Michael considered turning off the ball game when they entered the top of the ninth inning with his Yankees down five runs to one. At least Beaulieu didn’t get a perfect game. There was that.
His phone buzzed and he glanced down at the screen. Shit! He’d forgotten that he’d sent that message to Maggie. He clicked her name and jumped as bass-driven club music shattered the quiet of his apartment. There was Maggie dressed in a skimpy purple dress. He could see people dancing behind her as she sassed him from Martha’s Vineyard. He grinned at her cheeky tone. Video, eh?
He held out his phone and pressed record. “I know it’s video, Mags. So how’s the wedding? Is this better?” he smirked, and then pressed the send button again.
Two minutes later he had her reply. “The wedding was beautiful. The party’s great.” She smiled wryly. “What are you up to this fine evening?”
He sent another video. “I’m watching the Texas Rangers beat my Yankees. It’s a tragedy.” He rolled his eyes. “So tell me about the male strippers.”
Maggie laughed. “No strippers were involved, sadly. Only copious amounts of tequila. You know,” she arched a well-groomed eyebrow, “it would be simpler to have this conversation over the phone.”
Michael suppressed a smile. “How very twentieth century of you. When are you coming home?”
“No worries, boss, I’ll be ready to roll come Monday morning.” Maggie looked over her shoulder as someone called her name.
“Okay, Mags, I’ll see you then. Enjoy the rest of your weekend.” Michael signed off, smiling to himself.
“What are you doing?” Casey demanded. “You said you were coming.”
“I just got off the phone with Michael,” Maggie said. “He asked about the wedding.”
“M-hmm, he wants you,” she concluded.
“Oh, please,” Maggie brushed her off. “Let’s go dance.”
They’d booked a morning flight back to the city on Sunday. Maggie noticed that Ben was quiet and supposed he was contemplating what he’d find when he arrived home. She wondered if he’d spoken to Alex at some point during the weekend but she didn’t want to pry. The plane landed at noon and they quickly retrieved their bags and made their way to the taxi stand.
Maggie turned to Ben. “Listen, I’m going to go uptown to the office. I need to make sure I can hit the ground running tomorrow.” Concern filled her green eyes. “Are you going to be okay?”
Ben smiled unconvincingly. “Sure, Flynn, I’ll be peachy.”
Maggie shook her head. “You call me later and let me know how it goes.” Tourist traffic made the Sunday afternoon commute slower than usual and it was more than half an hour later when the cab deposited her in front of the office.
Standing before the revolving doors with her luggage she considered for the first time her clothing, looking down at the fitted black Ramones t-shirt, distressed skinny jeans, and black leather thong sandals. She’d never gone into work dressed so casually, but it was Sunday, she reasoned. No way will there be anybody be on the 50th floor.
Maggie greeted the security guard at the desk. “Hi, Thomas, I didn’t know you were here on Sundays.”
“I’m covering a shift for Louis. He’s under the weather today. Ms. Flynn, I’m surprised to see you here,” he said.
“I was away for the weekend and you know, I want to make sure every- thing’s under control,” she smiled. “In fact I just left the airport. Is there any way you could keep my bags behind the counter until I leave? I’d hate to have to drag them all the way upstairs.”
“Sure, no problem, Ms. Flynn.”
“Thanks, Thomas,” she said over her shoulder as she entered the elevator. The 50th floor was eerily quiet as she exited the elevator. Most of the lights were off, only a lamp on Karen’s desk and the emergency exit signs lit the reception area. Maggie flipped a switch and the hallway sconces flickered on adding dim light as she headed first to her office. There she found a neat pile of mail and another of folders, presumably files and briefs she needed to look over. She left her shoulder bag on her chair, but not before placing her phone in her back pocket and her earbuds around her neck. The library was sure to be a mess. She could probably get it sorted in an hour or so, but she’d want some tunes. Removing a hair band from the side pocket of her purse, she quickly pulled her hair into a ponytail.
In the library she was confronted by a huge stack of books on the table that over owed onto the floor. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered. It might take a couple of hours. Good thing I decided to stop by, she thought. I’d hate to walk into this tomorrow. Positioning the earbuds, she cued up a classic rock playlist, kicked off her shoes, and started returning the room to order.
Michael slept late on Sunday, awakening at 10:00 when his alarm sounded. He’d forgotten that he’d agreed to meet Jeff Sloan and Patrick Walters for breakfast at Cafe Luka on 71st. Sloan and Walters were old law school buddies of Michael’s. He had a feeling they were looking to try to talk him into leaving Murphy, Rannigan and starting new firm with them. He wasn’t interested, things were just fine the way they were, but he’d need to smooth it over with them. He might need them later.
When he left breakfast a couple of hours later, Sloan and Walters were not very pleased but he’d shot them as straight as he could. Sure they were unhappy, but they’d get over it. His mind moved on to other matters. There were some files he needed to look over for court tomorrow and they weren’t in his briefcase, which meant he must have left them on his desk at the office. He figured he’d pop in and grab them before returning home.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Rannigan,” Thomas greeted him as he entered the lobby of the office building.
“Hey, there, Thomas,” he returned. “Pretty quiet here today I suppose.”
“Yes sir, there haven’t been too many people in on such a fine Sunday,” the security guard answered. “Of course, Ms. Flynn is here.”
Michael’s eyes widened. “Is she now? I thought she was still out of town.”
“She must have come straight from the airport. I’m keeping her bags for her while she’s upstairs,” he said, hooking a thumb toward the suitcase and garment bag stacked behind the security counter.
“That’s nice of you,” Michael murmured, nodding his head. Mags came in straight from the airport to make sure things are in order, he thought as the elevator doors closed. Wish a few others on my team had that kind of hustle.