“I think we did.” I flash her a smile as I walk away.
Then it hits me: Sam might be close-lipped, but I bet Margaret is a talker. I turn around to find Margaret smiling as I approach.
“I knew you couldn’t stay away.” She puts a hand on my chest as she smiles up at me.
She’s quite touchy.
“You’re right. Can I take you out for a drink?”
She glances up at the clock on the wall. “Sure, it’s about quitting time. Let me grab my coat.”
Once she removes her hand from me, I step out into the hall and wait for her. Most people like to talk about themselves or their jobs, so I’m hoping after one drink, she’ll tell me more about Mr. Gardiner and his connection to Sam.
“I’m afraid my car isn’t close,” I tell her as she emerges from the office, and I notice her heels.
“That’s fine. There’s a place a block away that has a great happy hour.”
Over the next couple of minutes, she leads me to a small restaurant and walks straight to the bar. By the time we get there, I already know all about the problems of walking on concrete in high heels.
I’m happy once we get inside. But not as happy as the bartender appears when he sees her, but his smile drops when he spots me. “What can I get you, Mags?”
I hold back a snort. He clearly knows her well.
“A cabernet, please.”
He glares at me.
“A coke.”
She spins to face me, astonished. “You’re not going to have a drink?”
“Yes, a coke.” I flash the grin that used to always work when I was trying to get a woman into bed.
She giggles. “Okay.”
And it still works.
The bartender slides our drinks across the bar, and I toss down some cash. Then Margaret leads us to a private table near the back.
“How did you end up working for a college hockey coach?” I ask as we slide into our seats.
I might as well get right on the subject.
She takes a large sip of her wine. “You don’t really want to talk about my work, do you?”
Oh, more than you know. “Actually, yes. I’d like to get to know you.”
Part of me feels bad for lying, but then I remember why I’m doing this: I have a murder charge against me, and I want to keep my freedom. And I want Lucy back.
Shit. Even after learning she went to her father for help, I’m hoping that, with him out of the picture, things will work out. But I’m deluding myself. This isn’t about her father, it’s about trust and security.
Margaret sets her glass down with aclunk, pulling me from my thoughts. “I needed a job, and my sister knows Sam and said he had an opening.”
“Do you enjoy it?”
She slowly sweeps her tongue across her lower lip while looking up at me through her fake eyelashes. I give her points for trying, but this isn’t going anywhere besides drinks. “I do. Sam gives me a lot of control, and he respects my opinion.”
“Control? I thought you were his secretary. Don’t you just take notes at meetings?”
