Page 23 of The Devil In Denim
If he thought that, he didn’t know her friends.
“I really don’t like you,” she said flatly.
“That’s fine, as long as you don’t tell them that. If you’re going to work for me, that is.”
“You want me to sign my name in blood or something?”
He laughed and she froze. Mistake. Do not make the man laugh. When he laughed she forgot he was the devil and just wanted to make him laugh again to get another hit of the wash of approval that skated over her skin at the sound.
“Despite what you think, Maggie, I’m not the devil. I’m not after your soul. Just your help.”
“That’s what the devil would say,” she countered.
“Perhaps. But look, no contract, no pen, and no knife to slice a vein open to get to your blood. So maybe I could get the benefit of the doubt.”
Not likely. But she managed to take a breath. “Maybe. But I want a contract though. You don’t get to boot me out the door if you don’t like what I’m doing.”
His eyes lit. “Ah, a bargain. Fine. I’ll get Gardner to put something together. Though I warn you. He writes an even tighter contract than Beelzebub would.”
Hana’s knock came again, followed by, “Maggie, open up!”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Maggie said, then walked to the door to let her friends in.
Chapter Five
Alex stayed where he was while Maggie opened the door. Her friends spilled into the apartment, led by the tiny Hana Tuckerman carrying a stack of three pizza boxes and wearing a determined expression. In her wake came Ollie Shields, who Alex had met briefly when the players had assembled before the press conference. With dark hair, designer stubble, and eyes the same sort of deep brown as Maggie’s, the first baseman was very popular with female fans. His skills on the field meant the guys mostly forgave him for it.
Ollie looped an arm casually around Maggie and gave her a hug. His other hand held a carrier bag stretched by a couple of six-packs of beer.
Alex frowned as Maggie leaned into Ollie. The two of them looked like a matched set. Tall, sporty, dark-haired. They even wore equal expressions of pleasure as they smiled at each other.
“You look tired, Maggie J,” Ollie said.
“It’s been a busy few days,” Maggie said, with a sideways glance at Alex. “I’m fine.”
The third of the trio, Shelly Finch—nearly as tall as Maggie but icy blond rather than dark—followed Maggie’s look and her eyebrows shot up. “Alex Winters.” She smiled at him, red-painted lips stretching wide. “You’re not who I was expecting to see here.”
She took a few steps toward him. Of the three women, Shelly was the most New York slick of them. Which made sense given she was the one who worked in the thick of the ever-competitive New York social scene. He’d crossed paths with her a few times at galas and fund-raisers. As always, she was perfectly made up, her straight blond hair looked as though she’d just stepped from a salon, and her clothes were expensive. The rock on her left ring finger was big enough to use for batting practice. Which meant Hector Moreno was being extravagant. He was paid well but the Saints’ top salaries didn’t match those of the richer teams.
Still, looking at Shelly, Alex could understand the urge to brand her as belonging to someone. She was a knockout, if you liked the cool blond type. Which he didn’t.
“Ms. Finch,” he said. “It’s nice to meet you.” He nodded at Ollie. “Shields. And you’re Hana Tuckerson,” he added to Hana.
She fixed him a look that told him she wasn’t any more susceptible to his charms than Maggie. “You do your homework.”
“Not homework. Every other picture of Brett shows him with you.”
“You follow the Saints?” Hana asked.
“Ever since I was tall enough to play catch,” he said easily. He saw Maggie’s eyes widen. “My dad and my grandpa were both Saints fans. I had a halo jersey before I could toddle.”
Ollie let go of Maggie, handed her the bag of beer, and came across the room to shake his hand. The grip was a shade too hard but Alex responded with equal pressure. “What brings you to Maggie’s, Mr. Winters?”
“Call me Alex.”
“We usually call the owner Mister,” Ollie said. “Tom liked it that way.”
“Even outside office hours?”
