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She did a quick mental calculation. He wasn’t much older than her, in his early forties, at least, and he looked better than most men half his age.
There was a rustling of fabric and she chanced another peek, hoping for a way out. She caught him pulling his jeans over his hips and bit her lip, watching the muscles of his back slide beneath his skin.
Two minutes in the same room with him and her teenage hormones had returned in full force. She wanted to rake her nails over that back, to bite those shoulders… hell, even the bright-red sunburn on the back of his neck was enticing.
“And in here, we have the clubhouse.”
She sat back so fast she almost hit her head on the underside of the table. Thorgerson and Molly came through the door, and Thorgerson muttered, “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here yet. I thought batting practice wasn’t until noon.”
“It isn’t,” Chris said mildly. “And I’m not a batter.”
“No, of course, you aren’t, Mr…”
“Thompson,” Molly interrupted. “You’re Chris Thompson. It is an honor to meet you, sir.” Molly’s shoes thudded across the floor, and Maggie knew her assistant had practically run across the room to shake his hand. “It would have been better with your shirt on. I’m really hoping this isn’t going to be some kind of lawsuit.”
Molly, no!
Thorgerson cut her off, thankfully. “This is Miss Harper’s assistant. I’m sure you remember, Miss Harper is our new team owner.”
“Yeah, sure. Magpie. Ron Harper’s daughter. I remember her.”
He remembered her! The fifteen-year-old part of her psyche rejoiced that he even knew she was alive. What was wrong with her? Earlier that morning, she hadn’t thought of Chris Thompson in years. Was her libido so deprived that now she couldn’t focus on anything but him, just from seeing him slightly very naked?
“Where is she?” Molly asked Thorgerson. “She took a phone call and vanished.”
“It does seem odd we didn’t see her in the hall,” Thorgerson replied. “Mr. Thompson, did you see her?”
“I was in the shower, and she wasn’t in there.” Maggie could imagine Chris’s half-smile when he spoke. As a teenager, she’d certainly studied him enough to recognize the cocky disdain in his response, even if Thorgerson never would have.
“I’ll give her a call,” Molly supplied.
No! Maggie pulled her phone from her pocket and tried desperately to beat her assistant’s legendary dialing speed. The phone vibrated in her hand, and she dropped it, scrabbled to pick it up, and was rewarded with a loud blonk! Indicating she’d accidentally opened the voice command mode.
“Did you hear something?” Thorgerson asked, and Molly’s shoes thumped across the carpet, growing nearer to the table.
The jig was up. Maggie crawled out, the traitorous phone still clutched in her hand. “It was me. Fine, it was me.”
“What… were you doing down there?” Molly asked, arching a brow.
Any lie she could possibly think up would only make the situation worse, and the truth was bad enough. “I was trying to get better reception, I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going, and Mr. Thompson came out of the shower and didn’t notice me. To avoid embarrassing him or myself, I chose, rather stupidly, to hide under the table.”
Both Molly and Thorgerson looked at her as though she had sprouted antlers. She didn’t blame them. Chris looked so damned amused that she was tempted to slap him. He put out his hand, forcing her to cross the room to him to take it. “‘Mr. Thompson,’ is a little formal, isn’t it? Considering how well we’ve gotten to know each other?”
“I said don’t make a big deal out of it,” she said through clenched teeth. “I barely saw anything.”
“I’m not making a big deal,” he said, with a disturbingly cheerful smile.
“Well, since you’ve seen the clubhouse…” Thorgerson cleared his throat. “Shall we move on?”
“Yes, I think that’s a good idea,” Maggie said, unable to make further eye contact with Chris. “I’ll see you at the reception tonight, Mr. Thompson. We can catch up.”
“I look forward to it,” he replied a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’ll dress a little more formally.”
Her face flaming, Maggie took the lead in leaving the clubhouse, while Thorgerson stood by looking acutely uncomfortable. Molly snickered behind her hand.
“Don’t worry about him,” Thorgerson said in a low tone when they’d put some distance between themselves and the clubhouse. “Confidentially, he’s not going to be here next season.”
If that was meant to make Maggie feel better, it didn’t.
Chapter Two
“Go easy,” Javier urged under his breath as Chris deposited his empty champagne flute on a passing waiter’s tray and snagged a full one in the same smooth motion. He supposed Javier was right. Chris was keenly aware that this season could be his last, and he didn’t want to open it on a three-day drunk, no matter how tempting it might sound.
