Page 12 of The Devil In Denim
So first things first. Pretend last night hadn’t happened. At least, anything after the split second before he’d hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carried her from the bar, that was. She made herself smile at Gardner and straightened her shoulders before she strode through the door.
Alex Winters was sitting on the edge of his desk. A new desk. Not her dad’s desk. The deal had been signed only yesterday … when had he even had time to move furniture in? And where was all her dad’s stuff? All the pictures and his ridiculous collection of baseball caps? She scanned the room, disoriented. It felt like a completely different office. The only thing on the walls other than a bank of TVs was a framed number from a baseball jersey. She didn’t recognize the colors. Some souvenir he’d picked up in between wheeling and dealing probably.
The walls were still the same color—apparently not even Alex Winters could completely redecorate in one day—which gave her some little comfort but not much.
She tried to regain a sense of control by focusing on Winters rather than the strangeness of the room as she heard Gardner close the door behind her, leaving her alone with the man.
Unlike the night before, he was wearing a suit. Dark navy with a crisp white shirt and a brand-new Saints tie. The sight of it made her vision blur for a moment.
Damn him. He hadn’t earned that tie. He wasn’t one of them. He never would be.
“Maggie,” he said, coming to his feet.
“Mr. Winters,” she said in her best “you are a bug” voice.
“I hope you’re feeling better this morning.”
Heat flared in her cheeks. Stupid pale Irish skin. She never could hide a blush. “It takes more than a little tequila and a Neanderthal to make me feel under the weather, Mr. Winters.”
He tilted his head at her. “I prefer ‘caveman’ to ‘Neanderthal.’”
“I don’t really care what you prefer,” she said. So much for pretending last night hadn’t happened. Two seconds in his presence and he’d managed to start her temper flaring all over again. She felt suddenly hot in her wool suit despite the fact it was only about ten degrees outside. Had Winters cranked the heat up in here? Hell was hot after all. Maybe he felt right at home in subtropical temperatures.
Winters was watching her with an odd expression on his face. “You made that much clear last night too. It wasn’t our finest hour, was it? I was hoping we could start over.”
“Are you going to change your mind and not buy the Saints?”
“No.”
“Then I don’t think we’ll be starting over. I’m here today because my dad asked me to come. That’s it.”
“Then it seems we have a problem,” he said. He moved a few steps toward her, stopping when he was about a yard away. She wished she’d chosen higher heels. He had several inches on her, and this close he suddenly seemed to fill all the available space. The scent of him, clean and warm, flowed around her, and she had a sudden vivid flashback of the feel of his arm across the back of her legs and the muscles in his back flexing under her cheek.
“The only problem I have is you,” she snapped, willing the treacherous memory away. “And after this afternoon, I won’t be seeing you again.”
Alex seemed to consider this statement. Then he shook his head. “That isn’t going to work for me.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said, it’s not going to work for me.”
“I don’t really care.”
Winters shook his head. “You care about the Saints, though, don’t you?”
“What’s that got to do with it?”
He frowned. “Is that a trick question?”
“No?”
He looked like he’d suddenly reached enlightenment, green eyes widening under raised eyebrows. “Your father hasn’t spoken to you, has he?”
“Not really. Not since yesterday.”
“And not before, judging by your reaction.”
“What would he have told me?” Other than the fact he was selling the team that was her family out from under her?
