Neesa Hart - Who Gets To Marry Max?

“His—” He swore. “Is he going to be all right?”

The question would have surprised many, she knew. Max Loden had something of a reputation. People called him all sorts of names—compassionate was not generally one of them. Had it not been for her uncle’s long relationship with him, Sidney, too, might never have seen behind Max’s implacable facade to the heart of this amazing, if daunting, man. She tilted her head to one side to study him. “I’m sure he will be.”

“Does he need anything? Has he seen a doctor?”

Not for the first time, Sidney decided that every story she’d ever heard about “Mad Max” Loden was completely unfounded. No man could inquire after the health of his butler with that rough and tender voice and be missing his heart, no matter what his critics said. “Yes, he has. And he’s quite fine. I stocked his refrigerator and his pantry before I left.”

“The flu can be dangerous for a man his age.”

Heartless indeed, she mentally scoffed and felt her inner knot of tension begin to unwind. Even Philip’s home was another of Max’s flagrant generosities. While most butlers lived in their employers’ homes at their employers’ whims, Max had provided Philip with a personal retreat for his off-duty hours. “Yes, it can. That’s why his doctor confined him to bed.”

“Is someone with him?”

“A neighbor.”

“You’re all the family he has.”

“Except you,” she said quietly.

He stared at her for long, disconcerting seconds, his silver gaze searching her face. Everything else about him was dark. His hair, his expression, his countenance, even his voice. But those eyes were positively brilliant. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of him?” Max prompted.

“He wanted me to take care of you instead.”

Max lifted one eyebrow in an expression she was willing to bet sent his employees scrambling. “That sounds like Philip.”

“He knew this weekend’s house party was exceptionally important to you. He briefed me that your brother, Greg, is considering an engagement to Lauren Fitzwater. That, with any luck, Greg will finally muster the nerve to ask the young lady to marry him—and that you hope the relationship will further your efforts to merge Loden Enterprises with Edward Fitzwater’s electronics company.”

Max’s eyebrows lifted. “Philip’s in top mental form, I see.”

Sidney nodded. “He also explained that the younger Mr. Loden probably wouldn’t respond favorably to that information, and that you’d prefer discretion from the staff. Without Philip here to command them, he was worried they might not understand the importance of decorum. Since the Fitzwaters and several of your investors will be present this weekend, this particular event could prove both profitable and beneficial to your long-term goals.”

“It could,” he agreed.

“And, knowing that, Philip was extremely concerned. He knew how much you have riding on this event. He’d already employed my staff to assist your own for the weekend, and, in his absence, he asked me to supervise.” She finished the speech and breathed a mental sigh of relief.

Max studied her for long seconds. “Philip told me you’re in business for yourself now.”

The note of admiration in his voice almost felled her. Not in her wildest imagination had she pictured him admiring her for anything. Not when his first impression of her had been as a miserably unhappy adolescent who’d cowered from him for no apparent reason, and every subsequent impression would have been formed while watching her cater his friends’ parties and assist her uncle. Though she’d seen him from a distance, this was their first substantial conversation in years. “I am,” she said.

“You run a temp agency.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Waitstaff and caterers,” he clarified, still holding her captive with his gaze. “As Philip explained it to me, you started the business after your divorce.”

She cringed. Uncle Philip, it seemed, was certainly quite liberal with the details of her private life. She wasn’t prepared for the idea that Max Loden had an intimate view of her failures. “That’s true.”

“And you supply extra personnel for large events and household needs.”

“And parties like this one.”

“I see.” He continued to stare at her.

“Was there something else you wanted, Mr. Loden?”

“Max.” His voice was nearly a whisper. He seemed to be studying her. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a door at one end of the kitchen.

She gave him an anxious glance. “Is something wrong?”

Max looped his fingers under her elbow as he hurried her toward the pantry. “Maybe.”

Sidney decided not to resist. If she did, he’d probably make a scene. Max loved scenes. It was one of his quirks. “Chip,” she called out to one of her assistants, “Can you take those lobster crepes out when the buzzer rings?”

“Sure.” He lifted his eyebrows.

Sidney ignored him. Max steered her into the relative quiet of the pantry. The door swung soundlessly shut behind them. “Why are you here, Sidney?” His voice had dropped to a low rumble.

The only light in the cramped space came from the slight space around the door. With a sharp tug on the string, she switched on the overhead light. A mistake, that, she mused. The single light bulb made his expression more fierce. Gathering her calm, she met his gaze. “Uncle Philip—”

Max cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I know. Philip’s sick. He asked you to stand in. You haven’t answered my question, though. I want to know why you agreed.”

“I’d do anything for him. He was very worried that he—”

“Couldn’t be here.” Max moved a step closer. “You told me. But Philip told me that you almost never supervise parties yourself. You leave that to your assistant.” His eyebrows drew closer together. “Kelly—” She could almost see the gears turning in his brain.

“Lars,” Sidney supplied.

Max’s nod was short. “That’s right. You run the business and assist your clients with event planning, but she handles the events on site. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh—”

He nodded. “It’s right. So I want to know why you made an exception in my case.”

“Well, I—”

“Why did you decide that this particular event needed your personal touch?”

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she resisted the urge to tell him it was rude to interrupt. “I knew uncle Philip was particularly worried about not being here, and that he’d rest easier if he knew I was.”

He frowned. “Is that what he told you?”

“Not in so many words, but he was very agitated about missing this event.”

Max watched her through a narrow-lidded gaze. “Is that the only reason?”

She swallowed. “What other reasons would there be?”

He raised one hand to rest it on her shoulder. The slight pressure of his fingers eased her closer to him. “I don’t know, Sidney. You tell me.”

Her breathing turned shallow. He couldn’t possibly know the effect he was having on her—the effect he always had on her. By design, she saw him rarely. Most of what she knew about Max, she knew from her uncle. She stayed out of his way whenever possible simply because he had this ability to melt her bones. “Max, I—”

His fingers tightened. “Damn it,” he whispered.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Damn it,” he said again.

“Max—?”

His eyes drifted momentarily shut. When they opened again, she saw the resolve in them. “I want you to stay here this weekend.”

Sidney blinked. Oh, Lord. Not that. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I want you to stay here.”