The Devil in Denim

by Melanie Scott

“You wouldn’t mind moving to Texas?”

  “I grew up in Arizona, remember. It’s not that different. Warmer in winter than here, that’s for sure.” Ollie shivered dramatically.

  “You’d give up New York?”

  “Wouldn’t have to give it up. It’s not going anywhere. I’d still have my place for the off-season. It’s not like I get to spend all my time here anyway.”

  Maggie paused, stared out across the river at the Jersey side. Ollie made it sound easy but this place was deep in her bones. She’d grown up in this world bisected by a big gray river and linked by bridges. Staten Island and Deacon Field and the city.

  The lights and sounds and smells of them ran through her memories like a tide. Home.

  But as Ollie said, New York wasn’t going anywhere. It would still be here.

  Her real home wouldn’t be though. Deacon Field. If Sutter moved the Saints, no doubt he’d sell off the stadium to the highest bidder. Who’d promptly tear it down and build another mall or endless houses or whatever was making the most money in terms of island real estate these days. No more old creaky stands and big spiked tower.

  No more Saints.

  Not unless she convinced Sutter to keep them here.

  And that would be more of that giving in to emotion that Alex accused her of. If she was CEO of the Saints, then she’d have to do what made the most financial sense.

  “What do you think the rest of the team would think about moving?”

  Ollie shrugged, linked his arm through hers. She appreciated the extra warmth so she didn’t move away. Ollie was part of her memories too. Friend, then lover, and now friend again. “Some of them will be happy, some won’t want to. None of them are likely to argue with the money though.”

  She sighed. “Is that all there is to it?”

  “Well, if Sutter wins, then it will be,” Ollie said. “So it’s not like we’re going to argue with him and say, ‘no, don’t pay us more.’ People need to eat.”

  “Not many of you are struggling to eat,” Maggie shot back.

  “No, but people are allowed to make money,” Ollie said.

  “So more money and moving is better than the Saints staying here?”

  Ollie shrugged again. “Like I said, for me it doesn’t matter. Others would disagree. They like Winters.”

  Maggie looked up at his tone, saw his brows draw down. “And you don’t?”

  “The man’s a suit. He doesn’t know baseball.”

  “He’s a Saints fan. Which is more than you can say for Sutter.”

  “Tom fired him, he didn’t exactly have a choice to stay.”

  “Still…” Maggie hesitated, unsure what her point even was. “I think Alex used to play ball.”

  “A thousand years ago back in college.”

  Maggie frowned. College? “He did?”

  “Sure. That’s how the three of them met. They were at U of T. When that big fire at the stadium happened. You remember, some crazy survivalist type planted a bomb to protest something or other. People died.”

  I want people who’ll run into a burning building with me.

  Holy crap, he hadn’t been talking metaphorically.

  “I didn’t know that,” she said, feeling winded

  “Yeah, he quit after that, I think. Probably wasn’t going to cut it anyway,” Ollie said. “Suits don’t play baseball.”

  Maggie pictured the easy swing of Alex’s body hitting balls in the batting cage. Ollie had that one wrong.

  “Damn, it’s freezing,” Ollie said. “Want to stop for coffee?” They were nearing Pier 66; she could walk the High Line from here. Climbing up on the elevated walkway to wend their way up toward Chelsea would mean being in the full teeth of the wind. But she wanted to get home. Home to think.

  She shook her head. “No, I want to keep walking. You go back if you want to.”

  Ollie stopped, looked over his shoulder back the way they’d come. “Just as quick to come to your place and cab it back,” he said.

  “Not exactly a workout.”

  “You sound like Lucas.”

  “Lucas?”

  “Yeah. Dude doesn’t seem to appreciate that it’s the off-season. He’s got the doc and the training staff all riding us about keeping our fitness up before spring training.”

  “Poor Ollie, having to work for your outrageous salary.”

  “Not outrageous enough,” he muttered. “You should take Sutter seriously,” he said in a louder tone. “He was telling me what he’s planning. He’s got some good ideas.”

  “Unlike Winters?”

  Ollie didn’t meet her gaze. Maggie paused as she reached the top of the steps. Ollie really didn’t like Alex. Did he have an inkling about what was going on—or had been going on rather—between them? And if he did, maybe part of his enthusiasm for Sutter was due to the fact that Maggie taking the job would get her out of Alex’s orbit? Damn. She thought Ollie had given up on his stupid torch for her.

  He dated enough women to fill half the north stand at Deacon with his Shieldettes. He didn’t want her.

  But he didn’t want anyone else to have her either.

  Which meant she had to take anything he was saying with a grain of salt. Because just like everyone else, it seemed he had an angle.

  Crap.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Wrestling with the devil’s dilemma was exhausting, she’d discovered. She’d paced her apartment, written several different pro and con lists, drunk a bucketful of coffee, paced some more, tried to nap, taken a bath, and then punished her already aching legs with a hour on the treadmill.

  None of it helped much.

  The choices were clear enough. Sutter and what she always wanted. Or the Saints as she knew them. Maybe.

  And it was a choice.

  Unlike for Ollie and the players, there wasn’t an option B. Whoever she chose, she was under no illusions about that. If she chose Sutter and Alex won, he wouldn’t be extending an olive branch and asking her to come back to the Saints. And if Sutter won and she’d chosen Alex, then she’d be out of a job too. Sure, she might find something at another team or in the minors but it wouldn’t be the Saints.

  Damned if she did and damned if she didn’t.

  Which meant that, whoever she chose, she had to do her damnedest to see that they won.

  All in or nothing.

  Gah. She tossed the cushion she’d been twisting in her hands across the room, narrowly missing a vase of peonies.

  Stupid choices.

  Why was it hard? In these situations, you were meant to know in your gut what was the right thing to do, weren’t you? Know the path and take it. Instead she felt like a mouse in a wheel, running running running and never getting any farther forward.

  She pulled her notepad toward her, chewing her lip while she skimmed over the pro and con list again.

  Being CEO, that was definitely a pro. A big honkingly scary pro but a pro nonetheless. But it came with the equally honkingly scary thought of the Saints moving elsewhere … becoming a whole new thing.

  Whereas in the team Alex column there was stability and tradition and everything she loved about the Saints.

  But it came with not being CEO and having to find a new place for herself with the team.

  Did it boil down to what was best for her or what was best for the team?

  Did she have the right to be selfish when there were so many other people to consider?

  Was it selfish if the idea of being CEO and doing things her way was appealing?

  She didn’t know.

  She’d watched Alex and Mal and Lucas these last few weeks. Three intelligent, efficient, and highly capable men swinging into action to save the Saints. Doing it with a delicate balance of charm and ruthless drive. She’d worked with them and laughed with them and they’d listened to her and taken up some of her ideas. They were a team. A solid unit. Strong and steady. They wouldn’t abandon the team if they could help it.

  They were the guys who’
d run into a burning building to save people. She’d done some digging after she’d finally gotten rid of Ollie. Found the old news files. Read about a bombing and deaths and about the people who’d risked their lives to reduce that death toll. Including a young pitcher, a catcher, and a slugger. Stars of their team. Promising prospects. None of them had played baseball again after the bombing as far as she could tell. Alex changed schools and took up a business major, and Lucas switched to pre-med at another school too. Mal had dropped out and joined the army.

  She didn’t know why they’d given up the game—whether they’d been injured or couldn’t stomach it after what had happened. But it was clear that baseball ran deep in all three of them. And that they had, to quote her dad, the stuff.

  And then there was Sutter. Equally rich. Not quite so charming. Never ran into a burning building in his life as far as she knew. But offering the brass ring she’d been stretching for all these years. She didn’t know him well, just had her old memories of him which, granted, didn’t work in his favor. But he’d been young and cocky back then and maybe he’d gotten a little wiser with time. People changed, sometimes. He’d acted like a jerk at the Giants, but he hadn’t been too bad at breakfast. Maybe he had changed. Maybe he could be good for the Saints. Maybe she and he could work together and turn them into something new and shiny and brilliant.

  But there was a cost to becoming new and shiny and brilliant, and tradition would be the one to pay it.

  Selling out her childhood, her heritage, everything her dad had done.

  She could justify it if she had to but would she really be able to live with it?

  Her phone buzzed beside her. Hana again. She’d called several times today and Maggie had ignored her. She had to be a hairsbreadth away from charging over here and kicking down the door to demand to know what was going on in her usual Hana style.

  And quite frankly, maybe some kick-ass Hana style was what Maggie needed right now. Someone who really would tell it like it is.

  “Hey,” she said, hitting the button to pick up the call. It came through on video, Hana’s expression both worried and angry.

  “Where on earth have you been?” she demanded.

  “Busy,” Maggie said.

  “Ollie called me a couple of hours ago,” Hana said. “Is it true?”

  “About Sutter? Yes.”

  “Holy shit,” Hana said. “You’re thinking about it, right? You have to be thinking about it.”

  “Yes,” Maggie said again.

  “Holy shit,” Hana repeated. “Damn him.”

  “Are you mad?”

  “I don’t want you to do it,” Hana said. “But I can understand why you’d think about it.”

  “Why don’t you want me to do it?”

  “I like it here.”

  “That’s not a reason.”

  “No? Okay. I don’t like Sutter. I’ve been putting feelers out, digging around. Shelly has too. He seems like a bit of a douche.”

  “Doesn’t mean that he won’t get the job done. There are some pretty good businessmen out there who are douchey.”

  “Sure. But that doesn’t mean you want to work for one, right?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Hana sighed. “I know I can’t convince you but think hard, right. He seems like the sort of guy who’ll do what suits him best. If he has to choose between a rock and hard place, he’ll be the one who finds the soft place to fall while everyone else gets crushed.”

  “And you think Winters isn’t?”

  “You know him better than me,” Hana said. “You’ve spent more time with the three of them than anyone else so far. You tell me.”

  Maggie pulled a face at the phone. “Winters is perfectly capable of being ruthless when he wants to. He’s all about business. And what he says goes.”

  “Well, he is the boss. And being all about business seems pretty good to me when you’re trying to save a dying franchise. What else do you know about him?”

  He’s freakishly good at kissing. Nope. Not going to say that. “He doesn’t think I’m ready to be CEO. Sutter does.”

  “Hmm,” Hana said. “Okay. But Alex still wants you to work for the Saints. He’s not cutting you out completely. Anything can happen in the future. I thought you were okay with that?”

  “He’s—”

  “He’s what?” Hana paused, her slightly blurry face frowning. “Oh crap. You slept with him.”

  “What? No.” The denial came to her lips automatically. But she was pretty sure her face was more frozen panic than calm “nothing to see here.”

  “Maggie Louella Jameson, I can tell when you’re lying. Holy crap, you slept with Winters.”

  Maggie let her head fall back against the sofa. “I’m an idiot.”

  “He’s hot. You’re human.” Hana sounded amused.

  Maggie raised her head so she could see the screen. “No. I’m an idiot. There’s a reason you shouldn’t sleep with your boss, and this is it. It makes things too complicated. For me at least. It doesn’t seem to bother him that much.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “He got really mad when I told him about Sutter. Told me I had to make a choice. Plus he said he’d hold me to my contract.”

  “He said he’d sue you?”

  “Not exactly.”

  “Yikes. Still, there’s a simple solution for that. Stop sleeping with him. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. You didn’t do anything dumb like fall for him, did you?”

  “No-o.” The denial came a little too slowly.

  “Maggie, you’ve only known the guy a few weeks. You can’t have fallen for him.”

  “You always say that you fell for Brett at first sight.”

  Hana nodded then shrugged. “I did. But I’m a freak.”

  “You’re also the one who told me to sleep with Alex.”

  “I didn’t think you were going to do it. Or that you’d be dumb enough to fall for him if you did.” Hana chewed her lip. “Okay, so this is a problem.”

  “Yes, because I can’t fall for someone who always has to have things go the way he wants. I’m not that sort of person.”

  “No. No, you’re not. Is this why you’re thinking about Sutter? Because it’s less complicated?”

  “No, I’m thinking about Sutter because he’s offering me a great opportunity.” And yes, she definitely wouldn’t be tempted to sleep with him and that was a plus.

  “You have to work this stuff out, Maggie. And maybe you need to think about the job separately from the ‘I was dumb and slept with my boss’ part.”

  “Don’t give me the business and personal speech, he already did that one.”

  “Alex?”

  “Yes. But the problem is, the Saints are personal to me.”

  “Yes, but the part where you’re tangled up with Alex in the sheets has to be taken out of the equation. I don’t mind you thinking with your heart about the Saints, but don’t think with your va-jay-jay.”

  “I am not thinking with my— Look, I’m not even going to say it. I’ve made up my mind about sleeping with him anyway. It’s a terrible idea and I’m stopping right now.”

  “Just like that.”

  “Yes.”

  “So he wasn’t that good in bed?”

  Maggie glared. “Shut up.”

  Hana giggled. “Okay. Sorry. I’ll be a properly sympathetic friend and tell you that you’re making the right decision.”

  “Am I?”

  “Personally, I’d say hell no but you’re not me. If you don’t think you can work with Alex and sleep with him and not get your heart trampled on then either don’t work with him or don’t sleep with him.”

  “I could work with Sutter,” Maggie said.

  “I’m pretty sure if you work with Sutter then your chances of sleeping with Alex are pretty low. Like ‘Saints winning the World Series this year’ low.”

  “See, that’s my problem, his way or the highway.”

  “So then work wit
h him and don’t sleep with him. I’ll fix you up with as many men as you want. I’ll buy you a goddamn state-of-the-art vibrator. Whatever it takes.”

  “You really don’t like Sutter, do you?”

  “No. And Maggie?”

  “Yes?”

  “Neither do you.”

  * * *

  Maggie stared up at the heights of Alex’s condo building with a symphony of doubt singing in her ears. The building wasn’t quite as pointedly “conqueror of worlds” as the Ice headquarters but it was still a testament to luxury and money and power. Gleaming glass and marble and stone streaking toward the sky and reflecting back all the other testaments to luxury and money and power that surrounded them.

  Alex lived right at the pinnacle of all that.

  And he was home.

  Gardner had yielded that tidbit. No doubt he’d immediately told Alex after she’d hung up the phone but she couldn’t help that.

  If he’d chosen to leave and not be here when she arrived then she’d deal with that.

  Right now she had to deal with him.

  She checked in at the front desk and was directed to the same separate penthouse elevator that had whisked her heavenward back at the party. That damned party. That was when she’d made her first mistake and given in to that damned mistletoe.

  This time she didn’t care if he’d papered the place in mistletoe. There would be no kissing.

  The door was open when she stepped out of the elevator. At least there was an outer hall. She’d been in other mind-bogglingly expensive apartments throughout the city, and she’d never liked the ones where you stepped straight out into the apartment. It made her feel like a trespasser.

  Much like she was feeling now as she pushed the door all the way open and stuck her head through.

  No Alex waiting for her in the foyer. She glanced upward. The light fixture—gleaming industrial steel-and-glass—was free of any adornment.

  Small mercies at least.

  She made up her mind and stepped into the apartment, pulling the door closed behind her. Where was the man? She remembered the layout from the party. Alex’s bedroom and an office were off the long hallway that led to the kitchen. And the vast living space was through the doors directly ahead of her.

  But if he was in that room, surely he would have come out to greet her by now?