The Devil in Denim (6 page)

The press seemed to be lapping it up. The players, lined up obediently at the edge of the podium, flanked by Dan Ellis and his coaching staff, didn’t seem quite so delighted, but someone had obviously read them the riot act as well because they all stayed respectfully silent and attentive while Alex talked.

What was really needed in this situation was for Hana to arrive and kick a few heads, Maggie decided. That might take some of the smug out of Alex’s voice. Though, as she listened to what he was actually saying, she had to admit some of it was pretty convincing. But she hadn’t spent years studying sports administration, business, and baseball only to be taken in by a smooth speech. Promises were only so much empty air until they were backed up by legally binding contracts and actions.

By the time Alex finished talking, her vision had mostly cleared. Which only made it more apparent that Alex Winters was, so far, winning the battle for the media. When he paused for breath, taking a moment to look around the park with an expression that was both pleased and full of a certain amount of “master surveying his domain,” Maggie’s fingers curled into her palms. That should be her dad up there, outlining plans for the upcoming season and making deprecating jokes about “just give us one more year.” This was their park. She’d had her sixteenth-birthday party right here on the field and she’d had her first kiss in the very top row of the stadium. This was her place. Hers and her dad’s. But now her dad was second banana, nodding approvingly at Alex from time to time but making no move to take the podium himself.

“So,” Alex said. “Any questions?”

That set off a flurry of yelling and still more pictures. Maggie blinked and ducked her gaze, remembered her old trick of looking down without looking like she was. The first few questions were predictable enough, asking about team roster changes and Alex’s plan for Deacon Field and spring training. Alex dealt with those easily, without having to refer to notes or his coaching staff or the quietly efficient Gardner who stood at the back of the platform.

“I want to know what Tom thinks about all this,” a voice yelled from the crowd. Maggie’s head snapped around to her dad. Tom made a little “settle down” gesture as a chorus of “yeah, Tom, what gives?” type comments swelled up from the reporters.

He cleared his throat, tugged at his tie in his habitual gesture, and then he said, “I think the Saints are in good hands.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Well, first, I’m going to take a vacation. And then, well, maybe I’ll able to watch a couple of games and relax for once.” This earned a few chuckles.

Maggie kept her expression carefully bland as she studied her dad’s face as he spoke, trying to read what lay beneath the practiced “let’s deal with the press” tone. He actually sounded pleased. Or relieved? She couldn’t quite decide which. Nor could she figure out why on earth he’d be anything other than pissed at what had happened.

Not that she knew what had happened. One thing was for sure, after the press conference she wasn’t letting Alex Winters go anywhere before he told her the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

A gust of wind blew up as her dad raised another laugh from the crowd. Maggie pulled the collar of her coat a little closer. If she’d known that Winters was going to be dumb enough to hold an outdoor press conference at this time of year, she would’ve grabbed a scarf. And different shoes. At least she’d found a pair of gloves shoved in her coat pocket. Alex had talked for almost thirty minutes before he’d started taking questions, and it was starting to look like they’d be here a while longer before the press let them go.

There was another rumble of laughter and then the sound died away. Another blast of wind made the Saints banners behind the podium snap like gunfire as her dad stepped back from the microphones and Alex took up his position once again.

“Next question.”

“What about the other teams? Do you have the owners’ votes?”

She turned her head at that, hope blooming. The other owners. She hadn’t even thought about the fact that they needed to vote in favor of the sale for it to be allowed to go ahead. Maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe Alex and his little cadre wouldn’t be able to buy the Saints after all. She had a sudden urge to cross her fingers and wish for just that, but she restrained herself as Alex smiled at the press.

“I’m confident we have the numbers we need,” Alex said. There wasn’t even the faintest hint of uncertainty in his voice and her little curl of hope shriveled. “Though I’m sure you’ll understand that I can’t talk about that right now. So, who had another question?”

“What about Saint Maggie? What does she think about the sale?”

Alex laughed. “I’ll let her tell you that. Maggie?”

She blinked, startled by the question. “Me?” she squeaked. Then mentally winced. She knew how to deal with the press. Acting like Bambi caught in the headlights wasn’t a recommended technique. “Sorry, can you repeat the question?”

“What do you think about all these changes at the Saints?”

She felt Alex and her dad both turn their gazes on her. For one wild moment she was tempted to yell “it sucks,” but then she managed to remember her agreement with Winters. “I’m with Dad,” she managed. “I think it’s going to be great.”

She glanced upward at Alex. His grin widened. Pleased with how she was performing. Which made her feel a little like a dancing bear. And about as happy as a bear to be in the middle of this circus. Still, she’d made her deal so she was going to stick with it. She made sure her own smile stayed wide and looked back at the sea of faces in front of her.

“And will you be working for the Saints? You graduated a few months ago, right?”

She couldn’t actually see which reporter was yelling the questions. Just as well for him. Because if she knew, he would be off the Saints Christmas card list and onto her personal shit list.

“I—”

“Maggie has a home at the Saints as long as she wants one,” Alex cut in smoothly.

She felt her jaw begin to drop and caught it just in time. “I—” she tried again.

Alex draped an arm around her shoulder. “The place wouldn’t be the same without her. We know that. And we know she’s got the brains to go with the beauty. In fact, I’m hoping she’ll agree to throw the first pitch of the season.”

The first pitch? That was months away. Did he seriously expect her to still be helping him out in four months? Dread twisted in her stomach. What exactly was it that he was going to tell her after this? But there was nothing she could do about that now. Right now she just had to smile and play the game. “I’d love to. I’m not going anywhere, I swear.”

She hoped it was true. But April was a long way away and she had no idea what might happen between now and then. Or if she could even bear to stay. She hadn’t thrown the first pitch of the first game since the year she’d turned eighteen. Her birthday was April Fool’s Day. His baseball baby, her dad had always called her, so it had been perfect timing. The Saints had even won the game. She’d been thrilled. She didn’t think she was going to be so thrilled this time. Trust Alex Winters to find a way to spoil even that for her.

Alex smiled down at her and didn’t take his arm away. Once again she noticed just how damn good he smelled. If someone had asked her to describe her perfect man scent, it would be his. It made the female part of her want to breathe deep and snuggle closer into his embrace. Which was never going to happen. It was just more evidence that the universe had it in for her, making this man—who was doing his best to ruin her life—so damned appealing. And further proof that he’d made a pact with the devil.

But as he’d just pointed out, she had a brain. A damned good one. And it was going to remain firmly in charge of this situation.

Chapter Four

The press conference wrapped up after an eternity of rapid-fire questions that Alex handled like a pro. Maggie beat a hasty retreat toward the warmth of indoors as soon as the press began to pack up. She accepted a cup of coffee from Gardner with gratitude, stripping off her gloves to warm her half-frozen fingers on the mug. She kept her coat on, wanting the extra layer until she started to thaw out. Alex, Lucas, and Malachi came in as a pack. Tall, handsome, and almost unbearably self-confident. They moved like kings. Solid in the knowledge that the universe would do what they wanted.

She wasn’t sure she was up to dealing with three of them right now. Alex was bad enough. If his friends were as aggravating as him, then it didn’t bear thinking about. Still, she couldn’t help admiring the sight of the three of them together.

Talk about eye candy.

They definitely weren’t going to have much trouble winning the female Saints fans to their cause.

Malachi, tallest of the three, needed a haircut but his dark brown eyes smiled in a rugged, chiseled face and his rangy, muscular frame did excellent things for the suit he wore. Lucas, the quietest of the three from what she’d seen so far, was just plain gorgeous. Dark hair cut short, bright blue eyes and olive skin put together in an Italian-movie-star kind of way. His navy suit fit him like a glove, the faint pinstripes delineating the very nice planes of his body, speaking of hand tailoring and money.

And then there was Alex.

Delectable as the other two were, she couldn’t stop her gaze from drifting to him. In all his annoying green-eyed and “just stepped off a beach somewhere” golden-haired glory. He too wore his suit with ease, though Maggie got the feeling that he’d rather be in the jeans and blazer he’d worn in almost every press image she’d ever seen of him.

She gripped her coffee tighter trying to figure out if there was any way of leaving the room without being seen. She wanted to know what Alex had to tell her but she definitely didn’t want to have that conversation in front of an audience. Nor did she feel particularly like socializing. The players were starting to drift in behind the terrible trio. If Alex had any sense, he’d send them home before they could start asking too many questions. They had behaved at the press conference, but behind closed doors, they weren’t likely to stay polite for very long.

She backed toward the door. Perhaps she’d go hide out somewhere up near Tom’s—no, Alex’s; she caught herself again—office and Winters could come and find her. She made it a few feet out of the room before the man himself materialized by her side.

“Going somewhere?”

“Just need a breather,” she said. “Not really in the mood to hang out with all the guys.”

“I thought you loved the players.”

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I want to be grilled by them about your little coup.”

“Hardly a coup.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to argue. Can’t you just let me go?”

He tilted his head. “I’m not sure I want to be grilled by them either. Tell you what, how about we get out of here?”

“You can’t just leave. You’ve got some explaining to do.” She nodded toward the room they’d just left.

“Team meeting tomorrow. They can ask all their questions then. Not everyone is here today anyway.”

“No, because they’re enjoying their vacation.” The punishing baseball schedule didn’t leave a lot of opportunities for downtime. The wives and girlfriends and families of the players tended to be fierce about guarding their limited off-season chances to spend time together.

“Well, they can go back to enjoying it after tomorrow. But hey, if you want to stay here, I’m sure everyone would be happy to say hello.” He turned as if to yell over his shoulder.

“Don’t!”

He turned back. “Your choice. Dinner with me or quality time with the team.”

“Dinner? Who said anything about dinner?”

“It’s almost five. By the time we get back to the city, it will be dinnertime. Besides, talking to the press always makes me hungry.”

“My car’s back at Dad’s.”

“If you want to come back to get it, I’ll get my guy to bring you after dinner. Or in the morning.”

He had a driver. Of course he had a driver.

“Or I can just get someone to drive it back to you,” he offered. “Whatever suits you. So, dinner?”

“I thought we needed to talk. It didn’t sound like a conversation we should have in public.”

“We can eat at my place.”

“No.” The denial shot out of her mouth before she had time to think. Definitely no. No walking into the devil’s lair. The legends were pretty clear about what happened to women who descended into the underworld as well. There were no heroes in the wings waiting to rescue them. She had a horrible feeling if she let Alex Winters get under her skin then she’d be lost.

“Your place?” Alex suggested.

That didn’t sound much better but it was definitely the lesser of two evils. “If you like takeout.”

“You don’t cook?”

“I don’t cook for you.”

It came out bitchier than she intended. For a moment she thought he winced before he regained control. It gave her a tiny pang of guilt but one that evaporated rapidly when she remembered what he’d done. Still, she had to work with him for the next few months if she was going to keep the promise she’d just made on live television. “Besides, I just got back from a trip and my fridge is pretty empty. But I have takeout menus.”

“Sold.” He motioned her toward the elevator. “I’ll tell the guys I’m taking off. They can hold the fort. I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

*   *   *

Maggie emerged in the parking lot and hesitated, wondering where exactly Alex’s car might be. But then she spotted three cars parked in the slots next to her dad’s. Well, two cars and a gleaming Harley. She figured the Harley wasn’t Alex’s, he didn’t strike her as the bike type. The two cars were a big red Jeep and a silver Mercedes convertible. She guessed the Mercedes would be it.

The elevator dinged behind her and she turned as the doors slid open. Alex stepped out, spinning a set of keys in his hand. He aimed the fob at the two cars and, to her surprise, it was the Jeep that flashed its lights.

So he was a Jeep guy? Interesting. And where was the driver?

He must have seen her looking. “I was in the mood to drive myself today.” He opened the passenger door, gestured her in. “Jump in.”