by Claire Adams
"Are you trying to sell me on Botox injections again or what?" I asked.
"Nope. I'm just calling to show you how a real Maxwell makes the grade. Have you seen my review in the Best of the Bay? All the top critics are calling me the new face of plastic surgery," Evan said.
I dropped an elbow on my desk and leaned on it hard. "Father must be so proud."
"Yes, exactly. In fact, the old man's taking me out for a celebratory dinner tonight. You want in?"
I ground my teeth. It didn't matter that my face was now all over the headline news or that my name was trending alongside the biggest app launch of the year; my father was not impressed. Instead, he was taking my older brother out to dinner to celebrate. And I was being invited as an after-thought. Less than that, I was being invited as Evan's way of rubbing my face in it.
"I've got plans," I muttered.
"More champagne? More models? You really do the Maxwell name proud, little bro," Evan said.
Even my own family didn't see that my reputation was all for show. I couldn't remember the last time I thought they really knew me.
"Congratulations on the review, Evan," I said. "Tell Father I say hi."
"Come on, Rainer, don't be like that. Come to dinner and say hi to him yourself."
I shoved up out of my office chair and glared out over the tremendous view. It didn't matter that I was almost at the top of Hyperion Industries. It didn't matter that I wore custom-made suits and expensive shoes. My brother had worked his way through medical school, paid off all his debts, and then climbed to the top of his field all on his own. Compared to him, I was a parasite. The world thought I could charm everyone, but my father saw through me. He knew I was nothing but a con in a fancy suit.
"Sorry, Evan, I'm just not in the mood for a family share and compare tonight," I said.
Evan laughed. "But it's a family tradition. We fight it out until we're sixty and then we see who gets the family fortune. A little friendly, family competition. That's the reason we have the family fortune in the first place. You know Father just barely beat out Uncle Bert. If he hadn't made those real estate deals a decade ago, we'd be sucking up to old man Bert for tiny trust funds."
"As if you need any more money," I said.
"It's not for me; it's for future generations," Evan said.
"I know, I know. 'Maxwells make the family fortune.' You realize our grandfather was a sick man to pit everyone against each other," I said.
"Sick? How about genius. We've got to make something of ourselves before we get the big bucks. I can't wait to see what my kids do," Evan said.
"Well, good luck with that. I've got a meeting to get to," I said.
"Fine, but don't say I didn't invite you. Oh, and don't crinkle up your forehead when you smile or you'll get more wrinkles than even I can erase," Evan said.
I hung up the phone and leaned my forehead against the glass. It was ridiculous to call the expectations in my family a tradition. My grandfather had been dirt poor but made a respectable living as a master stone mason. My uncle had become a corporate attorney and set the bar high. Then my father had cashed in all his shrewd real estate deals and become the patriarch. As a Maxwell, I was expected to contribute to the slowly accumulating family fortune or not receive any of the benefits.
So, I put on the big smile, trotted out my best jokes, and dodged my way through the murky ranks of Hyperion Industries. It was just the sort of monstrous corporation that allowed men like me (short on tangible talent, heavy on personality) to grease the right palms and get to the top. Even I was sick of the rigged system.
A rapid knock was followed by, "Mr. Maxwell? Just a few quick items before your meeting."
I turned from the glass and dragged my mouth into an easy smile. Rainer Maxwell didn't brood out the window. I knew I had it good but wanted more, and I hoped today's meeting would do just that.
"Tasha Nichols requested a meeting. As soon as possible, she said." Topher smirked and moved that message to the bottom of his list.
"Tasha Nichols?" I asked. Her name was like a lighthouse in my foggy thoughts, but that didn't fit my playboy persona. "The new coffee girl?"
Topher chuckled. "No. That's Sasha. Tasha Nichols oversees the GroGreen app production team."
"How else would I know her?" I asked.
Topher was eager to show off his assistant skills and his impressive memory for Hyperion personnel. "She's been on the rise for the two years, a favorite of Mr. Eastman."
"Stan?" I retied my tie in the mirrored wall behind my desk. "His reputation for chasing skirts was worse than mine."
Topher grinned. "He's taken a particular interest in her this year and has been carefully tracking her progress on this app project."
The Chief Operations Officer had his eye on her. He was at least twenty years Tasha's senior, but it still bothered me. "So, is she old and silver like our Mr. Eastman?"
"You really don't remember her, Mr. Maxwell?" Topher asked.
I pulled on my suit coat and arched an eyebrow at my assistant. "Why would I remember her?"
It was a test. I knew it, and he knew it. Topher had to walk the fine line between giving me the information I wanted and leaving out the details that did not reflect well on me. I might not have had the best talent, but I could sure teach the kid how to navigate the egos of corporate America. It was a special skill he'd seen me wield with great results.
"You met her at last year's holiday party. She was in a red satin dress with a white cashmere cardigan. You knew her name and reputation, but that's the first time you met in person," Topher said.
I nodded. The image of Tasha enduring a pose with Santa Claus was impossible to erase. A pretty blush had lit up her cheeks even as she smiled politely and pried off Santa's hands. I saved her by pulling her onto the dance floor. Frankly, she'd dazzled me, and all I'd been able to say was, "Pretty little candy cane." The line haunted me every time I saw her, and I was very glad that detail had been forgotten.
I waved my hand to make Topher continue. "I'd had a few cocktails by the time Santa showed up."
"She's attractive, with coppery-red hair, dark-brown eyes." Topher was nervous and decided to hedge his bets on whether we liked her or not. "Always in a hurry, uptight. Her smiles are always puckered up, sour."
"Tasha Nichols isn't uptight. She's busy," I said, not caring that I'd revealed I knew her.
"Well," Topher said, "she could learn a thing or two from you, Mr. Maxwell, on how to make it look easy."
I checked my watch to hide my irritation. I made it look easy because a monkey could do my job. "One trick to that is to always arrive early. That way you look like you've got a handle on everything and have time to relax. Doesn't hurt to chat with the other early-arrivals. Those are the go-getters," I said.
Topher nodded, eager to put my advice to good use. "The meeting is in conference room four."
I led the way. I had purposefully avoided Tasha after the holiday party. She had the kind of talent, smarts, and drive that made me nervous. Still, she'd been like a beacon all through the rainy winter, and I'd looked for her every day. I'd finally decided to pull some strings and jump on her project, just to get the idea of her out of my system. I hoped she was every bit as uptight as Topher said, but our little run-in in the penthouse office had me worried.
A warm rush accompanied the memory of her wedged against me in the narrow door. Now, not only could I not take my eyes off her, but my body was drawn to her like a magnet. The success of her project was just a bonus.
The early-arrivals amounted to three executive assistants sent to take notes and the majority of Tasha's department managers. Her team was impressive, still working hard despite the positive reception of the finished project. Still, when they saw me, work was forgotten and out came the questions about the celebrities I had invited to the launch party. I regaled them with stories of the opulent party until they were roaring with laughter.
"I see my hangover cure is working for you
," James called from the conference room doorway.
The conference room fell into a hush. James Berger's reputation was neck and neck with mine, though he'd gotten the bigger bonus last year. Now, he was the new standard of luxury living, and everyone regarded him with jealous awe.
I got up and met him in the doorway with a hearty handshake. "Didn't you take your own tonic? You look like hell."
James laughed and slapped me on the shoulder. "That's what I get for taking a midnight helicopter ride down to Santa Cruz. Starlight beach volleyball is worth it, let me tell you."
I gritted my teeth but grinned. James never missed an opportunity to flaunt his outrageous spending, and it was going over great with the wide-eyed production team. "I did all right with post-party dim sum and cocktails in Chinatown," I said. "Next time you hit the Li Po Lounge, try the White Dragon spritzer. I helped out with the recipe."
"Perfect thing to mix up at my yacht party this weekend. You in? I know you don't have your sea legs, but she's a real gentle giant. We're taking her out to the Golden Gate Bridge and then over to Sausalito," James said. "I'm telling you, Rainer, the yacht has opened up an entirely different world for me. Not that I don't love my helicopter, but the yacht is a whole new level."
"Sorry, ensign, but I don't have a sailor suit," I said. "Besides, didn't you hear there's an exclusive happy hour over at the speakeasy? I got the password to open up every single secret tunnel."
James laughed and wrapped an arm around my neck. "I bet you do. That explains why I saw you with supermodels on each arm last night. Oh, and here, that's the number for my tailor. He'll set you up with a suit even if you have to put it on a payment plan."
I took the card and slipped it into my suit pocket. James was a braggart, but he had enviable taste and no end of high-society connections. He was just the buddy I needed to give me access to the best investment bankers. Whatever change I made from the GroGreen app was going right into high-return investments. It was time to close the financial gap between me and my brother.
"Trust me, Rainer, you won't regret it. Hey, I was just swinging in to congratulate you on the press conference. Bang-up job. Next time you might want to pause longer before you answer the questions. Don't want to seem too slick," James said.
"Isn't that what I told you about those rich debutantes you were after last night?" I asked. "You buy me lunch at Manny's and maybe we can compare notes."
"Oh, no, I'm not a fool," James said. "A little advice here and there is good, but I'm not forgetting you're my competition, and you shouldn't either. You got lucky jumping on this project. Took it right out of my playbook from last year. That means it's on, Rainer. I'm watching you."
He backed out of the conference room door, alternating pointing two fingers at his eyes and at me. The employees around the conference table laughed at his antics. Topher, on the other hand, scribbled copious notes on the exchange; he wrote down anything he thought I could use later.
With James Berger out of the way, the conference room began to fill up. I started interesting conversations here and there on my way back to my seat, but I really was just keeping an eye on the door. It wasn't like Tasha to be late. Half the reason I'd followed my own good advice about arriving early was because I thought it was something someone like her might say. I had hoped for a chance to chat with her before the room got too crowded. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was just on her project for a quick payday.
Tasha Nichols was the opposite of James Berger and all the more attractive for it. She dressed conservatively in tidy pencil skirts and suit coats that she could interchange without breaking the bank. My mind drifted to the array of bright, silky blouses she wore, but I shook off the tempting thoughts. Tasha knew how to work hard, make people respect her, and build her own stellar reputation. She was just the kind of colleague I needed to help me in the long run.
"Rainer, it's been months. How are you?" A leggy blonde with sharp eyes gave me a quick kiss on the cheek.
A quick and clever charade by Topher saved me from fumbling for her name. "Dora. You look lovely as ever."
The problem with watching the door is there were a lot of familiar faces that I wished had moved on to other jobs. Being the office playboy went over well with the old boys' club upstairs, but it was hell on my physical well-being. More than one of the women I had had pleasant encounters with now looked ready to flay me alive.
"You really should call back," Dora advised me in a cold tone. "It's just tacky to ghost someone like that."
The advice echoed as I sat down and gave the doorway one more glance. I had given Tasha Nichols my number the night of the holiday party and watched her throw it away. This morning, she acted as if we had never spoken before, and it stung. I sat back and wondered if I would get the chance to talk to her more or if this whole project was just another bad line I couldn't take back.
Chapter Three
Tasha
I slammed the phone down so hard I almost chipped my clear nail polish. I laced my fingers together and squeezed tightly while I took a deep breath. Then I dialed again.
"You've reached Mr. Rainer Maxwell's office. Please leave a message." His executive assistant's voice was professional and crisp.
My temporary assistant, Amy, didn't even look up when I rammed the phone back into the receiver. "Of course he got the best assistant. Naturally, he'd get the efficient staff. I mean, how else does he sit around and chat all day?"
"I'm sorry, Ms. T, did you say something?" Amy said around a large piece of gum. "Hey, your nickname should be Misty. Get it?"
"No," I said.
"You don't?"
I ground my teeth. "I get what you're saying about the nickname, but, no. I don't need or want a nickname. Did you run over to Mr. Maxwell's office?"
Amy leaned against the door. "Yeah, he's really hot."
"You saw him?" I lunged for the door.
"He's all over the news," Amy said.
I stopped myself and laced my fingers together again. With white knuckles, I turned around and stalked back to my desk. "He's probably at yet another breakfast meeting," I muttered. "I bet he won't even show for the meeting."
"What meeting?" Amy asked.
I still had a few minutes, so I opened a news site on my computer and hit play. Rainer Maxwell's smiling face cropped up within seconds. The business anchor announced the story and tossed it to some young reporter in horn-rimmed glasses.
The technology special reporter gave a quick synopsis of the GroGreen app launch. "Industry leader, Hyperion Industries, located in the heart of San Francisco's tech movement, does it again with the launch of GroGreen. Imagine a master gardener, landscaper, and flower expert in your pocket, and this amazing new application guarantees everyone will have a green thumb."
The news story cut to Rainer in the downstairs press room. "GroGreen means anyone can be a gardener no matter how much time, space, and effort they have available. Anything from teacup flowers to homestead farm plots, to virtual gardens are all made possible through GroGreen. Ever forget to water your plants? GroGreen has reminders, and even tricks for keeping those neglected houseplants alive."
His lips were stiffer on television than in real life. The smile had just enough of a practiced edge to create little lines at the corners of his mouth. Rainer was a natural on camera, but it was nothing compared to the power he had in person.
Especially close up. When we were caught in the doorway, his mouth was relaxed, curved in an easy smile just inches from my lips. I thought about the spice and leather of his cologne, the electric brightness of his eyes, then I shook my head hard.
What was I doing?
"We at Hyperion respect Mother Nature and have finally found a way for Mother Nature to respect our busy schedules."
I scowled at the television. "That's not part of the press release I signed off on."
Outside my office, I heard Amy's airy giggle. I scrambled to turn off the news website and craned my neck to
catch a glimpse. If Rainer had gotten my message and stopped by, he was too late. I needed to get on my way to the meeting or I'd be late. And I couldn't have him catch me daydreaming over his press conference.
I pressed my hands to my cheeks and hoped the blush would fade. Then I saw who leaned on the corner of Amy's desk and gave a sigh of relief.
Stanislas Eastman, the Chief Operating Officer of Hyperion Industries, made my temporary assistant laugh again with his dashing charm. He was only an inch or two taller than me but had a giant personality. Matched with his unapologetic silver hair and sky-blue eyes, he was a force to be reckoned with. I cleared my throat before he charmed my assistant right out the door to an early lunch.
"Don't you have a meeting to get to?" I asked Stan.
"I'd say the same to you, but I'm glad I caught you. Shall we, my dear?" Stan held out his arm.
"Just let me grab my reports." I ducked back into my office.
Stan leaned closer to Amy and made her giggle erupt again. I rolled my eyes but smiled. Stan was incorrigible, and I'd never seen him pass a woman without making her smile. He somehow walked the fine line between Don Juan and boss without getting caught. Rainer reminded me of Stan, but young and almost childish. Stan had the elegance born of a century and half of high society breeding. His family was one of the oldest, wealthiest, and most respected in San Francisco.
I wondered if Rainer would have the same devilish twinkle in his eyes when he got older.
Stan slipped into my office and closed the door most of the way. "You know, I really shouldn't be meeting with you behind closed doors. The office might talk," he said.
I jumped as if he'd caught me and then I laughed. "Isn't that exactly what you want?"
"Amy, honey, come in here," Stan called out the door. Then he caught up my hand and kissed it. "How could you stand me up at the opera like that?"
I tugged my hand away from him but not soon enough. Amy gaped at us from the doorway.
"You know I was working on the product launch," I told Stan.