'd rocked and soothed her, trying to bring her back to him as, eyes blind with terror, she'd whimpered like an injured, frightened child -- the injured, frightened child she'd once been.
Now, he tightened his arm around her, pressing a kiss to her brow before slipping out of bed. Curling into the empty space he'd left, she hummed low in her throat, a smile dancing swiftly across her face as she dreamed. He nearly considered sliding back into bed to wake her, but it was to be a busy day, and he needed to get started.
He moved into the bathroom, calling quietly for the lights on low, and the jets on full at seventy degrees. The cold water would wake his brain for the day ahead.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He was dressed and drinking his second cup of coffee when Eve began to stir. Watching her was infinitely more fascinating than the stock reports that scrolled soundlessly across the screen, and he indulged himself, smiling as she staggered into the bathroom with barely a grunt of greeting for him. He winced, shaking his head as she called for full jets, hundred and one degrees. Rising, he programmed the coffee he knew she'd be desperate for, and after a moment of thought, added French toast with fresh berries, and a small bowl of kibble for Galahad. Not that it would keep the beast from going after their breakfast, but perhaps it would distract him for a moment or two.
He handed Eve the mug as she strode from the bathroom, naked and rosy from the heat of her shower and the drying tube. Need speared through him, hot and insistent, as she drank deep, eyeing him over the rim of the steaming mug.
"Morning, ace," she said, a fascinating blend of humor and lust in her voice and sparkling in the gold of her eyes, and he felt his belly clutch with the hunger for her that was always there.
"Morning, Lieutenant," he replied, stepping forward to add a kiss to the greeting. She tasted of coffee and the mint from her toothpaste, and love shot through him as strongly as the need had a moment ago.
Sensing the hunt behind him, he turned, aiming a glare as Galahad bellied across the room toward their plates. The cat stopped instantly, projecting innocence from those bi-colored eyes, and Roarke hid his grin as Eve stepped to the closet.
"Breakfast," he added for his wife's benefit, and she turned in the process of pulling a shirt over her head.
"I'll just get -- " Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of the plates. "French toast is a cheap shot."
"It is, yes," he agreed, thinking, And so, you'll eat.
He moved to the closet as well, watching as she strapped into her harness with the ease of another woman slipping into silk and lace. He chose and handed her a jacket, eyeing her without comment as the indignation fired in her eyes. Chin jutting, she opened her mouth to argue, only to shut it with an exasperated sigh when he merely smiled at her. Snatching it from his hand, she shrugged it over shirt and harness.
They spoke of her day as they ate. The cases she had open, all of which she expected to close within the next day or so. Most couples probably didn't discuss murder over breakfast -- and dinner -- he mused, but for them it was routine. Normality he'd never had -- they'd never had -- and he basked in it.
Finished, she stood, not one to linger over the remains of a meal.
He stood with her, ignoring the fear that simmered quietly below the surface every time she left the safety of their home with her weapon at her side.
Stroking a fingertip along the shallow dent in her chin, he only said, "Take care of my cop, Lieutenant."
"Plan to," she said, and he smiled as he watched her go.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Over the link, Roarke coolly eyed the visibly sweating young man.
"This is unacceptable," he said firmly.
The younger man cleared his throat, tugged at the collar of his shirt, and tried not to squirm. "Yes, sir, I realize that, but -- "
"I've put you there, Fordham, because I know what you are capable of, and because I expected to see these numbers rise. They are falling."
Fordham swallowed audibly. "Yes, sir."
"I'll expect a more detailed report on the moves you've made and those you will be making to correct this situation, by end of day tomorrow."
"Yes, sir. Of course." Fordham was still nodding as Roarke ended the transmission.
His gaze was drawn to the wide panels of glass that made up the walls of his office.
New York spread out beneath him, glittering in the morning sun. With a smile, he reached into his pocket, toying with the small gray button he always carried, and he thought of his cop striding those streets, searching for justice.
His link signaled, drawing his attention back to it.
"Yes, Caro?"
"Your 9 o'clock is here."
His admin smiled, and there was a hint of sharp knowledge just beneath the polite expression. She knew, of course, the importance to him of this next meeting.
She knew him better than nearly everyone. Save for two.
He returned her smile, feeling that exhilarating quickening within him. The thrill of the hunt, the deal. No matter how often he felt it, it was always new. It was always a rush.
"Thank you, Caro. Send him in."
He stood, leaving the gleaming expanse of his desk between him and his visitor.
The man who entered was young -- though still older than Roarke -- and Roarke smothered his satisfied grin as his visitor tried not to gawk -- and failed. Even those weaned from mother's milk in the rarified air of a penthouse boardroom couldn't help but be wide-eyed in Roarke's office. That was half the reason he had it.
The other half was the simple satisfaction of knowing that he could. That it was his.
"Mr. Steinbrenner," he greeted, calm disinterest in his voice.
"What's this about, Roarke?" the other man blustered, his affronted indignation a poor screen for his darting eyes and sweaty palms.
"Let's discuss the mess you've made of your great-grandfather's legacy, shall we?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
In his home office, Roarke glanced up from his console as the security system signaled an incoming vehicle.
The small bubble of dread that lived in him every day released into a rush of pleasant anticipation as the screen showed Eve's vehicle gliding up the drive. He watched in amusement as she haphazardly left it at the front door -- as she always did, purely to annoy Summerset.
Saving his work, Roarke rose to meet her, gathering up the small box he'd brought home with him earlier.
He descended the main staircase just in time to hear Summerset say, dryly, "On time and unbloodied, three days in a row. I believe that's a personal record."
"I'd put this boot up your ass if I didn't think I'd break my toe on the stick you have permanently shoved up there."
She turned from Summerset, her smug grin flowing into a real smile as she caught sight of Roarke at the foot of the stairs.
He had but a moment to take in her happiness and let the feeling of rightness settle within him before she caught sight of the elegantly wrapped package he held.
Her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed in a scowl, and he felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth in response.
No one was quite as ungracious in accepting a gift as his Eve.
"It's not my birthday," she said defensively.
"No," he agreed.
"And it's not our anniversary, or Valentine's Day, or Christmas."
"No."
"Is there another damn holiday I'm supposed to shop for?" she snarled, crossing her arms angrily, and his smile widened.
"No," he said again. Crossing to her, he shifted the gift to one hand as he ran his thumb gently down her chin, dropping a light kiss on her lips.
"Welcome home, Lieutenant," he murmured.
"I get a present just for coming home now?" she asked flatly.
No, he thought. That's my present. You coming home.
Eve tried valiantly to maintain her defensive posture, but he could see that the kiss had softened her mood. Only slightly, but it was always gratifying to be reassured that he affected her just as her very presence moved him.
"This gift has no particular occasion," he told her. "It may be for you, but I think we'll both benefit from it."
He watched in utter delight as color bloomed in her cheeks and she glanced furtively back to where Summerset had been standing. Roarke's majordomo had, of course, disappeared by now, his daily interaction with Eve complete.
"Whatever it is, I'm not opening it here," she hissed, glaring at the present as though it were an unruly suspect.
Roarke laughed, even as the conclusion to which she'd jumped provided all sorts of interestingly... private ideas for future gifts. Catching her by the hand, he led her into a nearby sitting room.
He sat, gently pulling her unwilling form down to sit beside him. He handed her the gift, which she continued to hold, very gingerly.
"I promise that it won't bite you. Nor will it explode."
Eve sighed. "Roarke -- " she began, but she stopped when he placed a hand over hers on the shiny bow.
"Please," he said softly.
With another sigh, she ripped into the paper.
He watched her face intently as she opened the box and pulled back the tissue covering the contents. The reluctant acceptance on her face creased into puzzlement and confusion as she lifted the gift out of its nest of tissue.
Other teams had come, they had gone, they had changed names, logos, mascots, colors, and uniform design. Fortunes had risen and dynasties fallen, but the classic navy blue background with the white logo that she held remained the same through it all.
"You bought me a Yankees cap?" she asked, bewildered. Then, her expression froze.
The sports, business, and entertainment media had been buzzing with vague but frantic rumors all day, and though she wouldn't have heard them herself, someone would have mentioned them in her presence. After that, it was just a matter of piecing the clues together, and his cop was a brilliant detective.
"Roarke..." she said slowly as the shock settled in. "You didn't."
Her disbelief melted into grim certainty as she caught sight of his satisfied expression.
"You did," she said with a nod of her head. "You went out and bought the damn Yankees!"
Saying nothing, he merely took the cap she held and settled it on her head.
She dragged it back off, staring at him. "Why?"
"It's a business, Eve," he replied. "One that is currently failing after decades of mismanagement. It's a sound investment. I can show you the reports."
Clearly not buying it, she just stared at him, one eyebrow raised, the bill of the cap clenched in one fist.
He sighed, reaching forward to smooth a lock of her hair that had been disturbed by the cap.
"I dislike seeing your unhappiness when they lose," he admitted with a frown.
An incredulous laugh burst from her.
"Some guys bring home a box of chocolates when their wives are pissed, Roarke," she told him. "Some guys bring flowers -- though I don't know why, when they could bring chocolate. You? You buy me a damn baseball team."
Roarke could tell from the unsteady tone of her voice that she wasn't quite sure whether to be touched, thrilled, or furious at him.
"Unbelievable." She fell back against the cushions of the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Silent, Roarke was content to simply watch her.
She glanced sideways at him, and then her eyes widened and she sat bolt upright. "Crap! Thanks to you, my favorite ball club has a new owner who doesn't know anything about baseball!"
He tugged her down again, shifting so that she curled against his chest, her head on his shoulder. "Ah, but you see," he said, pressing a kiss to her hair, "There's the beauty of it. I don't, but you do."
She put a hand on his chest and pushed him back. "Watching it, Roarke! I don't know anything about owning a team!"
"We're quick learners, Darling Eve. I expect we'll figure it out." A teasing smile curled his lip. "It's not as if we can make their situation much worse."
Eve glared at him, and he laughed.
She shook her head again. "I cannot believe you just got up today and decided to buy a baseball team. No. Not just a baseball team. The Yankees."
Roarke's smile faded, and he regarded her seriously. "This wasn't a momentary decision, Eve. I wasn't joking about the reports. I put as much thought and research into this decision as I do into every business decision, and I wouldn't have gone through with it if I didn't believe it would ultimately be extremely profitable."
He could see by the subtle change in her expression that his seriousness helped Eve to stop thinking of it as the whim of a doting husband and start thinking of it as his typical pursuit as a ruthless capitalist. The mental shift made the situation real for her.
"You really own the New York Yankees," she marveled.
"We own them, Darling Eve. Or at least, we will," Roarke clarified. "The initial offer has been made -- and accepted, there was no question of that. There will be weeks -- perhaps months -- of meetings and hearings and negotiations before the deal is complete."
He curled his fingers around hers. "I will, of course, do everything I can to... facilitate the process, but the league apparently enjoys taking its time."
Eve snorted. "Yeah. That much I do know."
His thumb rubbed in small circles over the skin of her hand. "What will you do with your Yankees, a ghra?"
A slow grin dawned over her face, and Roarke's breath caught in his throat at the sight.
"My Yankees," she repeated, and her grin slipped into a look of intense calculation as she sat up again.
"Right," she told him, settling the cap firmly on her head. "The first thing we need is a new GM."
Roarke studied the fierce determination on his beloved's face and knew, without a doubt, that they would be celebrating a championship soon.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Another disclaimer ~ Unlike Eve & Roarke (or the Steinbrenners), I do not own the New York Yankees. Nor do I own Major League Baseball.
You really have the characters down, too.
Thanks very much for sharing. I hope it's not the last that you'll be writing!