She frowned. She wasn’t truly worried that he would try to sabotage her, was she? That wasn’t his style, was it?
She brushed her concerns aside, but they creeped back in. How could she not worry just a little? Even though he’d been a perfect gentleman so far, they were still on shaky ground. Who knew what he really had in mind? Maybe he harbored a secret plan to humiliate her in front of the entire industry. Maybe he was going to all this trouble, only to destroy her fledgling reputation. Who could blame him? From his point of view, she’d apparently betrayed him all those years ago, left him behind with nothing but a broken heart.
It wasn’t true, of course. He had been perfectly happy to break up with her. So why had he taken it so hard? At the time, Maggie had thought he was relieved to be rid of her. After all, he’d been the one to urge her to take that trip back east.
But she had obviously been wrong about his feelings. If her former high school friends were to be believed, Connor hadn’t taken her departure well at all. So now she had to figure he might want to take her down a notch if the opportunity arose.
Would he stoop to searching out her secret judging numbers? Maybe he didn’t even need to know them. Connor had worked for years in this business, tasting and testing and reformulating. And he’d been taking part in contests for all those years, too. He could probably decipher most of the different nuances of every brand and style of beer on the market.
Had he studied her particular formulas and techniques? He’d been following her progress for months—even though he’d thought he was following Taylor James, not Maggie. But didn’t it stand to reason that after paying such intense attention to her techniques, Connor might be able to discern which beers were hers? And if he could, then why wouldn’t he think about pushing her out of the running?
He certainly had strong motivation to sabotage her—and not just because she was his competition. No, Maggie figured that even after all this time, he might see this as a chance to get back at her for leaving him.
Revenge, after all, was a dish best served cold.
“Just stop,” she muttered. She would drive herself crazy if she kept up that line of thinking. It would help if she could keep reminding herself that she had been with a good guy and a bad guy, and Connor was definitely one of the good guys. Besides, she had a bigger problem to deal with than the beer competition. Specifically, how to get through a whole week with Connor living in the same suite as her.
The elevator came to a quiet stop at the twelfth floor, otherwise known as the penthouse level. Maggie stepped out into the elegant hall and paused, taking in the parquet marble floor, the crystal chandeliers, the Louis XVI rococo furnishings. For a guy who preferred denim work shirts and blue jeans to an Armani suit, Connor MacLaren certainly liked to live in style. Maggie didn’t know whether to be impressed or amused.
“Let the games begin,” she muttered, and strolled toward the suite, once again wondering what in the world she’d gotten herself into.
* * *
Connor heard the water in the shower turn off and estimated that Maggie wouldn’t be much longer. He reminded himself once again that he had shown excellent character earlier when he’d resisted the urge to follow her into the bathroom and join her in the shower like he’d wanted to.
While he waited, he glanced around the sitting room of the hotel suite. Earlier that day, in the hope that adding some romantic touches would somehow convince Maggie to fall into his bed, he’d arranged with the hotel florist and catering staff to bring bouquets of fragrant flowers and some champagne on ice to the room. Now soft jazz was playing in the background and a delectable dinner had been ordered. The kitchen staff was standing by to prepare and deliver it as soon as he placed the call.