A Perfect Distraction(85)

“Sure. Though I made him grovel repeatedly.” She grinned. “Thing is, ever since he’s been living with Jake and hanging around with the families, he’s felt like a kid brother. One that needs an occasional cuff to the head.”

Maggie laughed and helped Jenny hand out jerseys. When they were finished, they joined the others for a fortifying glass of champagne before heading into the ballroom.

The atmosphere there was less frenetic than outside. People chatted while music played in the background, accompanied by the clink of glasses. Waiters glided discreetly through the crowd, holding trays of canapés and drinks. Even the select group of media allowed inside was restrained.

She and Jenny circulated through the various entertainment stations set up beyond the dinner tables around the outside of the ballroom. Attendees could gamble alongside players in the special Ice Cats casino or compete against them in the multimedia area. There was also a small dance floor with a DJ playing golden oldies.

Jake appeared a few minutes before dinner was called and stole her away onto the dance floor to take advantage of a slow track. “The plan is going perfectly. They love you. They love us being here together, and the idea that you’ve ‘tamed Bad Boy’ has captured their imaginations. Should make great reading tomorrow. Your jerk of an ex won’t be able to compete with this kind of good publicity.”

Even as she savored the moments wrapped in his arms, Maggie’s stomach tightened. She didn’t want to tempt fate by calling this evening perfect. It was going well. Enough that she could imagine attending such events in the future with Jake—but she couldn’t quite relax. Old habits died hard.

Dinner was a hoot. The players did a wonderful job of serving the dinners. There was a good-natured competition to see who could earn the most “tips” by serving with the greatest flourish. Ralinkov took the prize, hamming it up with his unique style that was part snooty butler, part flamboyant Spanish waiter.

By the time the auction started, most guests were in a relaxed state of mind. Judging by the many flushed faces, perhaps a little too relaxed. At least it eased the grip people had on their wallets as the bids for the jerseys skyrocketed.

The Cats’ wives and girlfriends modeled the jerseys at the front of the ballroom as the auctioneer announced each lot with great gusto.

Maggie was pleased when Jake’s jersey raised the second-highest amount, after the captain, Scotty Matthews. The winner was a walking, talking New Jersey cliché. From his shiny suit and slicked-back hair to his heavy gold jewelry and brash swagger, he’d have done well in a bit part on The Sopranos. He was even called Tony.

Unfortunately, he didn’t seem to realize—or didn’t want to—that Maggie wasn’t part of the deal. She managed to duck his overly “helpful” hands when he tried to assist her in taking off the jersey. During the photos, she gritted her teeth and subtly swiped his meaty hand off her backside rather than cause a scene. When Jake had to leave them to continue with his host duties, Tony grabbed her arm and insisted she join him for a drink.

He didn’t take her polite refusal well, tightening his grip and repeating his offer.

Maggie tried to shake him off and excuse herself, but he wouldn’t take no for an answer. From the angry glint in his eye, things would turn nasty if she didn’t get away from him. That was the last thing she needed, especially with so many photographers hovering nearby.

“I have to join Jake,” she said frostily. “Enjoy the jersey and have a nice evening.”

“I’m one of the Ice Cats’ biggest sponsors.” Tony’s fingers bit into her arm. “When I tell you to have a drink with me, you do it and with a goddamn smile on your face.”

Maggie wrenched her arm out of his clammy grasp. He tried to grab her again, but she jabbed her elbow back, hard, into his midsection. He tried again, this time sliding his arm around her waist. Maggie bumped him away with her hip, trying to create some space between them.

Unfortunately, he must have been drunker than she’d thought, because he tumbled backward, pinwheeling his arms like Wile E. Coyote after he’d run off a cliff. Unable to regain his balance, Tony fell backward into a waiter holding a tray of empty glasses. There was a large, resounding crash as the two men hit the ground.

The ballroom went silent.

Everyone stopped. Even the waitstaff stood and stared.

The strains of Michael Jackson’s “Bad” echoed around the room until the DJ faded it out. Cameras whirred and flashed all around her.

“Bitch!” Tony spat, as he tried to disentangle his limbs from the waiter’s.