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“He took Veronica away for the weekend,” Shonda said. “Didn’t he tell you?”
“No.” Away? Where? Did that mean he wouldn’t be around for the party? Crap. “Did he tell you where?”
“No. He said he didn’t want anyone to know. The press have been bugging him all week.”
“Are you being a good PA now or telling me the truth?” Maggie realized with a sudden pang of guilt that she hadn’t asked Alex about Shonda and whether she was still going to have a job with Tom gone. She’d run his office at the Saints for nearly ten years, clucking over him and Maggie like a mother hen but turning a ruthless watchdog bark on anyone who tried to get around her to get to either of them or slip around the sacred Shonda schedule.
“It’s the truth, honey. He booked his own tickets even. And used one of his personal cards.”
He really was trying to fly under the radar then. “Okay. Thanks. Are you coming to the party on Saturday?” The invitation from the terrible trio—she really should try to stop thinking of them as that if she was going to work with them—had come through to her e-mail earlier that morning, so she assumed everyone knew now.
“Sure. I want to check out Alex Winters’s fancy apartment. And drink his booze. Just like everybody else does.”
“Has Winters—” Maggie hesitated, wondering if it was her place to bring up Shonda’s job. But she was the closest thing Maggie had to a surrogate mom, so maybe she should. “Did he?—”
“Did he offer me a job?” Shonda chuckled. “Yes. Not working for him. He has that Gardner boy and a whole flock of assistants apparently. But he asked if I wanted to work for Malachi or did I want to take a redundancy or see what was available in his other companies. Your dad asked me to stay with him too. So don’t you worry about me. Everybody wants Shonda.”
Relief flooded through Maggie. “Oh. That’s wonderful.” But then she realized that raising the topic of employment might just inspire Shonda to grill her about what she was going to do. Time for a speedy exit. She extracted herself from the conversation and stood for a moment, wondering what to do next. Then she remembered she still needed a dress for the party because her shopping trip with Hana and Shelly yesterday hadn’t yielded anything that had met with Hana’s approval. Time for a second attempt.
Maggie was late to the party, thanks to ugly traffic and last-minute nerves. Alex opened the door and smiled a welcome as he ushered her inside. Maggie stepped around him and turned a slow circle, taking in the large foyer with approval. Pale walls, dark timber floors, and a series of black-and-white photos of baseball greats either side of the doorway that led into the next room.
“Like it?” Alex said when she came to a stop, facing him.
She managed a smile. “I officially have apartment envy.” And nerves, she realized with a sinking feeling. The good kind of fluttering stomach nerves that she really shouldn’t feel from the presence of Alex Winters.
“Yours is nice too. Can I take your coat?” He held out his hand.
“Not this scale nice.” She slipped off her coat.
Alex went still. “Nice dress.”
“Thank you.” Hana had been right about the dress apparently. It was short and a deep blue that gleamed softly in the light as the fabric draped her body with just the faintest hint of silvery sparkle to match the shoes. She watched his eyes travel over her and come back to her face, suddenly greener than ever. She turned toward the sound of voices and music. Safety.
He caught her wrist, his fingers warm against her skin, his grip gentle. “Not so fast.”
“Sorry?”
He glanced upward. She followed his gaze. Above the door was the biggest bunch of mistletoe she’d ever laid eyes on.
“Mistletoe? Seriously?”
His grip tightened just a little. Tugged her toward him. “What’s wrong with mistletoe?”
She resisted the pressure, ignoring the tingle in her wrist where his fingers rested against her pulse. “It’s poisonous.”
“I’m not asking you to eat it.”
“It’s not Christmas.”
“This is a belated Christmas party, remember? I didn’t own the Saints at Christmas.”
“Don’t remind me.” She pulled at her arm, feeling her pulse pick up. Scared that he might not let her go. Scared that he might. Which was crazy. “Besides, we agreed, no flirting.” State the ground rules again. That couldn’t hurt.
“Maybe. But regardless, where’s your festive spirit?” His lips curved. She was starting to be way too familiar with the precise shape of his mouth when he smiled.
“It was just fine at Christmas.” She tugged again.
He pulled her closer. “You don’t want to mess with tradition. You know how superstitious ballplayers can be.”
