Page 39 of The Devil In Denim
“Hey,” she said to the group as she stepped into their circle.
“The new boss serves good food,” Hana said as she took one of Shelly’s extra skewers.
“Are you criticizing my catering choices?” Maggie laughed.
“No, but the last few parties that Veronica catered for were a little dull.”
“Don’t blame me, I wasn’t here.” She took a careful bite of shrimp.
“Yes, but you’re here now. And this party is fabulous. I love this place. I wonder how long it took him to get into the building,” Shelly said speculatively.
“Money helps with waiting lists. Particularly for places like this,” Maggie said. “Don’t hold your breath, Shel. We pay Hector well but this might be out of his league.”
“Oh, I like our place,” Shelly said. “But a girl can dream.” She finished her own shrimp and wagged the empty skewer at Maggie. “You’ll have to get Alex to give you a proper tour. See if everything’s as good as this room.”
Maggie resisted the urge to kick her in the shins. “I’m not all that interested in interior design,” she said dryly. “Why don’t you ask him to give you a tour?”
She glared at Shelly over the top of her glass and Shelly seemed to get the message because she dropped the subject.
“You know, he might own the building,” Hana said.
“I thought this was a Lennox building,” Peta put in. She tipped her glass toward the window, a wide grin on her face. She was tiny and delicately built, like Hana, and the floaty layers of white chiffon of her dress emphasized it. “Anyway, who cares who owns it? What matters is that we’re here, drinking the man’s very nice liquor and looking fierce.”
Peta was married to Cordell King, one of the other pitchers. They’d been together since high school. Both of them had come from a small town in Georgia. A long way from their current Upper East Side location.
Maggie raised her glass. “I’ll drink to that. And to a successful season,” she added.
“Girl, do not start with the baseball talk,” Peta admonished. Shelly, Hana, and Moira nodded agreement. “We’re still on break.” Peta practically ran the women’s fastball league program for the Saints. Between that and wrangling Cordell, she earned her vacations.
“You four might be, I’m back at work.” Keeping the deal she’d made so that programs like Peta’s wouldn’t be cut. No. She wasn’t going to think about that tonight. Tonight, she was determined to enjoy herself. Channel her inner Scarlett O’Hara and ignore her problems like a champion.
“So we hear,” Moira said. “Which means you’re obligated to spill all you’ve learned about the three spunky amigos.”
“McBoss, McDoc, and McMystery,” Peta added.
Maggie held out a hand. “No. No ‘Mc’ anything. This is not Grey’s Anatomy.”
“Pity,” Shelly said. “Though Lucas does look kind of like Patrick Dempsey.”
A hotter, more Italian Patrick Dempsey, perhaps. “You four are hopeless. You’ve got men of your own who are plenty hot. And these guys are their bosses.” She shook her head at them. “And my bosses,” she added when Hana started to open her mouth.
Moira pouted. She was built like Marilyn Monroe, only with red hair and big gray eyes. She did a good pout when she wanted to. She also regularly made bundles of cash for the investment bank she worked for, doing the sorts of deals that Maggie didn’t begin to pretend to understand. “You spoil all our fun, Maggie.”
“You have plenty of fun without me.” She made a mental note to pick Moira’s brains once she knew more about what exactly was going on with the Saints’ finances. Maybe she’d have a brilliant idea or two to spare.
“Does this mean you don’t want to know what I found out about them?” Shelly asked, eyes twinkling.
“Anything that’s going to scuttle the deal?” Now that Alex had told her about the money—or lack thereof—she hoped not.
Shelly shook her head. “But Alex Winters hasn’t spent his life as a monk, that’s for sure.”
“We’ve all seen the gossip columns, Shel,” Hana said. “We knew that much. What about the other two?”
Shelly frowned. “Well, if Dr. Angelo over there screws around much, he does so very discreetly. There’s nothing but gushing raves about his surgical skills and equally gushing news about his family’s philanthropy. He’s one of those Angelos. Squeaky-clean as far as I can tell. Malachi Coulter was out of the country for a large part of the last fifteen years. It’s going to take me longer to figure him out.”
Maggie hid her relief with another swig of champagne. “Well, that’s good. They’re guys, they’re not married. They’re allowed to have sex. I thought you were going to tell me Alex has some secret hushed-up business scandal in his past.” Though she was pretty sure she would’ve at least gotten a whiff of that during her case-study research if he did. And she hadn’t.
“Or that one of them likes leather and whips or something,” Peta added.
