Neesa Hart - Who Gets To Marry Max?

Sidney began to fidget under his intense stare. She cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you again for sending Gertie to take care of Philip,” she finally said.

“Don’t mention it. I was glad to.”

“He’ll like having her there.”

“I hope so.” He watched the uneasiness that played across her face. She looked nervous, and, unless he missed his guess, a little heated. It made him feel better to think she was as aware as he of the strange electricity between them.

She shifted uncertainly. “Was there something you wanted?”

You, he wanted to say, just to gauge her reaction. “Philip,” he said instead. “I wanted to ask you how much Philip told you about the guest list for this weekend.”

A slight smile played at her full lips. “You wanted to strangle him, you mean?”

“Maybe.”

She nodded. “I think yes. He suggested that you might be feeling a bit, ah, perturbed by now.”

“So he knew that Raymond Lort was bringing Alice Northrup-Bowles as his guest?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t care to enlighten me.”

“I suppose not.”

“Why the hell not?”

She shrugged. “I wouldn’t care to speculate.”

He narrowed his gaze. “But you knew.”

“I knew she’d be here.”

“Did you know it would make me furious?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t tell me either.”

She brushed her palm over her jacket sleeve. “I didn’t feel—”

“Damn Philip. He should have told me.”

“He seemed to feel you’d rescind Mr. Lort’s invitation if you knew he intended to bring Ms. Nothrup-Bowles.”

“I would have. The bastard. Lort knows exactly how I feel about that woman.”

“Uncle Philip felt the crisis could be easily avoided without forcing you to offend Mr. Lort.”

Philip would, he thought, his temper kicking up another degree. “I don’t give a damn about offending Raymond Lort. Alice is a scheming, conniving leech who happens to make my sister Natalie feel miserable. Alice has a genius for making Natalie forget that she’s an exceptionally talented, remarkably gifted woman. Worse, Alice enjoys it.” His gaze narrowed. He uttered a dark curse. “And it enrages me.”

Sidney visibly stilled. She appeared to be gathering her calm. Slowly, she pushed herself out of her chair, then brushed past him to stand at the window. “Look.” Pointing, she drew his attention back to the terrace. “I’d like you to notice that my assistant has your sister fully occupied in solving a crisis which will, no doubt, save your party from certain ruin.”

She indicated a darkened corner of the terrace. “Natalie’s husband, Paul, is busily distracting Edward Fitzwater’s attention from your brother’s obvious nervousness, thereby ensuring that Miss Northrup-Bowles has absolutely no chance of attracting Paul’s notice.” She pointed to the dance floor where Greg and Lauren were enjoying a few moments together. “And Miss Fitzwater is being given every opportunity to wrestle the expected proposal from your brother.”

Even as she said it, a waiter intercepted one of Greg’s former girlfriends with a canapé-laden tray. The woman stopped, sampled the confection, then accepted an invitation to dance from one of Max’s vice presidents. Max’s gaze flicked over the party as he repressed the urge to pull Sidney into his arms. Too soon, he reminded himself. Patience was key. “Nicely done,” he murmured.

Her eyes twinkled when she looked at him. “I’m very good at what I do.”

The statement sent heat skittering along his skin as he wondered, inevitably, just how good she was at other things. “Really?” he said, lifting an eyebrow.

He knew from her expression that she sensed the shift in the conversation. She backed up a step. “Max, is something wrong?”

Max exhaled a deep breath and leaned back against his desk. He had more riding on this weekend than she could possibly know. Philip had understood. And Max had to believe that Philip wouldn’t have sent Sidney to him if he didn’t think she could help him. It wasn’t Philip’s fault that Max was having trouble picturing Sidney as his ally when the thoughts he was having weren’t nearly so tame. Much as he’d like to concentrate all his energy on her, he couldn’t afford the risk. There was too much at stake. “Sidney, look,” he began. “I don’t know how much Philip told you about this party, but it’s extremely important.”

She nodded. “Because of the merger with Fitzwater.”

He tipped his head toward the window. “Since your staff obviously have my guests completely under control, why don’t you sit down and let me explain.” He poured himself a drink. “Want one?” he asked.

She shook her head as she hurried around the desk. “No, thank you.” Sidney dropped back into the leather chair. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“You brought two glasses.”

“I thought you might have a guest.”

He shook his head. “Not up here. I don’t entertain guests in this room.” He met her gaze, waited to see if she recognized the significance of the statement. Awareness flickered in her gaze. Satisfied, he waved the bottle at her. “Will it change your mind if I tell you this is iced tea?”

Sidney’s eyebrows lifted.

“It’s a quirk of mine,” Max continued. “I don’t drink on the job either.”

“Aren’t you always on the job?”

He gave her a knowing look. “That’s why I keep tea instead of bourbon in my decanters.” He poured her a glass. “I’m surprised Philip didn’t tell you.”

“He told me everything he thought I needed to know to help make this a successful weekend for you. He doesn’t tell me your personal business.”

Max pondered that. Philip had told him certain details about Sidney’s life, it was true, but when he thought about it, he really knew very little about her personal habits and preferences. He nodded. “I’m sure he doesn’t. That’s one of the reasons I like him.”

“Uncle Philip is very professional, and he cares for you. You’re lucky to have him.”

“I know I am. Smart people surround themselves with smart people who are strong where they aren’t. I’m sure you’ve learned that in business.”

She nodded. “That’s why Kelly’s in charge of client relations, and I stick to making chocolates.”

Max’s gaze narrowed. There was something significant in the statement, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d never been particularly gifted at reading the nuances of conversation. Especially not from the female of the species. “Something like that,” he admitted.

Shifting slightly in the chair, Sidney waved a hand in the general direction of the party. “The more you tell me, the more I can help you.”

A smile played at the corner of his mouth. She was, indeed, Philip’s niece. Philip Grant’s personal motto was: Knowledge Is Ammunition. “That’s probably true. Are you sure you’re willing to help me?”

She looked surprised. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“Against your better judgment?”

“No, of course not.”

“How did your staff feel when you told them they’d be working for ‘Mad Max?”’

Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “They were pleased.”

“I’ll bet.”

“You pay very well. They were pleased.”

Max shrugged. In a burst of restless energy, he slipped open the buttons of his double-breasted tuxedo jacket, then dropped into his desk chair. “Did you tell them I’m prone to fits of brooding and unmanageable temper and that most of my acquaintances are scared to death of me?”

“No.” There was firm resolution in her voice. “I did not. I don’t indulge in spreading rumors.”

Had her expression been any less serious, he might have laughed. She meant it, he realized, and the thought warmed him as little else could. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”