Page 7 of The Devil In Denim
He resolutely put Maggie Jameson and her long fall of dark hair and eyes like embers out of his mind and opened his e-mail to start dealing with whatever the day was going to throw at him.
Chapter Two
“You know, A, I’m not exactly feeling the love.” Malachi Coulter jerked his chin toward the closed door of Alex’s office. “I’ve been in war zones more welcoming. I thought you said Jameson was on board with this deal?”
“He is,” Alex said. He tried to read another e-mail while Mal paced. “He signed the papers.” He typed a short response and keyed up the next message.
“So why is the atmosphere around here so arctic?” Mal growled.
Alex stopped reading and looked up. Mal was taller than him, just over six foot four and all of it rangy muscle. His strength and reach had made him a great batter, probably hadn’t hurt in his army career, and definitely had come in handy at the start of his security business, even if Mal’s interests in that profession lay more toward surveillance and security systems than cracking heads. The man looked like a hard-ass bouncer with his too-long hair—always too long since he’d left the army—and tattoos, and Alex had developed a healthy respect for the power in that body after many years of playing all sorts of sports with him. When delivering bad news to Mal, it was always best to ease into things. Though, today, there wasn’t much time for easing.
“I may have underestimated Jameson’s ability to get his team on board with the deal a little.”
“Define ‘a little.’” This came from Lucas, his other best friend. The other one crazy enough to take on the Saints. Lucas was all logic and precision with a big dose of relentlessness.
And right now he had a very determined look in his cool blue eyes. Alex grimaced. Determined and amused, he realized. It probably came as no shock to Lucas that the Saints organization wasn’t immediately taking to its new owners. Lucas didn’t do anything without analyzing it six ways from Sunday and planning for all possible contingencies before he started. It was what made him one of the best orthopedic surgeons in the country. Alex still wasn’t sure how he’d managed to convince Lucas to throw his hat into the ring on this particular venture. One to chalk up to the mystic powers of baseball fanaticism and just be thankful for.
Still, Lucas would keep grilling Alex until he got the answers he wanted so it was time to just get on with it. They had a press conference in a little over an hour.
“They seem to hate our guts,” he said bluntly.
“Perfect,” Mal groaned. “That will make things so much easier.”
“Hey, they’ll love us once they get to know us.”
“They’ll love me and Lucas,” Mal retorted. “They’ll see you for the clearly crazy person that you are. Is it too late to get a refund?”
“Yes,” Alex said. “Quit whining. You don’t want a refund. We own a fucking baseball team. We own the Saints.”
“The worst team in the American League,” Lucas said.
“The worst fucking team in the whole fucking major league,” Mal amended.
“That’s why we love them.” Alex grinned. “That’s why we have to save them. So a whole new generation of fans can share our pain.”
Mal shook his head but he was smiling now too. “Misery loves company.”
“Means the three of us should be ecstatic right about now,” Alex said.
Lucas was nodding agreement but he had on his decisive face. Just like him. Working out a strategy. “Still, it’s not a done deal yet. Not until the other teams’ owners sign off. So we need everybody to be on board. Jameson’s coming to the press conference, right?”
“Yes. He’s making a statement before ours. I’ve read it”—hell, he’d helped write it—“it’s good. Then I’ll make mine and introduce the two of you and we can get things started.”
Lucas pursed his lips. “What about Maggie Jameson, is she coming?”
Alex froze. “Maggie? I’m not sure.”
Mal made a disgusted noise. “C’mon, Alex, what are you doing? Everybody in this place loves Maggie Jameson, you know that. They might be suspicious if Tom says we’re good guys but they won’t doubt Saint Maggie. You need her to vouch for us.”
Alex made sure the desk was still between him and Mal. “Good idea. But there’s one little problem with it…”
A shower went a little way toward restoring Maggie’s sense of humanity, if not her faith in said species. She blew her hair dry roughly, piled it up, slid into jeans and a hoodie, and decided she wouldn’t call her dad to let him know she was coming. She had a feeling he might try to duck out if she did. Tom Jameson had eaten team managers, coaches, players, and members of the press for breakfast in his time, but he’d never been good at dealing with anything too female. Given Maggie had been a tomboy, that worked out well. Most of the time. The few times they had fought and she’d succumbed to tears, she’d had the distinct impression her father would rather gnaw his own arm off than go through it again. Which might explain why he’d never remarried.
But that wasn’t the point. Today, it didn’t matter how uncomfortable it made her father, she was going to get the explanation she deserved.
Her purse was still on the kitchen counter where presumably Alex—goddamn it, her memory of what had actually happened when they’d reached her apartment was way too blurry—had put it. She’d woken up in her clothes—most of them at least. He’d taken off her jacket and shoes but thankfully had left it at that. She really would have had to punch him if he’d seen her passed out in her underwear.
Maggie just about reached the door when there was another knock that made her jump and drop her purse. She bent to grab it, frowning. Dev was fairly dogged about calling up to announce visitors. The building’s security had been one of the reasons she’d chosen it. Maybe it was Dev himself with another parcel. She straightened and moved to peer through the peephole.
