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“Morning, Maggie,” Will said, with a smile that was about a quarter inch away from a smirk.
“Will,” she said cautiously. “What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to talk to you.”
“I’m late for something.”
“Well, now, Alex isn’t such a slave driver that he’s gonna mind you being a little late, is he?”
“What makes you think I’m going to work?”
“If Alex hasn’t got you all working this weekend, then the man’s an idiot.”
“Not many idiots run Fortune 500 companies,” she retorted.
“I think the history of the stock market might disagree with you on that,” Will said.
“What do you want, Will?”
“Like I said, I want to talk to you. Surely you can spare an old friend an hour or so.” He smirked again and Maggie gritted her teeth.
She opened her mouth to tell him where to go but he kept talking before she could get a word in.
“After all, Winters will need some time to get to Deacon himself given he only left here twenty minutes or so ago.”
Maggie’s stomach went cold. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Will shook his head. “Now, Maggie. Don’t play dumb. I saw him?—”
“You were watching me?”
“He was leaving when I got here. Winters should be more discreet.”
Maggie’s brain whirled frantically, trying to think of an explanation for Alex being in her building first thing in the morning.
“Don’t bother denying it,” Sutter said, satisfaction oozing from the words. “Smart move, in my view. Sleep with the new boss, keep your job.”
Okay. So Will knew. The question was, what would he do with the information? In his place, she’d be contacting the press immediately. News about her and Alex would only work to his advantage if it was spun as something sleazy. Some of the team owners were pretty conservative. Not to mention the fact that some on the Saints team—and her dad—probably wouldn’t like the news. Which meant she needed to stall Will and, if at all possible, keep him on her side. “It’s not like that,” she said. Then, as Will’s expression turned skeptical, “You said you wanted to talk to me. So talk.”
Sutter glanced around, nodded his head in Dev’s direction. Dev wasn’t frowning anymore, but Maggie read his very controlled expression as concern and “do you need help?” She made a little “I’m okay” gesture at him before Will turned back to her.
“I’d prefer somewhere a bit more private. How about you ask me upstairs?” Will said.
“How about I not,” she said flatly. Keeping him on side was one thing but there was no way she was letting Will Sutter into her apartment.
“Then let me buy you breakfast,” Will said. “You have to eat.”
“I’m not interested in eating with you, Will,” she said. Her grip on polite was fading rapidly. But she clung on as best she could. “You’re kind of the enemy.”
“But I don’t have to be,” he said, his smile flashing wide. She was sure it was meant to be charming but it came off more like smarmy. “C’mon, Maggie. Give me an hour. I’ll buy you breakfast and you listen to what I have to say, and then you can tell me to go to hell if you want to.”
Maggie hesitated, biting back the desire to tell him to go to hell right that second and be on her way. Curiosity warred with common sense. What the hell was he up to? She wanted to kick his shins and tell him where to shove his offer of breakfast, but could she really turn down the chance to maybe get some information out of him about his bid and what it might take to get him to withdraw it? Sure, Alex and her dad would probably go bananas but she could handle that. This was a chance for her to help. To prove that she could play the game just as well as they could. “All right,” she said, hoping she wasn’t making a mistake. “One hour.”
She had to admit, Sutter was slick. He whisked her into a car and over to a small café a few blocks away where he was obviously known because the hostess promptly seated them in a very private back booth, presented menus, took orders, and then left them alone. The café wasn’t really the sort of place she pictured Sutter hanging out. He had a taste for the good life, she seemed to remember. The room they were in was sort of battered cozy chic crossed with retro diner.
“Do you come here often?” she asked
“The chef’s a Texan,” Will said with a nod. “Knows his stuff.”
