Done Deal Read Free Page A

Major League Baseball franchise. The city was in competition with a half dozen others around the country, including two more in Florida.
    The prize was that you got to spend ninety-five million dollars for one of the two available spots, shell out another forty or fifty million for startup costs, then endure a decade or so of cellar dwelling, while payroll costs skyrocketed and television revenues plunged. It was no wonder that the baseball commissioner was insisting on “demonstrated fiscal solidity” for successful applicants. And it was no wonder Penfield had had the teak on the yacht refinished. He was desperate for some angels.
    There was a banner strung across one end of the teak-paneled room: TROPICS BASEBALL IS COMING . Penfield and Deal’s father had done business together, in the grand old days. Now Flivey was dead, Deal’s father was dead, and DealCo was a shambles. The truth was that he and Janice had been invited to this party for old times’ sake.
    She widened her eyes slightly. “I don’t know how you’d get over something like that.”
    “You don’t,” Deal said. He could suddenly see Flivey as clearly as he saw Janice now. “You work yourself so hard you can’t think about anything else for twenty years.” He had another swallow of his drink. “When you get tired of that you try and start a baseball team.”
    She gave him a look. “You should talk, Deal. We haven’t been out in a month.”
    It was bait he nearly went for, but he forced himself to calm. He shrugged, finished his drink. “It’s a nice night,” he said, tightly. “Let’s enjoy it.”
    “You’re right,” she said, her tone just as strained. How quickly these skirmishes came, like squalls blowing in off the bay. “Baby can stand one drink,” she said brightly, patting her stomach.
    “What’ll it be,” he said.
    “No.” She put her hand on his arm. “I’ll get it.” And then she was moving across the deck toward the crowd.
    Three or four drinks later, Deal found himself in the stuffy main cabin talking to a blond woman in a black sheath dress. “You’re a developer?” Her hair was swept up in tousled ringlets, her pale skin almost translucent. Her lipstick was so dark her mouth seemed like a bruise.
    “It depends upon who you ask.” He had caught sight of Janice at the other end of the room, a dark-haired man in an Italian suit leaning over her, his back to Deal. The man was speaking earnestly at her ear. Janice toyed with a drink, nodding as if she were listening, but her eyes were on the musicians who worked earnestly at a
samba
. She was in her element, Deal had to admit. And they hadn’t been out in a long time.
    Christ, she was the most beautiful woman on the boat, he thought. He’d seen the other men, the old guys, the young guys, the waiters, the musicians, all of them popping a glance her way when they got a chance. And who could blame them. It wasn’t just the way she looked. It was the way she
was
. For an instant, he felt like Rapunzel’s keeper.
    “You’re good at this, aren’t you?”
    It was the blond again. He turned. She had an olive speared on a toothpick, was rolling it across her lower lip. She flicked her tongue out, and the olive disappeared. “With this cocktail chat, I mean.”
    Deal thought about maneuvering her into the galley, or one of the staterooms down the hall. Maybe that’s what was going down here. They could go at it standing up, be back for canapés in fifteen minutes. He’d be doing it for spite, and it wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good.
    “I’m a just a friend of the family,” he said to the blond, and moved away.
    “John Deal,” he said, as he wedged himself between Janice and the man in the suit. Janice looked up, startled. Deal had taken a deep breath. He had put on his most amiable smile. And if the guy so much as looked crosswise at him he was going to jerk him out across the deck and pitch him into the bay.
    “Of course,” the man said, turning to