The Devil in Denim (7 page)

“Jump” was expecting a little too much enthusiasm but she climbed in. “I thought the Mercedes was more your style.”

Alex shook his head. “That’s Lucas’s latest toy. I have an Aston when I want to get fancy and a BMW for my driver, but I like the Jeep. Especially for trekking out to the wilds.”

“Staten Island is hardly the wilds.”

“Anywhere off Manhattan is the wilds.” He grinned.

New Yorkers. “You grew up in Queens, right?”

“Yeah. Born and bred.” He started the car, slipped it into reverse, and backed out of the car park. “How did you know that?”

“I do my research.” She wasn’t going to admit she’d done a whole case study on him. Not that she’d spent much time on his early years other than basic biographical details. She knew he had a brother and two sisters, that his dad had been a subway driver and his mom a nurse. She knew he’d gone to college at Yale and graduated summa cum laude.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

*   *   *

Alex stayed silent as he gunned the big car down the expressway toward the city. He didn’t want to have the conversation that he was about to have in the car. He didn’t particularly want to have it at all. He’d hoped that Tom would man up and tell his daughter the truth. But that apparently hadn’t happened.

He wasn’t looking forward to adding to the tension and worry that had turned the woman next to him from the grinning, happy girl she was in all the Saints pictures—all fire and energy—to someone fairly vibrating with hurt and anger.

She sat huddled in her big gray coat, as though it might somehow protect her against whatever was to come. It wasn’t cold in the Jeep, the heater was doing its job admirably, but Maggie looked frozen all the same, all the spark drained out of her.

She’d done brilliantly at the press conference, better than he could have hoped for. Just the right balance of confidence and banter. She’d had them eating out of her hand. Of course, she probably only had to smile and turn those dark eyes on most men to have them eating out of her hand.

She hadn’t even balked at his little first-pitch invention. He should’ve thought that through a little more. He still didn’t know whether it was genius on his part or the part of him that was really just interested in finding an excuse to touch her that had made him put his arm around her and make his announcement. He’d been more occupied with the feel of her close to him than with what she’d actually said. Luckily for him, she’d come up with the right answer while he was wondering what the scent was that drifted up from her hair, cutting through the cold and the unmistakable baseball smell of the stadium. Whether she’d still be here in April when the time actually came was another matter altogether, but for now the media beast was happy.

Unlike Maggie.

Fair enough. In her place, he’d be mad as well but mad wasn’t going to get her anywhere, and what he needed was to make sure she channeled that energy into something that wouldn’t work against his plans.

He had no doubt that Maggie could rally the Saints players and employees and the fans against him if she chose to. Maybe even turn a few of the other teams’ owners around and get them to vote against the sale. She was tight with the captain’s fiancée, not to mention the starting pitcher’s wife. No doubt she knew all the wives and girlfriends and Alex wasn’t dumb enough to underestimate the havoc they could wreak. They could make the players’ lives hell if they chose.

Hell, Maggie could probably rally the players too. He’d seen them all watching her as she stood beside him on the podium. There’d been more than one faint frown in his direction when he’d draped his arm around her shoulder—just as well they couldn’t tell exactly what he was thinking—and way more than one look of faint relief when she said she’d still be around. She was part of the team, part of the Saints family. And right now, possibly the closest thing to being the glue that would hold them all together until he and Mal and Lucas found their way in as well.

If only he could get a do-over on yesterday. He would’ve made sure that she’d known what was going on. Tried to figure out a way to make her somewhat happier about the transition.

But there were no do-overs in baseball or in life. Once the ball hit the glove, the play was over and you just had to accept it and figure out the next play. Maggie didn’t like him, didn’t like the situation, and was probably only going to be unhappier still once he’d told her the whole of it. Which meant—and the fact that he couldn’t decide if this was good or bad was worrying—that the memory of her warm shoulders under his arm was likely to be the closest he got to her, ever.

In her place he’d tell himself to go to the devil too and run straight into the arms of the nearest baseball team that would have her. He didn’t doubt that somebody would give her a job. She was obviously smart and she knew the game backward. Not many people had her sort of pedigree. It was unlikely to be the sort of job she had wanted at the Saints though. There were no female CEOs in MLB. Not yet. And without the added push of being the owner’s daughter, she’d have to fight like hell to ever end up in that position somewhere else. Unless she went to the minors.

He couldn’t see it.

But right now neither could he see how to win her over to his side. She was too mad to succumb to charm and he couldn’t do the thing that would make her not mad and undo the deal. Even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t.

He tapped one finger on the steering wheel while he thought about it. Mal or Lucas would have ideas, but he’d hustled her out of there without giving them a chance to even speak to her for long, and he could hardly call and strategize with them with Maggie riding shotgun. So he’d just have to wing it.

*   *   *

As Alex slowed and turned to ease the car into the garage at Maggie’s building, she shook herself from her reverie, blinking a little as she realized they’d arrived. She hadn’t even registered the transition from Brooklyn to Manhattan. She wouldn’t have been able to say which way they’d come through the city to SoHo. Alex hadn’t asked which way was fastest.

Figured.

Men like him didn’t ask for directions. They just plunged ahead, sure of themselves. She knew the type well. Her father was one. And half the players on the team.

He parked in one of the guest spots, switched off the ignition, then climbed out and came round and opened the door for her.

Manners.

It was one small point in his favor. She managed to say “thank you” as she got out of the Jeep. Nerves coiled, fierce and tight, in her stomach, now that they’d arrived. She’d managed to wrestle them into submission during the drive over but now they had broken free again.

She led the way to the elevator, punched in her code, and stepped off when they arrived at her floor, all without speaking to him again. She didn’t know what to say, wasn’t sure she wouldn’t just be a wimp and try to get rid of him before he told her whatever it was he was going to say.

Maybe she should’ve tried to get it out of her dad instead, but the fact that Tom hadn’t told her—when they’d always talked about everything—meant that it was bad. She was furious with him for keeping her in the dark but forcing the issue might just lead to the sort of blowup they’d never had. The sort of blowup that might fracture their relationship. She couldn’t face that. Tom was her rock. The constant thing in her world. Ever since her mom had died, he’d been there when she needed him, even when it meant jumping on a plane from half a country away. He’d made sure that she was safe and loved and given her a damn good life.

And now he was lying to her.

That hurt most of all.

She laid her keys in their dish on the entry table in the hall and turned to Alex as she started to unbutton her coat. He wasn’t wearing one. Come to think of it, he hadn’t worn one on the podium either.

Maybe he was wearing long underwear.

Or maybe the fires of hell kept him toasty warm in even the worst weather.

“Are you hungry?” She wasn’t. She felt like she might barf if she tried to eat, but she’d promised to feed him and she wasn’t going to renege on her promise. Unlike some people.

“Sure. You said something about takeout?”

The takeout menu drawer was well stocked. Dev always made sure she had the latest batch of offerings. She spread them out on the counter, waved at them vaguely. “You pick.”

“What’s good?”

“All of it.” Dev weeded out the duds and he knew the things she liked. “Really, I don’t care. You choose.”

Alex frowned. “You look a little pale. How about a drink?” He picked up a menu but kept his eyes on her, not on it.

“I’ve got beer. Soda. Water. Probably wine somewhere.” She probably had whatever he’d like. But it seemed easier to limit the options.

“Beer’s fine.”

She pulled a bottle from the fridge, hesitated, then took a San Pellegrino for herself. After the previous night, more booze wasn’t any more appealing than the thought of food. She should be hungry. She couldn’t even remember what she’d eaten last. There’d been a pretzel on the way to her dad’s. Hadn’t there? The day was blurring in her memory.

Alex took the beer and twisted it open. “Thanks.”

She poured her mineral water into a glass, sipped gingerly, then looked at him. “Might as well get this over with.” She took a seat at the big battered pine refectory table.

Alex nodded and pulled out a chair for himself. “Okay.” He swigged from the beer. “Short version, the Saints are broke.”

“What?” She’d been half expecting it … having run through the scenarios as they’d driven here; it either had to be money problems or her dad had lost his mind but she’d hoped it wasn’t true. “We had a great year.” The Saints weren’t a rich team, never had been, but her dad hadn’t given any hint of them having money trouble. Of course, the team being in trouble didn’t mean his personal money was in jeopardy. He’d always taught her to have a nest egg and to keep business separate from family. Her throat tightened and she made herself take another drink.

“Pretty good,” Alex agreed. “But the global economy didn’t. The Saints’ assets have taken a hit. Actually, they took a hit a few years back. Your dad and his team have been doing what they could but it’s a losing battle. The Saints need money.”

“Which is where you and your friends come in,” she said bitterly.

“Yep.”

“You could have been silent partners. Why take over? You don’t know baseball.”

He shrugged. “Because I want to.”

Because he wanted to. So he would. He could’ve invested in the team. Could’ve chosen not to disrupt things so dramatically. Not taken her dad’s life—and hers—away from them. Yet, he had. Because he
wanted
to. And really, that told her all she needed to know about him.

“And you always get what you want?”

“Not always. But in this case, yes.”

“And it doesn’t matter who gets hurt?”

“I didn’t hold a gun to your dad’s head, Maggie. He could have said no.”

“If he wanted to let the Saints go under. He would never do that.”

“He could probably have found another buyer. Not such a good offer perhaps but there are other people out there who might have invested.”

“But he still picked you.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.” It blurted from her with a sound that was too close to a sob for her liking. She didn’t understand. Maybe she’d never understand.

“Your dad did what he thought was right. You’d have to ask him why.”

“But he loves the Saints. I don’t know how he could just walk away.”

“Maybe he’s ready for a change. He’s been doing this for a long time.”

“Baseball’s his life.”

Baseball was her life too. She’d counted the days until she would be back home at the Saints. She felt right when she was at Deacon Field or somewhere on the road with the team. Anywhere else, she never felt like she quite fit in. In college she’d hung out with the ballplayers a bit, but that could be awkward sometimes when they were more interested in whether they could get to her dad or his scouts through her than in Maggie herself. But she’d learned to weed out the bad apples fast enough. But even then, surrounded by people who loved the game, it wasn’t the same as being with the Saints.

“People change, Maggie.”

“They don’t give up the things they love.”

“Sometimes they do.” There was an odd note in his voice that broke into her self-absorption.

She glanced upward to see something close to regret float across his face. Curiosity pinged but she squelched it. She didn’t care if Alex Winters had regrets in his closet. No, she was more interested in whether there might be skeletons. Anything that suggested there might still be a way out of this crazy situation.

“You don’t know my dad.”

“Not as well as you do, sure. But we spent quite a bit of time together while we talked about this. He was ready to give this up.”

“Convenient for you.”

“Not really. I have quite enough to do without taking on the Saints as well.”

“Then why do it?”

He shrugged. “Maybe I was ready for a change too.”

“Well, that’s great for all of you. But what about me?”

“That’s something we can talk about, if you want.”

“Unless you’re going to offer me a real job, then forget it.” In fact, even if he did offer her a real job she wasn’t sure she could do it. Couldn’t stay with the Saints and watch someone take over, step into the place she’d been aiming for all these years. Let herself be sidelined. But what the hell was she going to do if she didn’t?

“I’m not going to make you CEO, Maggie,” he said. “For a start, you’re nowhere near qualified.”

She bristled. “I grew up with this team. I know more about baseball than you and your two pals put together.”

“Maybe. But that doesn’t mean you know how to run a multimillion-dollar company.”

“I’ve watched my dad do it all this time. And I’ve spent a lot of years studying how to do it. I’m not an idiot.”

“No, but right now the Saints can’t afford rookie mistakes.”

“You’re a rookie,” she shot back.

“Not at business.” He tipped his beer back and swallowed.

“Baseball’s not just a business.”