by Neesa Hart
“Kelly Lars.”
“Yes,” Philip said. “The young woman is quite capable.”
He had promised Sidney that he’d let her decide. He had not, however, promised that he wouldn’t try to significantly manipulate the outcome—which, after their conversation last night, he was even more determined to do. Max shook his head to clear it as a strange kind of euphoria clouded his thoughts. “I’ll have to make it worth her while.”
“She might drive a hard bargain,” Philip warned him.
Of that, he was sure. “I’m counting on it,” Max said. “I’m very much counting on it.”
Philip nodded. “Kelly can handle the business. Sidney has already told me that this isn’t her busiest season.”
Max nodded. “I’ll pay her enough to bring on extra staff to cover her other events.”
Gertie clucked her tongue. Until then, Max had forgotten her presence. She threaded her plump fingers together and fixed him with a hard stare. “You’d best not push too hard, Mr. Loden. Sidney doesn’t like to be pushed.”
That much he knew. “I’m aware of that.”
Philip gave him a shrewd look. “Talk to her. If necessary, I’ll talk to her. I’ll feel better knowing everything is in her hands.”
“So will I,” Max said.
Sidney was powerless to resist Philip, and they both knew it. She might cheerfully kill Max for bringing this up in front of the one man he knew could win her cooperation. At least, though, he’d have her where he wanted her. Mostly. He felt better than he had all day. Since their precipitous parting last night, he’d been preoccupied and frustrated. When he’d been unable to find her late that evening, his mood had turned from sour to rotten. He didn’t like feeling unsteady on his feet. But a contract— even the word felt good to him. This was familiar territory. He gave Philip a reassuring look. “Don’t worry about a thing. I’m sure she’ll agree.”
Philip’s eyes drifted shut on a contented sigh. “So am I,” he whispered.
AT SEVEN O’CLOCK Tuesday morning, after an almost sleepless night, Sidney tossed down her pencil with a disgusted sigh. She dropped her head into her palms and fought the urge to hurl the mound of paperwork across the room. Her nerves, she knew, had been wound too tight and stretched too thin before she’d even attempted to begin sorting through her former accountant’s cryptic notes. By the time her uncle Philip had arrived at Max’s estate, ready to resume his position as head of the household staff, Sidney had wanted to fall at his feet in gratitude.
She had caught only glimpses of Max since Saturday night’s fiasco. When Greg met her that night in the gazebo, he’d related the events of the previous few minutes, and vented his frustration over Max’s manipulation. While Sidney didn’t doubt there was another side to the story, she’d winced at Greg’s version of Max’s callous remarks. According to the younger Loden brother, Max had virtually blackmailed him into announcing his engagement to Lauren the following night. She’d gone to bed Saturday night feeling confused, and awakened on Sunday frustrated and annoyed.
Max was nowhere to be found. According to his sister Colleen, he’d left the estate early that morning. Colleen had delivered that piece of information with a cool indifference that left Sidney feeling edgy. Max did not return until minutes before the evening’s dinner party. Sydney had no chance to talk to him, but his grim countenance bothered her. Something drastic had happened in the past few hours to put that scowl on his face.
Sidney had stood in the shadows of the dining room and watched him when Greg finally rose to make his announcement. Not a flicker of expression had registered on Max’s grim countenance.
Later, she’d tried to talk to him, but Colleen had stopped her on her way up the stairs to his third-floor office. “Max,” his sister had informed her, “asked not to be disturbed.” Frustrated and completely baffled, Sydney had spent a restless night wondering about what had transpired after Max left her the night before. She’d almost expected him to turn up at her room after he’d finished negotiating his latest family crisis. Instead, he’d been detached all day. And, evidently, his desire for privacy extended to his houseguests. He’d left the job of seeing them off on Monday to Natalie—a good thing, Sidney had mused, as Colleen seemed more prone to toss them out on their collective ears.
Early Monday morning, Philip had arrived at the estate. After a brief meeting with Max, he descended from the third floor to hand Sidney an envelope with her name scrawled in Max’s firm, spidery writing. She had known better than to press him for details. Philip loved her, she knew, but he would never dream of betraying Max’s confidence.
Angry at Max’s dismissal, she’d tucked the envelope into her jeans pocket, and set to work. By noon, Sidney’s staff had cleared their equipment and personal belongings, returned the rooms to their original state, and finished dismantling any remaining traces of the weekend’s festivities from the estate. Philip inspected the grounds and the house and expressed his fulsome appreciation for all she’d done. With a warm hug, she’d assured him that she’d been glad to help. The vans were loaded, her employees were on their way home, and Sidney finally found a moment to herself.
After explaining to her uncle that she had paperwork awaiting her, she’d slipped into her car and opened the envelope.
A check. Twice her normal fee, as promised. And no note. She’d checked the envelope twice, expecting something, anything, that might explain his odd behavior since they’d parted on Saturday night.
In fact, during the long, silent hours of Sunday afternoon, while she’d worked with her staff to prepare for the evening, she’d mentally recounted all the reasons why she shouldn’t get too involved with Max Loden. The precipitous end to last night’s flirtation, she’d argued, had been the best thing for both of them. It could never work. They came from different worlds. They had nothing in common but an isolated incident in his parents’ library. He lived in a palace and she worked in the kitchens. It was as simple as that.
But, try as she might, the argument failed to dim the profound tug on her heartstrings she felt when she thought of the stark loneliness she’d often glimpsed in his expression. That drew her like little else. She remembered feeling that alone, that terrified. When she’d come to live with her uncle, that same sense of fear had overwhelmed her.
What she saw in the depths of Max’s soul drew her inexorably into the flame. She couldn’t, wouldn’t, turn away from him. It wasn’t in her to stand by and willingly let another person experience that depth of loneliness. His entire life, Max had felt the pressure of knowing everyone depended on him. To Sidney’s knowledge, he’d never felt the pleasure of depending on someone else.
That thought affected her as nothing else could.
But the cheque and the solid evidence it gave her of his casual dismissal should have taught her something. There could never be a future for her and Max. He needed a woman who could serve at his side, be a partner in all his endeavors, in life and in business. She could never be that person. If she learned anything from her failed marriage, it was that she had no business trying to pretend she was something she wasn’t. She could, however, prove to him that he was worthy of love and care and compassion, not for what he had, or what he could do, but for who he was. And if she could accomplish that, then perhaps the scars she’d bear when they parted would be well worth the opportunity to banish that bleak look from his eyes. By Saturday night, when he’d asked her to dance, she’d been ready to leap off the bridge with him.
Then, he’d disappeared. And, evidently, she’d thought as she studied the empty envelope, hadn’t felt the need to offer an explanation.
Now, in the stark light of the morning after, Sidney looked at the check and frowned. Something about it made her feel distinctly unpleasant. For easily the hundredth time she reminded herself that she’d known Max was unpredictable and inscrutable, and refused to let herself dwell on it. Her taxes were demanding her attention, and she didn’t have the time, or energy, to dwell on the a
ge-old mystery of Max Loden.
If she had half a brain, she’d consider herself lucky for having escaped the weekend with her heart intact. She had less than two days before this damned audit hearing, and if she didn’t somehow, someway, make sense of all this, there was no telling what Uncle Sam might do to her.
The commanding knock on her door startled her. Her gaze fled to the wall clock. With a slight groan, she realized that Kelly must have encountered a problem of monumental proportions in the charity luncheon they were working that day. Nothing else would have brought her to Sidney’s door at seven o’clock in the morning when she knew Sidney was waging war with the IRS. And no one, she mused as she padded toward the door, who knew her well, would even think of trying to see her before nine. So-called morning people, she firmly believed, were a plague on society.
She wiped a hand through her mussed hair and jerked open the door. “Kelly—” Her heart stopped beating at the same instant her voice died.
Max stood there, frowning at her. He looked intense, and some distant part of her brain registered, disgustingly attractive in charcoal-gray trousers and a deep blue shirt. He raked her appearance with a sharp glance. “You look like hell.”
Sidney blinked. “What are you—”
He brushed her aside and strode into her apartment, followed by a brainy-looking young man in a pristine navy suit. “Good morning,” the man muttered.
Sidney sucked breath into her lungs as she turned to face him. “Max—”
He was staring at the paperwork that lay on her table and, in all fairness, was strewn across her floor. “Are these your accounts?”
The experience was beginning to feel surreal. “What?”
He picked up a tax form. “Good Lord. You’re doing this by hand. Don’t you own a computer?”
“It’s a worksheet,” she mumbled, unsure why.
“George,” Max looked at the other man, “what do you think?”
George carefully cleared a spot on Sidney’s dining room table for his briefcase. “I’m sure it’s not a problem, Max.”
Sidney leaned back against the door, feeling the need for support. “Excuse me?”
“Do you have everything you need?” Max asked.
George visually scanned the piles of ledgers and receipts. Behind his wire-framed glasses, his gray eyes looked alert and, unless she missed her guess, challenged. “Oh, I think so. Her hearing isn’t until Thursday morning. I’m sure we can get this straightened out by then.”
Max’s nod was short. “Do whatever you have to, George. If you need more people, get them.” He looked at Sidney. “Why don’t you take a shower? You look like you’re about to fall over.”
“I’m exhausted,” she said before she could stop herself. Damn the man. She owed him nothing, and certainly not explanations.
He indicated her bedroom with a jerk of his head. “Go get ready. I’ll wait.”
That snapped her from the relative stupor she’d experienced since she’d found him on her doorstep. “Wait just one damn minute, Max. What do you think you’re doing?”
He blinked. “You’re annoyed.”
Good Lord, he sounded shocked. Her fingers curled into fists. “That surprises you? You march in here at 7:00 a.m. and start barking orders like a field general, and it shocks you that I might be the tiniest bit testy about it?”
“You’re not a morning person,” he said blandly. He seemed to factor the information into some mental file cabinet. “Sorry it’s so early, but I wanted to give George and his staff enough time.”
George, she noted, had picked up her phone and was giving quiet instructions to someone on the other end. Sidney struggled for several seconds to regain her equilibrium. Her apartment had begun to spin. She took three deep breaths. “What are you doing?”
“Philip, er, mentioned that you were here preparing for an audit, and that your former accountant is no longer—” he paused “—available.”
“My accountant is in Brazil with half a million dollars of someone else’s money.”
“Well, yes.”
“Philip told you?” Good grief, her uncle evidently didn’t share the same sense of commitment to her privacy that he felt for his employer’s.
“I beat it out of him,” he said without batting an eyelash.
“Oh, cripes.”
Max crossed his arms over his chest. “Don’t be angry at him, Sidney. He mentioned it in passing, and I pulled a few strings to find out the rest.”
“You spied on me?”
“No, of course not. I—”
“Max?” George held the receiver in one hand.
“What?”
“I’ve got Eleanor on the phone. Pat and Leslie are on their way. She wants to know if you need anything else?”
Max glanced at his watch. “No. Tell her thanks.”
George nodded and went back to his phone call. Max’s gaze returned to Sidney. “As I said, I asked a few questions of a few people I know. That’s all.”
“On their way over?” Sidney said quietly, still focused on George’s comments. “Who’s on their way over?”
“Oh, that. George’s staff. Don’t worry about a thing. They’re great, excellent in fact. I wouldn’t keep them on retainer if they weren’t. They’ll have all this straightened out for you in no time.”
She had to grind her teeth to keep from shouting at him. “This is—”
He glanced at his watch again. “Look, how much time do you think you need to get ready? I told the hotel manager we’d be there by eleven. We’ll need a couple of hours to get into the city at this time of day.”
“Hotel—” Sidney shook her head to clear it. “Stop it,” she said sharply.
His gaze abruptly met hers. “What?”
It felt good to have the reins of the conversation again. “You’re being deliberately evasive, and don’t think I don’t know it.”
George’s eyebrows lifted as he watched her from his vantage point by the telephone. Max frowned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Yes, you do. You’re trying to take over my life, and you don’t want me to notice.”
“That’s absurd. If I wanted to take over your life I’d have done something a lot more effective than bring you an accountant.” He looked at George. “No offense, George.”
“None taken.”
Sidney stalked across the room. “I’m not going to fall for it, you know. Everyone else in your life may find this too-busy-to-explain-myself act of yours intimidating but I don’t.” She glared at him. “I find it annoying.”
Max’s expression turned nonplussed. “Now, Sidney—”
She waved a hand to cut him off. “You haven’t spoken to me since Saturday, then you turn up here at the crack of dawn and expect me to fall into your clutches.”
“You’re being melodramatic.”
“Am I?”
He wiggled his hands at her. “I don’t have clutches.”
“Ha,” she said, because nothing else came to mind. “You know exactly what I mean.”
“Is this a good time for me to tell you I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about?”
“Where were you all day Sunday?”
His eyebrows knitted in confusion. “I was called out of town on business. Didn’t Colleen tell you?”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I couldn’t find you on Saturday night. I looked for an hour. Then I went to bed. I had to leave before six on Sunday, and I didn’t think you’d want me to wake you. I asked Colleen to convey my regrets.”
Sidney felt some of her irritation drain away. On Saturday night, she’d spent an hour and a half talking to Greg Loden in the gazebo. “Why did you have to work on Sunday?” she asked quietly.
He tilted his head to one side. “Colleen didn’t tell you, did she?” Sidney shook her head. Max swore beneath his breath. “Just after I finished talking with Greg and the Fitzwaters, I got a call from one of my attorneys. T
here was an accident at one of our smaller manufacturing facilities, and a couple of workers died. I flew out to the site on Sunday to check on things and do what I could for their families. I didn’t get back until Sunday night. I stayed through dinner so I could be there for Greg’s announcement, and then had several more meetings to make sure everything was taken care of.”
She felt wrung out. “Oh.”
Max was frowning. “Colleen was supposed to tell you.”
“She didn’t.”
“I don’t understand that.”
Sidney remembered the frosty look in his sister’s eyes and let out a slow breath. It scraped her nerves to think of him handling what had, no doubt, been an extremely unpleasant task on his own. Whatever Colleen’s motivation, it clearly hadn’t been concern for Max. “Is everything all right?”
“What?”
“The families of those workers. Is everything all right?”
Something flickered in his gaze—something that made Sidney have to tamp down the urge to go to him, and wrap her arms around his waist. He nodded. “Yes. I took care of them.”
Just like always, she mused. “I’m sorry.”
He looked confused. “You couldn’t have done anything.”
“I could have been your friend. I’m sorry you had to do it by yourself. I’m sure it was very difficult for you.”
Visibly nonplused, Max stared at her. “So are you mad or not?”
The corner of her mouth twitched. “Direct as usual.”
Max lifted one shoulder in a pale imitation of a shrug. “In case you haven’t noticed, subtle conversation generally eludes me. Especially the female variety.”
She frowned at him. “I’m not mad.”
“Good,” he said, but he continued to watch her with a narrow-lidded gaze.
Sidney slid a hand through her hair and looked at George. He’d hung up the phone, and was studying a photograph of her and her uncle Philip with undue interest. “Thanks for coming on such short notice, George.” She walked to him with an outstretched hand. “I’m Sidney Grant.”
George set the picture down. “Uh, George Hampton.” He shook her hand. “Nice to meet you, Miss Grant.”