The Devil in Denim (10 page)

“Shelly is sweet. And Hana seems like she might not punch me just yet.”

She looked up. He was leaning against the counter, those very nice arms crossed loosely at his chest. “Give her time,” Maggie said. “She has a temper.” She moved the last of the chairs into place. Damn again. She needed another distraction.

“So I hear. Still, I’m not likely to make a pass at her husband, so hopefully I’m safe.”

“As long as you don’t trade him,” Maggie said.

“I wasn’t planning to. We’re lucky to have him. He could probably double his salary at another team.”

“He loves the Saints.” Maggie shrugged. “I told you, baseball isn’t all about the money.” At least for some people.

“So you did. Which brings me back to our agreement. Tonight was a start and tomorrow we’re having a team meeting. I was planning on spending some time with all of the players in small groups but now I think we need to start off with a bang.”

“A bang?”

“Get them all together. A party. They’ve had Christmas and New Year’s with their families; do you think they’ll be in a party mood?”

She considered it. “Well, a lot of them must have cut their breaks short to come back for the press conference today. That can’t have won you many brownie points. So a big lavish party might unruffle some feathers. At least with the WAGs.”

“WAGs?” Alex asked.

“Wives and girlfriends,” Maggie said absently. “Dumb term but it’s stuck with the press.” She considered the idea. Yes. Not bad. Lots of good food, lots of good booze—extremely good champagne, especially—and Alex might start to win people over.
Might
. They were going to be wary of him until they found out whether he was going to start making cuts to the team; that was only natural. But a party—something that showed that he and his friends were going to be approachable and generous—was a step in the right direction. It was what she would do in his place.

“How lavish?” Alex asked. “I was thinking family-friendly.”

Maggie shook her head. “Leave the kids out of it for now. It’s too soon to start kissing babies. Maybe a family day when it warms up a little. But you need to get the team on your side first. They’ll be less distracted without their kids. And they’ll drink more. That might work in your favor.”

“You think they need to be drunk to like me?”

“No, but I think, at this point, a little beer and bourbon might not hurt your cause.”

He regarded her steadily. “Is this real Maggie Jameson advice or are you steering me in the wrong direction?”

Fair question. She had motive to make life difficult for him. “I said I’d work with you. We Jamesons keep our word.” Or this Jameson did, no matter that her father recently seemed to have developed a warped attitude to truth telling. The thought stung and she looked away for a moment.

“Okay. Trust it is.” He held out a hand. “How about we shake on it?”

She paused without really knowing why. She’d been shaking hands with handsome men all her life. Why did this one faze her? She looked at his hand, at the muscular wrist and the flex of his forearm under the rumpled white cotton. Remembered his hands on her last night, holding her safely even as he hauled her ass out of the bar. Remembered strength and warmth. She reached out and laid her hand in his.

And ignored the part of her insisting that there was the faintest scent of brimstone in the air.

Chapter Six

“So how did it go?” Mal asked as he pushed open the fire door and ushered them through to the stairwell.

Alex didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know what he was asking about. Maggie. Last night. He flexed his hand and shrugged. “In summary. Ollie Shields doesn’t particularly like me, Hana Tuckerson is reserving judgment, Shelly Finch likes me, and Maggie agreed to come work for us for a few months.” He peered over the grimy-looking railing and peered downward at the concrete stairs.

“Way to bury the lede,” Lucas said, coming to a halt beside Alex. He looked around at the dusty stairwell with disfavor. “This place needs work. Aren’t they supposed to maintain the fire exits in good order or something?”

Mal nodded. “Yup. Which is why we’re taking this little tour.”

“Could’ve warned me,” Lucas said. “I would’ve worn something different.”

“Dust won’t hurt your precious suit. Besides, you just wear scrubs at the hospital, so they won’t care.”

“I wear scrubs when I’m operating,” Lucas corrected. “Today I’m consulting with patients. They get nervous when their very expensive surgeon looks like he’s been crawling through roof spaces.”

“I’m sure you have more suits where that one came from,” Alex said. “You always have a backup plan.”

“Nothing wrong with backup plans. And if we’re done criticizing my wardrobe planning, can we get on with this? I have to be back in the city by two.”

Mal descended a step or two, grasped the metal railing and tugged at it. It rattled. He frowned. “Fine. Let’s change the subject back to Alex. Who apparently has managed to annoy our first baseman but redeem himself a bit with the boss’s daughter.”

“Tom isn’t boss anymore,” Alex contradicted. “And Oliver Shields will dislike anyone who is male and comes within fifty feet of Maggie. Consider yourself warned.”

“He’s got a thing for her?”

“They dated way back when. She says it’s over. I’m not sure he’s so convinced. Looked to me like he’d be happy to take another shot.”

“Doesn’t matter what he wants if she’s not interested,” Lucas said.

“Maybe not but that doesn’t mean he’s going to like any other guys being around her.”

“Sounds like someone needs to bounce him,” Mal said, rattling the rail again. He walked down to the next landing.

Alex shook his head as he followed Mal. “I don’t think he’ll be a problem.”

“Then maybe we need to bounce you. Were you flirting with the girl? Otherwise, what’s he worried about?”

“I wasn’t flirting,” Alex lied. “I was just being my usual charming self.”

“You can’t do Maggie Jameson,” Lucas said. “The team would probably demand your head on a silver platter.”

“Hana Tuckerson would, that’s for sure. She’s little but she’s tough,” Alex said.

“Tae kwon do will do that to a person,” Lucas agreed. “Double medalist. She’s definitely tough. I wonder if she still practices?”

“The subject didn’t come up,” Alex said. “And if Maggie Jameson is off limits, then our pitcher’s wife is definitely off limits.” If Maggie was off limits? He shook his head. There was no if about it. He may yet have to fire her. So things had to be strictly professional. He grabbed the railing in the same place as Mal had and shook it, suddenly irritated.

“I don’t do married,” Lucas said. “Professional interest only. If you want me to help whip this team into shape and weed out the ones who need to go, then I’m interested in her observations about them. She is—or was—a world-class athlete. That makes her opinion valid.”

“Well, you can chat with her at the party this weekend.”

“What party?” Mal asked as they descended another flight.

“The party I’m now throwing. Team get-to-know-you party. All hands on deck. My place.”

Mal glanced up. “Oh good. At least your place has decent security.”

“And fire exits that have seen the light of day in the last ten years,” Lucas added, brushing his hands together. “Why did we buy this place again?”

“We’re a bunch of insane masochists?” Mal suggested.

“Because we love it,” Alex countered. “We can deal with a little dust and Mal can whip the security into shape.”

“Not without a lot of work and a lot of cash,” Mal said. He peered back up the way they’d come. “There should be cameras on these landings. And many other places.”

“Just as well we have lots of cash and you like hard work,” Alex said with a grin.

“Back to Maggie,” Lucas said, apparently not interested in money talk. “What exactly did she agree to do for us?”

“We’re working out the final details of that today. But essentially she’s going to be our one-woman cheer squad and team whisperer. I’ll get her to introduce me to everyone, play nice with the press, and do whatever else we need to get the Saints on board. And the fans.”

He paused for a moment, contemplating what would happen if the Saints fans decided they hated the new owners of the team. The fact that the Saints got pretty good gate takings at Deacon—considering the state of the stadium and the fact it was too small—and that their fans were rabid enough to buy truckloads of merchandise and whatever else the Saints might offer them was pretty much the only reason the team had stayed afloat over the last year. If the fans changed their minds and stayed home, then the corporate sponsors would ditch the team as well and they’d either fall into the minors or the footnotes of history.

Or be relocated and renamed, as he’d warned Maggie. None of those options appealed. So winning the fans over was one of his top priorities. Which meant displaying a happy and cooperative Maggie Jameson at every opportunity between now and the start of spring training. Then the players and the team’s form could start taking some of the load as well.

And then there were the other teams’ owners …

But time enough to worry about them later. Maggie was due to arrive in about thirty minutes. Which meant Mal’s fun tour of the bowels of Deacon Field needed to speed up. “Okay, Coulter, let’s get this thing done. Lead down, Macbeth. Or something.” He wondered how many more levels there were. They’d started near the top of the oval tower block that rose for six stories above the highest point of the stadium’s north side, backing the home plate like a giant silver toilet roll. The slanted roof with its trademark silver glass marking a circle in the surface was supposed to evoke a halo. Personally, Alex thought it was ugly as sin but he wasn’t dumb enough to start messing with beloved landmarks at this point.

Not to mention that unless the repairs to the tower actually required an exterior remodel, he wasn’t going to waste money on cosmetic changes that could be better spent pumping up the team talent and making sure the whole damned field didn’t burn down around their ears.

*   *   *

I should go inside
. Maggie stared at her hands gripping the steering wheel of her car. She should let go of the steering wheel, get out of the car, walk to the elevator, and go up and meet with Alex Winters like she’d agreed.

The theory was fine. The execution, she was having trouble with.

She’d argued with herself last night, trying to convince herself that working with Alex would be fine and that she could do it and everything would be just dandy.

But this morning, after the trek out to her dad’s place to get her car—she’d been determined not to take Alex up on his offer of a driver and had had to take the subway, a ferry, and a cab—her nerves were starting to get the better of her. The fact that her dad hadn’t been home to talk to hadn’t helped. How could she work with Alex? He’d stolen her life. Every time she started to think she might see something good in him, that was the fact that kept getting in the way.

Driving into the parking garage, which should have felt as comfortable and familiar as slipping on her favorite pair of yoga pants, she felt weirdly out of place again. And now that she’d parked her Mini, she seemed to have frozen in place, stuck to the seat.

If she got out of the car and went inside, then she would be throwing her lot in with the devil. Was it selling out or was it the right thing? Could she work with him?

Could she work with him and not do something really dumb like notice that more than just his arms were appealing?

She tried to squelch the thought. It insisted on popping back up and circling around her brain like a hamster on speed.

Damn it. The man was the devil. That was the only explanation for the fact that she could be so angry at him and yet still be far too aware of his eyes and mouth and hands.

She lowered her head to the steering wheel, feeling the tension turning her back and shoulders to steel bars.

“So what do we do when faced with a difficult choice, Ms. Jameson?”

Patient displays reluctance to commit in the face of obstacles. Patient overwhelmed.

“Eat chocolate?”

Patient would benefit from better coping mechanism. Patient is going to end up with diabetes.

“Perhaps you could try some visualization? What do you want out of the situation? Can you see it?”

Patient reluctant to learn the lessons we have been teaching her. Still, she pays the bills.

What did Maggie want out of the situation? That was easy. She wanted to walk upstairs and find her father in his office, Shonda manning the desk outside as always, telling her she needed to eat some more, and then go a few doors down to her own little office and get to work, with nothing having changed.

“There is no point in visualizing what cannot be. Let’s try again. What do you want, Ms. Jameson?”

Alex’s face flashed into her head, green eyes laughing at something Hana had said last night, beer in one hand, leaning back in his chair, collar loosened, sleeves rolled up, muscled forearms flexing.

Her stomach lurched.

No.

She didn’t want that.

That would be masochistic, idiotic, and several other things that her imaginary therapist wouldn’t appreciate her saying out loud.

And now she was worried about offending her imaginary therapist? She really was losing it.

Someone rapped on her window and she jumped about a foot as she jerked her head up.

“Maggie, what are you doing?” Hana asked as she pulled the door open.

“I’m, uh, just…” The words trailed off. No good explanation really sprang to mind.

Hana’s brows drew down, her expression halfway between worry and irritation.

“You’re here to see Alex?”

“Yes. What are you doing here?”

“Brett left his favorite glove at home.”

“Why does he need his glove?” There were no games today. Not even training. The Saints were in vacation mode.

“He said something about Lucas Angelo and the team doctor.”

“Doctor? Is he hurt?”