He’d taken the briefcase from Judy’s hands, thanked her…and gotten out of there as quickly as possible.
What else could he have done?
“What else?” he muttered wearily.
The cabby glanced in the mirror and smiled happily. “Yes,” he said.
Matthew sighed. “Yes,” he said.
Why not?
The single word seemed to sum it all up.
* * *
It didn’t sum anything up for Joe Romano.
Matthew’s kid brother was not a yes-man. It was why their working relationship succeeded. Joe called it as he saw it.
He’d watched with respect and occasional awe as Matthew swam through shark-filled waters and came out untouched. And when his big brother pulled off an occasionally outrageous, unpredictable, even dangerous stunt, Joe was the first to applaud.
Matt courted danger. It was part of the reason he’d climbed so far so fast.
But what Matt had just told him wasn’t outrageous or unpredictable or dangerous. It was crazy. Okay, they hadn’t seen each other for a few days. Joe had been in Boston on business. Luck had brought them together in New York for brunch before they both flew home. Surely, a few days wasn’t enough time for Matt to have turned into a crazy man.
For that reason—and, Joe had to admit, for curiosity’s sake—he wasn’t about to let the topic of Matt’s morning meeting slide by.
Joe took a sip of his coffee.
“And?” he asked, smiling a little. “You met with Susan Reagan, saw her staffers and…?”
Matthew picked up his fork, scooped up another piece of his portobello mushroom omelet and gave Joe a benign smile.
“And what? That’s all there is to it. I gave CHIC four weeks to try to get its act together.”
“A month? You gave that excuse for a magazine a month?”
Matthew buttered a biscuit. “Whoever recommended this place was right. They do a terrific brunch.”
“Glad you think so. Matt, why’d you give CHIC a month?” Joe leaned forward. “I’m trying to get a handle on this deal.”
So am I, Matthew thought, and forced a smile to his lips.
“Look, four weeks isn’t forever. What’s the difference if we close CHIC down now or later? The operation’s still a write-off.”
“I know, but you said you were determined to shut them down today. Did you see something that changed your mind? Facts, figures, projections?”
“No.”
“No?”
“We could give CHIC four years, and it still wouldn’t be a moneymaking proposition.”
Joe’s brows lifted. “Then why did you give them the month?”
Matthew reached for his coffee and took a sip, savoring it with an intensity he usually reserved for a vintage wine.
“Great coffee,” he said briskly. “I wonder if they grind their own beans.”
“Matt. Talk to me, will you?”
“About what?”
“About why you flew all the way to New York to shut CHIC down in person.”
Matthew looked at his brother. “You know why.”
“Yeah. The memos. The E-mails. The, ah, the Susan Ford take on Matthew Romano.”
“Her name is Susannah Madison,” Matthew said coldly. “And don’t even let me see your lips twitch. Nothing the woman wrote was the least bit amusing.”
“Of course not,” Joe said quickly. “That’s why I don’t understand…” He hesitated. “Wait a minute. You did fire her, didn’t you?”
A muscle knotted in Matthew’s jaw. “No.”
“No? As in, no, you didn’t?”
“No, as in I had every intention of dumping her. And of shutting the place down, but—”
“But?”
The brothers stared at each other. But what? Matthew thought. What could he say? That a hellcat in a sweatshirt and jeans had painted him into a corner?
“But,” he said calmly, looking at his plate, devoting attention to the omelet he didn’t have the appetite to eat, “I changed my mind.”
“Because?” Joe said helpfully.
Matthew took his time chewing, swallowing and trying to come up with an answer.
“Because it didn’t seem fair to pull the rug out from under all CHIC’s employees just so I could get even with one person. Look, what’s the difference? She’ll be out of our hair in four weeks.”
Joe shoved aside his eggs Benedict and looked at his brother.
“I suggested something similar to you, remember? Fold the magazine, give the CHIC staffers a month’s pay plus benefits. And you said the pay and bennies were fine, but you still wanted to hand the Coolidge dame—”
“Madison,” Matthew said sharply. “Her name is Madison.”
“Clinton, Madison, Teddy Roosevelt, what does it matter? You wanted to sock it to her in person.”
Matthew looked around, caught the eye of their waiter and gestured towards his empty coffee cup.
“So how come you didn’t?”
Matthew’s expression hardened. “Let’s get something straight,” he said softly. “You’re my brother. And my right-hand man. But I run my own show. I don’t answer to anybody, not even you. Got that?”
Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I’ve got it.”
Oh, hell. Matthew reached out his hand as Joe got to his feet.
“Joe—”
“It’s okay, I got the message.”
“Joe, for God’s sake, sit down.”
“What for? You made your point.”
“Dammit,” Matthew said, through his teeth, “will you sit down?”
The brothers glared at each other and then Joe slid into the booth. Matthew leaned over the table, his eyes flat and cold as stone.
“The woman made a fool of me.”
Joe’s brows lifted. “How?”
“She—she…” Color flooded Matthew’s face. He sat back and reached for his coffee. “Never mind how. The point is, she’s not going to get away with it.”
“No?”
“No. I can promise you that. Miss Susannah Madison most definitely will not pull this off.”
“Pull what off?”
“Let’s just say she created a situation that kept me from shutting down the magazine.”
Joe leaned in. “What’d she do?”
“It doesn’t matter. The point is, it won’t work. You can bet on it.”
“Can you at least tell me what you plan to do?”
Matthew frowned as the waiter served more coffee along with dessert. When he and Joe were alone again, he picked up a fork, poked at his slice of Chocolate Decadence, put down the fork and shoved the plate aside.
“No chocolate cake?” Joe asked, watching the performance with a puzzled expression.
“Nobody eats chocolate cake for breakfast.”
“This is brunch, not breakfast. And you do, all the time.” Joe grinned. “Remember that screwed-up blood test, the one that almost lost you that football scholarship because you ate Nonna’s chocolate cake for breakfast and ended up with a sugar count that sent the doc into a panic?”
“Yeah, well, I’m not hungry.”
“I could see that. You left over half your meal.”
Matthew’s eyes flashed. “I do not need a keeper, Joe.”
“My, oh, my, but you are a joy this morning.”
The brothers glared at each other, and then Matthew sighed.
“Hell,” he muttered. “I’m sorry. I’m just in a lousy mood.”
Joe grinned. “Who’d have guessed?”
“Look, I promise you, I’m going to take care of Susannah Madison. I just want to do it in my own time, in my own way. Okay?”
“Sure. You’re the boss. And Madison is your problem.”
“Exactly.”
Joe tucked into his cherry Danish, Matthew into his Chocolate Decadence.
“She put me in a difficult position,” he said, after a moment’s silence.
“Susannah Madison?”
“Yes.”
Joe frowned and looked up. “That must have taken some doing.”
Matthew nodded glumly. “Tell me about it,” he said bitterly.
“What’d she do?”
It was a good question. When you came right down to it, what had she done, except respond to something he’d started? Matthew frowned. No. He hadn’t started it. He couldn’t have. He’d never in his life come on to a woman in such a frenzy. And, hell, if he ever did, it wouldn’t be to a woman like Madison.
“Matt? What’d she do?
“Nothing.”
Joe started to reply, thought better of it and waited.
“Nothing I can explain,” Matthew said after a minute. “She just… It’s complicated.”
“So I see. Well, at least tell me what she’s like.”
“She’s…” Matthew poked the tines of his fork into his cake. “She’s female.”
“Yeah, I figured that out for myself. What’s she look like? A dried-up prune? A dog? An old maid on the wrong side of forty?”
Matthew shrugged, gave up pretending he had the appetite for the cake and pushed the plate away.
“She’s younger than that.”
“Thirty-five?”
“Younger.”
“But shriveled?”
Matthew shrugged again. “Not exactly shriveled.”
“But not a looker.”
“Not exactly a looker, no.”
“A woofer?”
“Not exact—Dammit, Joe, what’s the difference?”
“Calm down, will you? You can’t blame me for being curious.”
“Yeah.” Matthew sighed. “Sorry. It’s just that…”
“You’re in a lousy mood. Well, who wouldn’t be, after a morning spent in the clutches of a cunning female?”
Matthew’s head jerked up. “What’s that supposed to mean? A morning spent… Did I say anything about being clutched?”
“Whoa,” Joe said, holding up his hands. “I think we’ve got a communication problem, big brother.”
Matthew glared across the table. Joe glared right back, and finally Matthew began to laugh.
“This is ridiculous. You, me, arguing—and over what?”
“Yeah,” Joe said quietly. “That’s a good question.”
“Look, let’s get out of here.” Matthew twisted in his seat, caught their waiter’s eye and signaled for the check. “Phone La Guardia while I take care of this. Make sure the plane’s standing by. The sooner we get back to L. A. the better.”
“Agreed.” Joe took his cell phone from his pocket. “Matt? You’re sure you’re okay?”
Matthew nodded. “I’m sure. It was—it was an interesting morning. Susannah Madison threw me off base for a couple of minutes, but—”
“Who’d have guessed?” Joe said, in a dry tone that made Matthew grin.
“Look, I’ll give you all the details some day. For now, get that worried look off your face. I’ll cut the woman down to size, just as soon as—”
The phone rang.
“Mine,” Matthew said, and reached into his pocket for his cell phone. “Yes?” He listened intently, his expression darkening. “Dammit, Jane, why did you…” Bloody hell. Susannah Madison had struck again. How could he lay the blame on his secretary? The woman’s victims were everywhere. “Sorry, Jane. You did the right thing. No, that’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
Joe watched as Matthew slid the phone into his pocket. “Problem?” he finally asked, looking at Matthew’s stony face.
“That was Jane.”
“I heard. What’s so important in L.A. that she had to call you here?”
The waiter put down the check. Matthew scrawled his name and waved it away.
“The Madison woman called my office.”
“Just now?”
“She said she’d forgotten to give me some important documents. Jane told her where to find me.”
“You mean, Madison is sending a messenger here?”
Matthew looked up, his eyes almost black with anger.
“Apparently, she’s going to deliver them in person. And believe me, Joe, there aren’t any documents, important or otherwise. That woman and I said all we needed to say a couple of hours ago.”
“Well, then, what’s she want?”
“I don’t know.”
Joe gave a soft whistle. “I was right. This is definitely one cunning broad.”
Matthew got to his feet. “I’m almost tempted to wait just so you can get a look at her.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “You wouldn’t believe it unless you saw it.”
Joe rose, too. “I knew it,” he said, and chuckled. “She’s a bow wow after all, right?”
“I cannot tell a lie.” Matthew clapped his brother on the back. “Too bad I’m not willing to hang around so you can—Joe? What’s the matter?”
“Man, oh, man,” Joe said softly. “Don’t look now, but there is a definite babe coming up right behind you.”
Matthew grinned. “A babe, huh?”
“A ten, if ever I saw one. New York at its best. Gorgeous face. Eyes to drown in. Hair that looks as if some guy just ran his fingers through it. A body that won’t quit, and legs that are unbelievable, all packed into a little black suit and a pair of high heels…”
“Mr. Romano?”
Matthew froze. That voice. Those cold, clipped tones. Please, he thought, oh please, don’t let it be who I think it is.
“Mr. Romano,” the voice said again.
Matthew’s eyes met Joe’s. Joe raised a brow.
“It’s the babe,” Joe mouthed.
Matthew groaned. “No,” he said, as he turned, “no, it can’t be.”
But it was.
The babe—and Joe was right, there was no other word to describe her—the babe was Susannah Madison.
CHAPTER FIVE
MATTHEW took a step back.
This couldn’t be Susannah Madison. It couldn’t be.
Where had happened to the trick-or-treat hairdo? The grab-bag chic? For that matter, he thought wildly, what had happened to his jaw?
It was touching his shoe tops.
Well, why wouldn’t it? The woman standing before him was…
“Gorgeous,” Joe said softly.
Yes, she was. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Matthew’s head spun. She was gorgeous, all right, and everything in between was nothing short of that overworked word, spectacular.
Joe dug an elbow into Matthew’s ribs. “Close your mouth,” he whispered.
Matthew did.
“And introduce me.”
Introduce him? Matthew thought wildly. Smile and say, “Joe, this is Susannah Madison”?
Not in this lifetime. Not unless he was ready to be fitted for one of those jackets with the arms that tied in the back, because how on earth was he going to explain that the woman he’d agreed was a dog, a prune, a woofer, was the same woman who stood before him now?
Only a fairy godmother with one heck of a lot of influence could have waved her wand and accomplished this. Susannah Madison was beautiful. There was no other word to describe her.
Matthew’s gaze flew over her again, taking in all the details. A black suit had replaced the Beethoven sweatshirt and the baggy jeans. The suit was demure, even severe, but it couldn’t disguise the curves beneath.
Black shoes had replaced the sneakers. Not just any black shoes. Matthew swallowed hard. The heels were high. Not outrageously high. They were surely some Fifth Avenue shop’s idea of dress-for-success shoes to match the dress-for-success suit, but high enough to show off the trimness of Susannah’s ankles and the luscious length of her legs. And they were cut low enough in the front so he could see…what did you call those little lines between a woman’s toes? Cleavage?
He wanted to laugh—the word, the very concept, seemed so outrageous—but how could he laugh when he was busy concentrating on keeping his jaw from dropping again?
His gaze skittered to her fac
e. She’d done something to it. Not much. Lipstick, maybe. That was all, but the hint of color brought out the sexy tilt of her mouth. Joe had described her hair with dangerous accuracy. It looked as if a man had just run his hands through it. And, dammit, if that man’s name was Peter, the SOB was in for a very bad time.
“Ahem,” Joe said loudly.
Matthew struggled to gather his scrambled thoughts. Could a touch of lipstick and a change of clothes do all this?
The answer came with heart-stopping swiftness.
Susannah Madison had always looked like this. Always—including that fateful moment when she’d walked into the boardroom. He hadn’t forgotten to wear his brain this morning, he’d just been so damned angry he hadn’t taken the time to put it into gear. But another part of his anatomy, the one that was located further south, had noticed what she looked like, all right, and had gone into instant overdrive.
Matthew shuddered.
So, there was good news and bad news. At least now he knew he hadn’t gone round the bend, hadn’t hit on a woman who was, to use Joe’s delicate phrase, a woofer. That was the good news. The bad was that he’d been led on by that primal part of himself that was the least dependable decision maker ever invented.
And Madison knew it, knew it so well that she’d come after him again. She was loaded for bear this time. She’d taken the trouble to go home, change into an outfit that had every man within hailing distance salivating…including his pitiful brother.
“Matt,” Joe said, “aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Matthew ignored him.
“Miss Madison,” he said coldly. “How unfortunate to see you again.”
Joe twitched. “Madison?” he whispered. “Susannah Madison?”
“The very same,” Matthew said, his eyes locked on Susannah’s.
Joe cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “well, well, well.”
Matthew shot him an angry look. “The plane, remember?”
“Uh-huh.” Joe grinned, stepped beside Matthew and put out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Madison. I’m Matt’s brother, Joe, and, ah, and he’s told me a lot about you.”
The Sexiest Man Alive Page 6