“Ah, that’s what that noise was,” remarked Max calmly. “I wasn’t sure if it was coming from across the hall or from across my room. My roommate has a habit of inviting his current girlfriend to spend the night - or the morning or the afternoon - and they don’t even attempt to be discrete about it. That’s why I’m studying down here at the moment. My room is, er, otherwise occupied.”
“Hey, I’ll swap rooms with you right here and now!” declared Finn. “Your roommate sounds like my kind of guy. Does he mind an audience? Or a third party participant, for that matter?”
Max looked down his nose at Finn, not giving a damn if he looked like a typical snooty Brit at the moment. “I wouldn’t know,” he replied frostily. “I usually try and make myself scarce when he’s entertaining. Voyeurism isn’t something I especially enjoy, though it sounds like you’ve had some experience with that sort of thing.”
Finn shrugged. “Nah. I wish. Mostly just watched a lot of porn during high school, but that’s not the same thing as seeing it up close and personal. But I wouldn’t say no to swapping rooms with you, Max. You’d probably get along with Brian way better than I do. What’s that stuff you’re studying? Doesn’t look like computer code but it sure as hell doesn’t look like anything I could comprehend, either.”
‘What a shock,’ Max mumbled under his breath. Out loud he simply responded, “These are profit and loss statements I’m studying. I’m a finance major, and I’ve just learned that Jordan is pre-med. What about you, Finn? What’s your major?”
Finn’s green eyes had twinkled merrily. “You mean besides playing football, partying hard, and nailing lots of girls? Haven’t decided for sure yet, I’m undeclared at the moment, but probably communications.”
“Figures,” replied Jordan with a roll of his eyes. “I’m guessing you’d make a great talk show host. Or news anchor.”
“Maybe some day. But first I want to play pro football,” Finn told them confidently. “A few of my coaches think I’ve already got what it takes. Of course, that means having to nail down the starting quarterback position first, and a freshman almost never gets that sort of opportunity. But the starter this year is a senior, and his back-up isn’t all that hot, so who knows what might happen sophomore year.”
“I’ll tell you for sure what’s going to happen for me sophomore year,” declared Jordan. “I am not going to be rooming with Goth Guy. Or living in the dorms, period. If I can’t talk my parents into paying for an off-campus apartment, I’ll probably join a fraternity.”
“Yeah!” agreed Finn enthusiastically. “Like Animal House! Though having a place of my own would be sweet, too. Hey, I know. The three of us should all pledge to the same fraternity next year. Or get a place together off campus.”
Jordan chewed his bottom lip worriedly. “That sounds like a great idea. As long as my current roommate doesn’t murder me in my sleep first.”
***
Max smiled faintly now as he recalled that long ago conversation with the two men who would quickly become his best friends, and remain so up until the present day. Fortunately for Jordan, not only hadn’t his scary roommate murdered him in his sleep, but the so-called Goth Guy had wound up getting expelled after threatening another student with one of his knives. And because the expulsion had occurred right after the start of the winter quarter, another roommate hadn’t been assigned to Jordan’s room. Finn had immediately called dibs on the extra bed, and had begun to move more and more of his belongings into the room, leaving Max to tough it out with his overly amorous roommate for the rest of the school year.
But at least he’d had a place to hang out and study in relative quiet, feeling more at home in Jordan’s room than his own, and he, Jordan, and Finn had become quite close friends by the end of their freshman year. By then the trio had decided to pledge to a fraternity rather than rent a rather dingy off-campus apartment, and their friendship had continued to deepen throughout their college years.
And while Finn had quite often been a royal pain in the arse - Max had lost count of the number of times he and Jordan had had to sober the hard partying Finn up in time to make it to class or football practice - he had also proven to be both a sentimental and deeply caring person, and a true friend. That first year at Stanford, when he’d realized Max had no family to go home to at the holidays, Finn had strong-armed him into coming to Colorado with him to spend Christmas with his own family, even paying for Max’s airfare. And Max hadn’t missed a single Christmas since with the big, fun-loving McManus clan, including the holiday just past last month - the first one Finn had also brought Delilah to. Finn had chosen Christmas day to pop the question to Delilah, and when she’d happily said yes, the McManus family had been even more joyous and celebratory than usual.
As he powered down his computer for the night, Max told himself that he was happy for Finn and Delilah, every bit as much as he was thrilled that Jordan and Aubrey had found each other and would be married this spring. As for himself - well, he was forty years old, more of a loner than ever, and he had resigned himself to the fact that he was destined to remain a lifelong bachelor.
He walked upstairs to the master bedroom that was spacious and high-ceilinged, elegantly but rather sparsely furnished. Max had preferred the room to have clean, simple lines, with unfussy, dark wood furnishings - a sturdy, king-sized platform bed, matching nightstands on either side of the bed, an overstuffed armchair that was similar to the ones in his office. There was no dresser in the room, given the multitude of built-ins he’d had installed in his custom constructed walk-in closet.
Max smiled faintly as he walked inside and glanced around at the almost obsessive organization of the closet, how all of his suits were perfectly hung and sorted according to color and fabric, though nearly all of them were dark in color and of a fine wool blend. Several of the suits had been custom made for him, while the others were from his preferred designers - Armani, Burberry, and Brioni. He gravitated towards more conservative cuts and fabrics, and eschewed anything that might be considered trendy.
It was the same with his shirts - almost all of them white, with an occasional pearl gray or light blue added to the mix. He always wore shirts with French cuffs, and while he owned several dozen shirts his collection of cuff links was actually rather small. He tended to wear the same few pairs over and over again, one reason why he’d selected plain, classic styles that would coordinate well with anything. His ties were conservatively patterned, and nearly every one he owned was a Hermes. His shoes were neatly lined up on the built-in racks, again according to color, and all of them were flawlessly buffed and shined.
Image, Max had learned over the years, was all-important when it came to making an excellent first impression on his clients. If he walked into a job on that first day looking every inch the powerful, successful, and sophisticated man he’d molded himself into - well, then it was far more likely that the board of directors or managerial staff or company owners would take his advice to heart, and make the necessary changes to their business that he suggested. More importantly, if they were pleased with the end results of those suggestions, Max’s already sterling reputation as a financial mastermind would only become more solid, and his services even more in demand.
Briskly, almost as though it was second nature to him by now, he selected a charcoal gray suit, snowy white shirt, burgundy striped silk tie, black lace-up oxfords, and his favorite cuff links - sterling silver fashioned into a knot. Max preferred to have his things set out the night before so that he didn’t have to waste valuable time doing so in the morning - time that could be much better spent checking stock prices and indexes as the various financial markets around the world opened for trading, or making sure he was aware of any major corporate developments that might have occurred overnight.
He brushed his teeth and then undressed, putting his things away with meticulous care. He might be a millionaire now, successful and wealthy far beyond anything he might have once dreame
d of achieving, but Max never took any of that for granted - and that included taking very good care of his belongings. He was forty years old now, with a wardrobe chock full of elegant designer suits, slacks, shirts, jackets, and shoes, but there were times he still felt like that thirteen-year-old boy back in the Birmingham thrift shop - carefully counting out his money to make sure he had enough to buy the few things he could afford.
He folded back the slate gray Frette duvet with meticulous care, mindful of the expensive bed cover, and slid between the coordinating, equally pricey sheets. Max could still marvel at the fact that while he now slept in this grand king sized bed that was fit for - well, a king - he had spent far too many nights as a child and young boy sleeping on a lumpy mattress with raggedy blankets and holey sheets. And that wasn’t even accounting for the times he’d been fortunate enough to actually have a bed, and not relegated to the sofa or a folding cot, depending on the sort of accommodations his mother had been able to afford at the time.
Max shivered slightly as his nearly nude body - clad only in a pair of black cotton briefs – made contact with the cool softness of the sheets, and hastily pulled the duvet up over his shoulders. As he settled his head against his pillow, the thought crossed his mind for perhaps the thousandth time that this enormous bed was far too big for just one person. Unlike Finn and Jordan - who had both been serial daters if not outright manwhores prior to meeting their respective fiancées - Max didn’t make it a habit of inviting women to spend the night. In fact, if he was being entirely honest, no one had ever slept in this bed or this room except for himself.
Oh, not that he hadn’t had - and continued to have - plenty of opportunities to have a willing bedmate. In his many travels around the world, Max had been approached and outright propositioned by far too many beautiful, desirable women to count. But even as a randy sixteen year old who would temporarily let his hormones overrule his common sense, he’d been choosy about the women he’d taken to bed. For Max, it had always been a requirement to form some sort of connection, no matter how brief or casual, with his sexual partners. Meaningless fucks held little to no appeal for him, and he could honestly say that he had at least liked and respected all of his lovers. Not, of course, that there had been very many of them in his life.
And there had only been one woman in all the world that he had ever loved, only one he had ever dared to let himself believe he might actually be able to keep with him forever. He ran a palm over the empty pillow next to his, envisioning long strands of wavy golden brown hair spread across it, remembering the way her pale green eyes had twinkled with merriment only to darken in passion a few minutes later. The ache he felt in his heart at the memory of what it had felt like to love Jill Parrish was the most painful emotion he’d ever felt in his life. But, he told himself firmly as he closed his eyes, it was no less than he deserved for the cold, callous way he’d rebuffed that love, for the way he’d broken the heart of the sweetest, purest soul he’d ever known.
***
“We’re thrilled to have you here at Celex Solutions, Max. I just know that we made the right choice in hiring you on, and that you’ll give us an honest, no-nonsense assessment of whether or not we’re really ready to expand our base of operations.”
Max smiled politely at the exuberance of the CEO - Jacob Delmore - thinking that the casually attired, affable young man looked even younger than the thirty years he knew him to be. “I look forward to working with you and your team over the next couple of weeks, and to being able to provide you with that very honest assessment,” assured Max. “It’s obviously far too soon to offer up an opinion, of course, but after looking over the initial set of reports you sent to me I will say that the financial status of your company is very strong, very solid.”
Jacob beamed, his hazel eyes twinkling behind his wire-rimmed glasses, and somehow that grin made him look even younger, and made Max feel that much older. He was already trying very hard not to feel sadly out of place at this successful but newish start-up, where it seemed that everyone he had passed thus far was in their twenties or very early thirties. And business casual was evidently the accepted dress code, to a point where any number of employees were garbed in jeans, statement T-shirts, and sneakers, and Max could swear he’d even glimpsed one person wearing what looked like flannel pajama pants and a pair of bedroom slippers. He resisted the urge to tug at his two hundred dollar silk tie and not feel every bit the part of the stuffy old British gentleman Finn adored to label him. At least Jacob seemed a bit more dressed up than most of his staff, wearing a neatly pressed pair of khaki trousers, a blue chambray button-down shirt, and leather loafers.
‘It doesn’t matter in the least,’ Max told himself firmly. ‘This certainly isn’t the first assignment you’ve taken where business casual is the accepted dress code. And remember your credo - if you look the part of a highly successful businessman, then you’ll be treated that way accordingly. Image is important, especially if you want to be taken seriously. Besides, you don’t even own a pair of jeans, old boy. And sneakers definitely don’t belong in the workplace, no matter how casual the dress code might be.’
And the dress code was not the only casual aspect of Celex Solutions, observed Max as he followed Jacob in the direction of the meeting room. The company had adopted an open concept layout for the majority of its office space, with only Jacob and a handful of the other top executives having a separate office. Max, an admitted stickler for tradition, was neither a fan nor a believer of the open space idea. But he wasn’t here to offer up a commentary on the interior design of the office, just to simply do his research and make a recommendation as to whether the company ought to expand at this point and, if so, the most sensible and economical way to do so.
“Here we are, Max,” announced Jacob cheerfully, pausing at the open doorway of a meeting room that had been rather whimsically named The Collective IQ Room, according to the plaque on the door. “The team is all here, anxiously waiting to meet you and to find out how we can all lend assistance to you over the next couple of weeks.”
Unsurprisingly, none of the dozen or so occupants of the room had taken a seat as yet, instead milling about the spacious, spartanly furnished space chatting with each other in small groups as they sipped coffee and munched on a variety of breakfast pastries. Jacob motioned to the chair at the head of the conference table.
“Here, Max. You can set your briefcase there. Do you want some coffee or tea? And we always have a big spread of food here at the office, mostly because so many of the staff tend to work straight through lunch and dinner and would forget to eat otherwise. Gotta keep everyone well fed and well hydrated, otherwise no one is going to be productive. Or healthy. And since our business is all about designing software programs for the health and wellness industry, we need to practice what we preach, so to speak.”
Max offered up a polite smile in response. “Of course. And I’ll fetch myself something to drink after all of the introductions have been made.”
“Oh, of course. Yeah, sure,” stammered Jacob a bit awkwardly. “Yeah, good idea, best to get things started so you can - well, get things started. Hey, everyone! Stop feeding your faces for a few minutes and take a seat. I want to introduce everyone to the guy who’s going to be giving the company an honest assessment as to whether it’s realistic for us to expand. Everyone, this is Max Wainwright, otherwise known in the financial industry as the Man With The Golden Touch. Max, meet the team.”
One by one Jacob introduced the members of his management team seated around the conference table - the Chief Operating Office, the Human Resources Director, the Product Development Manager. Each employee who was introduced looked eager, attentive, and young, making Max once again acutely aware that he was easily the oldest person in the room.
“And this next member of our team is probably going to be the person you’ll be working very closely with, given that she’s our Chief Financial Officer. Max, this is Jill Parrish, and it’s l
argely because of her guidance that the company is in such great financial shape today.”
Max was grateful that he’d taken a seat at Jacob’s urging prior to the round of introductions, because he was certain his legs would have given out from under him if he’d still been standing. He wasn’t a man who was easily shocked, or even surprised, and who was always in complete control of his schedule, his routine, his life.
But as he stared into the disbelieving, green-eyed gaze of the woman he had told himself he must never see again, the woman who still haunted his dreams and held his heart captive, Max had never felt less in control than he did at this very moment.
Chapter Five
It took every ounce of self-control that she possessed - which wasn’t a whole lot, given her often impulsive personality - to offer up a polite little smile and simply murmur, “Welcome to Celex Solutions, Mr. Wainwright”. Especially since what she really longed to do was jump to her feet, point a finger at him accusingly, and yell at the top of her lungs, “You’re a cold hearted snake, Max Wainwright, and I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to show up here after all this time!”
Instead, Jill twisted her hands together in silent agitation beneath cover of the table, and tried frantically to still the out-of-control throb of her pulse. This was the very last thing she could have expected to happen today, though in fifty-fifty hindsight she ought to have at least suspected that the financial whiz Jacob had mentioned in passing a couple of weeks ago might be the very same man who’d broken her tender twenty-two year old heart four years ago. But, as usual, she’d been so caught up in her work, combined with the busyness of the holiday season just past, that she had only listened with half an ear to her boss’s passing comment. She was pretty sure, however, that Jacob had never actually referred to this hotshot consultant by name, because all it would have taken was the mere mention of Max Wainwright’s name to get her attention.
The One Real Regret Page 5