Page 17 of The Devil In Denim
She’d done brilliantly at the press conference, better than he could have hoped for. Just the right balance of confidence and banter. She’d had them eating out of her hand. Of course, she probably only had to smile and turn those dark eyes on most men to have them eating out of her hand.
She hadn’t even balked at his little first-pitch invention. He should’ve thought that through a little more. He still didn’t know whether it was genius on his part or the part of him that was really just interested in finding an excuse to touch her that had made him put his arm around her and make his announcement. He’d been more occupied with the feel of her close to him than with what she’d actually said. Luckily for him, she’d come up with the right answer while he was wondering what the scent was that drifted up from her hair, cutting through the cold and the unmistakable baseball smell of the stadium. Whether she’d still be here in April when the time actually came was another matter altogether, but for now the media beast was happy.
Unlike Maggie.
Fair enough. In her place, he’d be mad as well but mad wasn’t going to get her anywhere, and what he needed was to make sure she channeled that energy into something that wouldn’t work against his plans.
He had no doubt that Maggie could rally the Saints players and employees and the fans against him if she chose to. Maybe even turn a few of the other teams’ owners around and get them to vote against the sale. She was tight with the captain’s fiancée, not to mention the starting pitcher’s wife. No doubt she knew all the wives and girlfriends and Alex wasn’t dumb enough to underestimate the havoc they could wreak. They could make the players’ lives hell if they chose.
Hell, Maggie could probably rally the players too. He’d seen them all watching her as she stood beside him on the podium. There’d been more than one faint frown in his direction when he’d draped his arm around her shoulder—just as well they couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking—and way more than one look of faint relief when she said she’d still be around. She was part of the team, part of the Saints family. And right now, possibly the closest thing to being the glue that would hold them all together until he and Mal and Lucas found their way in as well.
If only he could get a do-over on yesterday. He would’ve made sure that she’d known what was going on. Tried to figure out a way to make her somewhat happier about the transition.
But there were no do-overs in baseball or in life. Once the ball hit the glove, the play was over and you just had to accept it and figure out the next play. Maggie didn’t like him, didn’t like the situation, and was probably only going to be unhappier still once he’d told her the whole of it. Which meant—and the fact that he couldn’t decide if this was good or bad was worrying—that the memory of her warm shoulders under his arm was likely to be the closest he got to her, ever.
In her place he’d tell himself to go to the devil too and run straight into the arms of the nearest baseball team that would have her. He didn’t doubt that somebody would give her a job. She was obviously smart and she knew the game backward. Not many people had her sort of pedigree. It was unlikely to be the sort of job she had wanted at the Saints though. There were no female CEOs in MLB. Not yet. And without the added push of being the owner’s daughter, she’d have to fight like hell to ever end up in that position somewhere else. Unless she went to the minors.
He couldn’t see it.
But right now neither could he see how to win her over to his side. She was too mad to succumb to charm and he couldn’t do the thing that would make her not mad and undo the deal. Even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t.
He tapped one finger on the steering wheel while he thought about it. Mal or Lucas would have ideas, but he’d hustled her out of there without giving them a chance to even speak to her for long, and he could hardly call and strategize with them with Maggie riding shotgun. So he’d just have to wing it.
As Alex slowed and turned to ease the car into the garage at Maggie’s building, she shook herself from her reverie, blinking a little as she realized they’d arrived. She hadn’t even registered the transition from Brooklyn to Manhattan. She wouldn’t have been able to say which way they’d come through the city to SoHo. Alex hadn’t asked which way was fastest.
Figured.
Men like him didn’t ask for directions. They just plunged ahead, sure of themselves. She knew the type well. Her father was one. And half the players on the team.
He parked in one of the guest spots, switched off the ignition, then climbed out and came round and opened the door for her.
Manners.
It was one small point in his favor. She managed to say “thank you” as she got out of the Jeep. Nerves coiled, fierce and tight, in her stomach, now that they’d arrived. She’d managed to wrestle them into submission during the drive over but now they had broken free again.
She led the way to the elevator, punched in her code, and stepped off when they arrived at her floor, all without speaking to him again. She didn’t know what to say, wasn’t sure she wouldn’t just be a wimp and try to get rid of him before he told her whatever it was he was going to say.
Maybe she should’ve tried to get it out of her dad instead, but the fact that Tom hadn’t told her—when they’d always talked about everything—meant that it was bad. She was furious with him for keeping her in the dark but forcing the issue might just lead to the sort of blowup they’d never had. The sort of blowup that might fracture their relationship. She couldn’t face that. Tom was her rock. The constant thing in her world. Ever since her mom had died, he’d been there when she needed him, even when it meant jumping on a plane from half a country away. He’d made sure that she was safe and loved and given her a damn good life.
And now he was lying to her.
That hurt most of all.
She laid her keys in their dish on the entry table in the hall and turned to Alex as she started to unbutton her coat. He wasn’t wearing one. Come to think of it, he hadn’t worn one on the podium either.
Maybe he was wearing long underwear.
Or maybe the fires of hell kept him toasty warm in even the worst weather.
“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t. She felt like she might barf if she tried to eat, but she’d promised to feed him and she wasn’t going to renege on her promise. Unlike some people.
“Sure. You said something about takeout?”
The takeout menu drawer was well stocked. Dev always made sure she had the latest batch of offerings. She spread them out on the counter, waved at them vaguely. “You pick.”
“What’s good?”
“All of it.” Dev weeded out the duds and he knew the things she liked. “Really, I don’t care. You choose.”
