Several enormous men headed past her toward the elevator. Built like tanks, with thick necks and tattoos, she guessed they were American footballers. A couple of tanned women wearing microminis, crop tops and skyscraper heels hung off each player’s arm.
Maggie couldn’t help a pang of envy when she saw one of the women wearing a sexy pair of Giuseppe Zanotti studded sandals. Her toes curled in her sling-backs. Even though they were Chanel—she hadn’t given up the designer shoes she loved—the sedate pair didn’t have the same feel she knew those strappy stilettos would.
Once, she would have loved being at a party like this. She would have delighted in rubbing shoulders with those richer and more famous than she and Lee were, hoping some of their glitz would come her way. Back then, she would have found a way to be the center of attention.
“Get your butt over here, Cindy,” one of the men growled impatiently at a blonde tottering unsteadily behind the group.
Maggie’s stomach twisted as darker memories filled her mind. She turned away, desperate to escape both her thoughts and the building as fast as possible. Before she could take a step, an inner voice reminded her that wasn’t an option.
She brushed her damp palms against her linen dress and forced the memories aside. Her heels clicked on the marble floor as she walked along the hallway.
Her sense of dread grew as she progressed through the apartment. Aside from the flamboyantly garish decor, this could have been the house she’d left behind in England. From the leather, steel and glass furniture to the top-of-the-range boys’ toys in every room, the place reeked of money and testosterone overload.
She’d expected to find Jake at the heart of the party, but he wasn’t among the crowd in the living room. There were some fit blokes, probably teammates, and a couple of actors she recognized from one of the New York cop dramas, as well as a bunch of fresh-faced clones in buttoned-down shirts and chinos who could be Wall Street whiz kids, lawyers or the wealthy of Upper Manhattan. The women were all tall, thin and tanned with long, shiny hair and the latest designer fashions.
Jake wasn’t among the thick necks doing body shots off a giggling redhead sprawled across the long, shiny table in the dining room. Nor in the den, where another group of men sprawled on leather couches alongside yet more tanned, scantily clad women, watching a baseball game on a giant plasma screen.
Where the heck was he? How could she make a good impression on him when she couldn’t find him? Biting back a sigh, she headed in a different direction.
Near the master suite, she noticed a pair of handsome, well-built men coming toward her. Clearly brothers, they looked like athletes. Hockey players? Maybe they knew where Jake was hiding.
“Excuse me. Have you seen Jake Badoletti?”
“Honey, whatever you want from Jake, I can do better,” the taller man said with a twinkle in his eye.
Though she normally ignored such blatant flirtation, the man’s grin was infectious. Maggie couldn’t help smiling back.
“Behave, Tru.” The stockier bloke frowned, then glanced through the open door behind them. “Jake’s kind of busy.”
Maggie’s smile faded. Great. Her client was holed up in his bedroom with a groupie. She was tempted to leave and make him reschedule, but she didn’t want to get Tracy into trouble. “I’ll wait for him in the living room. Thank you.”
“Don’t rush off. Have a drink with us.” The friendlier brother stuck out his hand. “Tru Jelinek. I play with Jake on the Ice Cats. This is my brother, Ike.”
They seemed harmless enough, and it would be better than waiting alone. “Nice to meet you. Maggie Goodman.”
“You’re English?” Ike studied her carefully. “I didn’t think you Brits were hockey fans.”
“I’m not a fan. I’m with Making Your Move. I have an appointment with Jake.”
“Tracy’s company?”
“I’m her sister. I’m helping her out until she’s back on her feet.”
“We heard about her busted appendix.” He sounded concerned. “Is she doing okay?”
“Yes, thank you. She’s recovering nicely, but frustrated she’s not healing faster.”
“I bet,” he muttered.
“Do you know her well?” She was curious about his reaction.
“She helped me find my town house last summer.”
From his tone, there was more to that story than the single, bald sentence, but she didn’t have time to explore it, as Tru motioned her toward the open bedroom door.
“Since you’re here on business, you should go on in.”
When Maggie hesitated, he urged her on. “You’re not interrupting anything important. Besides, the sooner you’re done, the sooner you can join us for a drink.”
Swallowing her apprehension over what she’d see within, she gripped her briefcase tightly and stepped into the doorway.
In the large sitting area of the suite, by the floor-to-ceiling windows, a group of women fluttered around a tall, dark-haired man like a flock of brightly colored exotic birds. That must be Jake Badoletti.
Her mouth went dry.
None of the photos in Tracy’s file had done him justice. She’d known he was good-looking, but that didn’t begin to describe the man in person.
Heaven help her, he was gorgeous!
Square jawed and rugged, with piercing blue eyes and a crooked grin. He was clearly a warrior of the ice, but his broken nose and scars somehow added to his appeal and made him more intriguing. Unlike the hulking bodies of the thick necks, Jake had the firm, solid lines of an athlete in peak condition. Lean, corded muscle shaped the snug-fitting black shirt and faded jeans. Exciting and enticing, he brimmed with charm and hints of danger.
No wonder he had that reputation—any woman would have a hard time resisting the pull of this particular bad boy. Once upon a time, she’d have been in that crowd, fighting for his attention. Not anymore. Never again.
Still, she couldn’t help feeling a little relieved that she probably wouldn’t see him again.
He’d be Tracy’s problem, assuming Maggie did what she had to do in this meeting. Pushing aside a last-minute nervous quiver, she donned her polite but reserved media smile and entered the lion’s den.
* * *
“WHAT CAN I get you, Bad Boy?”
A skinny blonde in a figure-hugging yellow microdress and spiked heels offered a champagne flute and a shot glass, but the message in her baby blue eyes said, “Choose me.”
Jake held up the beer bottle he’d been nursing for the past hour and forced a smile of regret he didn’t feel. “I’m good, thanks.”
Her full lips pursed in a disappointed pout that six months ago he would have been tempted to kiss away. Now he couldn’t dredge up any interest. He was relieved when she and several of her friends flounced off.
The high-pitched chatter of the women who remained reverberated in his head, making his temples throb. The sickly mix of their perfumes made him yearn for fresh air. He had to get out of here. If it wasn’t for the paparazzi camped outside the building, Jake would have gone for a walk. He would take the heat and humidity of the city in August if it meant he got some respite.
This party had been a mistake. He should have been in his element. Instead, he felt dissatisfied. Empty, with a lingering sense his life was incomplete.
He wouldn’t even be hosting this shindig if Tru hadn’t insisted. His childhood friend had said that the best way to celebrate the transfer from Chicago was to invite Jake’s new teammates