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“Well, don’t you?”
“Not usually. I look for undervalued companies, sure, but I prefer them to be undervalued because the market hasn’t seen their potential, not because they’re going under.”
“Then why’d you buy the Saints?”
“You don’t think the Saints have potential?” Alex leaned in a little. Just a fraction. Just enough to make her skin tingle.
“I, uh?—”
“Because I see potential here,” Alex said. “Lots of it.”
“I, uh—” Was it hotter here in the elevator? Damn Hana and her ridiculous ideas. She’d planted sex in Maggie’s head and now she was imagining things. She stared up at the row of floor numbers over the door, willing them to light up faster.
“And, Ms. Jameson,” Alex added, “I’m very good at bringing potential to life. I find it very … satisfying.”
Damn it. That was definitely flirting. Wasn’t it? Maybe Hana wasn’t so crazy after all. Damn and bugger and more damn. Because she had meant what she said. She wasn’t going to get involved with her boss, let alone the man who’d ruined her life. Potential or no potential.
Chapter Seven
Maggie followed Alex to his office but hesitated in the doorway, taken by the same sense of strangeness she’d felt the previous day because of the different décor.
Alex waved her in. “Have a seat.” He crossed to the tall cabinet near the window, folded one of the doors to reveal the rows of glasses and the small fridge. “Would you like a drink?” He drew out a bottle of mineral water and looked back over his shoulder. “You probably know what’s in here better than I do.”
She did. And she didn’t need the reminder. She made herself walk across the room, taking off her coat. “I’ll have a Coke.” She wanted the caffeine but didn’t want him to have to call for coffee. She didn’t want to see anybody else just yet. Not until she knew what was going on.
“Regular, diet, or zero?”
“Fully loaded.”
Alex handed her a can and a glass. He held out her hand for her coat. “Can I take that?”
“Do you mind if I just hang it up?” She nodded toward the other side of the cabinet.
“Be my guest.” He turned back to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a glass of mineral water.
Maggie opened the door of the coat closet and then froze. Normally the closet was stuffed full of her dad’s jackets—his battered leather Saints jacket, his suits waiting to be cleaned, and several generations of Saints windbreakers in various states of disintegration. But today there was just one long black winter coat. Alex’s. Which gave her a clear view of the back of the closet and the row of notches marking the door frame. She sucked in a breath.
“Is something wrong?” Alex asked.
She stared at the marks, ran a finger up the wood, each notch bumping her finger. “I’d forgotten about these.”
“About what?” Alex joined her, peering over her shoulder.
The highest notch was slightly deeper than the others. “Dad did these.”
“What are they?”
“They’re me. Every year on my birthday, Dad used to measure me. Well, until I was eighteen.”
“Huh.” Alex squatted down and looked at the lowest mark. “How old were you here?”
“Two? Three? I’m not sure.” She couldn’t remember it not being part of her birthday ritual. Cake with all the Saints staff, being measured by her dad, getting a new Saints cap, and then whatever party her mom—while she’d been alive at least—had organized. It hadn’t ever felt like her birthday until she’d been able to run her finger over the newest notch and see her dad smile as he told her how much she’d grown. After her mom had died, the parties had been organized by players’ wives, employees, or whoever had decided to take her under their wing that year, but that hadn’t mattered because she could still do the birthday ritual with her dad. “Forever,” she said, half to herself.
“You really did grow up here,” Alex said.
“Yes.” She swallowed. No more adding notches now.
He straightened, then looked from the frame to her. “You’re taller than the highest one.”
