by Carol Rose
Nicole stood looking down at him, her amusement vanished. “I told him you were here. I said I’d come get you, but he didn’t want me to.”
Max said nothing as he shoved the check into his shirt pocket.
“I guess I should have—“
“Never mind,” he said, not looking at her. “He dropped off the check, that’s all.”
Some sort of bad blood must be lingering between the two brothers, Nicole realized intelligently.
She looked at Max sitting in the window. “Your brother said something about you mailing his check to him. He said they must have gotten switched at Ruth’s office.”
“Probably.”
For a moment, Nicole would have preferred Max’s occasionally acid tongue to his silence. If Ruth had made the mistake, why hadn’t Max’s brother returned the check to her? It was obvious the two men weren’t on good terms. But Max’s brother had brought the check over personally. Maybe he wanted to patch things up with Max.
“So, your brother is an writer, too?”
Max looked up then. “Don’t you have some work to do?”
“I just thought…. “Why didn’t he want to see you?”
“This is none of your business.” Max’s voice was hard.
“No, but…if you and your brother are fighting, maybe it would help if you took his check over to him and sat down and talked about—“
“Listen,” Max got abruptly to his feet, “save your rescuing efforts for your father. I don’t need your help.”
Surprised and annoyed, she watched him start down the stairs.
“No,” she said sarcastically, following him, “it’s obvious you don’t need anyone’s help. You’re so healthy and well-adjusted. You have so many people clamoring to be near you—“
They had reached the apartment foyer by then. He swung around, glaring fiercely at her. “Go work. I don’t need anyone clamoring for anything, so keep your co-dependent, touchy-feely shit to yourself.”
Without another word, he turned and walked, bare-foot, out of the apartment.
Nicole stared at the closed door realizing—duh!—she’d unwittingly stumbled across a sore subject. A subject that roused the incredible, detached Max Tucker to a more vocal kind of rudeness. Interesting.
CHAPTER FOUR
A week later, Nicole sat at the computer, her fingers flying over the keyboard, totally absorbed in the story flowing beneath her hands.
“Here.”
To her left, her peripheral vision spotted a loaded plate at the same second her nose realized the source of the delicious smell. Food.
“Take a break and eat,” Max ordered. “It’s after nine.”
She glanced up at the window, realizing darkness must have set in several hours ago. In the canyons of New York City, night fell earlier. She’d gotten so lost in the words she typed, she hadn’t even realized the day had passed into evening.
Picking up the plate, she noted that Max had left. Her thoughts eagerly returning to the manuscript, Nicole scanned the next page of his scribbling. Between bites, she typed.
Since she’d been working most nights until eleven or twelve, this wasn’t the first meal she’d eaten in front of the computer. In fact, all her meals had been eaten here with the exception of muffins and fruit, she ordered from room service before leaving the hotel each morning. Max wanted her here, ready to go, at the ungodly hour of seven.
Those first two or three days, she hadn’t really had much to do. Max had initially given her character sketches to type—most of which hadn’t yet shown up in the book. On the fourth day of working here, she’d come in, bleary in the early morning light, and found a stack of notepads beside the computer. All of them were filled with Max’s horrendous handwriting and from then on the book had just grown in the most amazing way. To her surprise, she felt spellbound by the developing story.
No wonder the man had his investment broker on speed dial. Someone had to watch over his millions.
Nicole put down her fork and finished the paragraph she’d been typing. Pausing, she glanced again at her plate and realized what she’d been eating. Surprisingly good lasagna, broccoli, a fresh, crisp salad and a fluffy wheat roll. It was all really good and she found herself wondering what restaurant had delivered it. Not that it was looking like she’d ever get enough time off to actually eat-out.
Leaning back in her chair, she stretched, trying to ease the kinks from sitting so long. She must have been more deeply absorbed than she’d realized. When the delivery guy rang, the sound of the doorbell hadn’t even penetrated her thoughts.
Standing up, Nicole gathered her plate and eating utensils and carried them into the kitchen.
She paused in the doorway, surprised to see Max loading the dishwasher. The kitchen bore the signs of a room where a meal had been prepared. A pan of lasagna still sat on the high-tech stove. A storage container of broccoli sat on the counter next to the refrigerator. Scanning the room, she saw there were no visible take-out containers or bags.
“You cooked this meal?” Nicole asked.
Max looked up quickly.
“Yes,” he said, rearranging a saucepan in the dishwasher.
“Really?” Surprise mingled with doubt in her voice. “It was great.”
He glanced at her with a sardonic smile as he reached for a damp dishcloth and began wiping the counter clean.
“I mean, it was terrific,” she stressed, still having a hard time picturing the famous Max Tucker doing something as mundane—and kind—as cooking a meal for her to eat. Of course, he had to eat as well. He’d probably just decided to give her some of his dinner. But the fact that he could cook well was so completely unexpected. “Surprisingly great food.”
“Yes,” he replied neutrally. “I’m picking up on your surprise. Have you finished Chapter Five yet?”
Nicole threw him a searching, puzzled glance. Weird. She still couldn’t believe he’d cooked. “No, but I’ll get it done before I leave tonight.”
“Fine.”
“I’m loving this book, but how do you stand the isolation?” she asked in a casual tone.
“Isolation?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I haven’t really talked to anyone, but you and Ruth since I started this. I did hear your banker’s voice when he called yesterday. But your doorman downstairs and the people who work in the coffee shop across the street are pretty much the only ones I speak to on a regular basis. Of course, I’m sure you know all the people at the coffee shop, the way you drink the stuff.”
“No,” he said uncompromisingly.
She looked up in inquiry. “You don’t like their coffee?”
“I have no opinion on it, having never sampled the product.”
Nicole stared at him for a long moment, narrowing her gaze as she tried to get what he was saying. She knew the man loved coffee. He was rarely without a cup of it in his hand.
As if sensing her puzzlement, he said shortly, “I don’t frequent public places—“
“Never?” she questioned in disbelief.
“There are,” Max said, his irritation shaded briefly with defensiveness, “a few good restaurants where people value anonymity.”
“Expensive places,” Nicole concluded, smiling at his snobbishness. It wasn’t unexpected, but she’d seen no sign of the disease till now.
“No,” he snapped, “not expensive places. I happen to have lunch with Cynthia on occasion at a small pub near her apartment. It has no particular notoriety, but the food is decent and the people leave me alone.”
“I can see you’re really into alone,” she couldn’t help saying, the urge to tease him disappearing.
“I’m into having my privacy respected,” he said, turning to put his cup down on the counter with a snap.
“However, you look at it, that translates into alone. I’ve never been so cut off from people as I have been since I started working here. It’s a good thing Ruth drops by here every day or so to make sure we haven’t strangled each o
ther yet. I’d be screaming by now from the isolation. And you live like this all the time. It’s strange.”
He lifted a brow. “Really. Thanks for your perspective on my lifestyle.”
Nicole grinned at him as she left the room. “You’re welcome!”
* * *
It was near midnight when Max straightened his neck, rolling the stiffness loose. Rising to his feet from the window sill, he went to see if Nicole had finished the chapter. Usually, she came and told him before she left for the night, but he hadn’t heard the clatter of her computer keys in a while.
He found her bent forward over the desk, sound asleep. The last few pages of the chapter glowed on the screen above her.
Max stood watching the steady rise and fall of her breathing for several moments. She really did work her tail off, this secretarial slave of his. He shouldn’t leave her like this. In an hour or so, she’d wake with a hell of a kink in her neck.
The tender nape of Nicole’s neck was visible where her short blond hair had fallen forward. Looking at the pale wedge of skin, Max considered what he should do. Graceful arms pillowing her head, she slept unaware, her breathing regular and deep.
He could scoop her up in his arms, he mused, imaging the soft weight of her against his chest, the cloudy fresh scent of her hair tickling his nose. The broad couch in the media room would be a comfortable enough bed. He could carry her in there and, if she woke, she’d probably do no more than mutter and lift her head before returning to sleep.
Max stared at her unseeing, his mind filled with a vision. An armful of soft, curvaceous Nicole, turning toward him, lifting her head….
In the years of his consciousness of his craft, he had often realized the value of a vivid imagination. His mind flung him into the reality of a situation. He wrote more fully because he could visualize being in a moment without actually being there.
Standing across the room from a sleeping Nicole, his breath feeling tight in his chest, he ran the possibilities through his mind, felt the whisper of her skin against his…and knew he had to wake her. Their relationship existed on a fragile balance. She needed him to free her father and he—He needed whatever had recently freed up his mind.
“Nicole!” He made his voice crisp. “Wake up and go back to your hotel.”
* * *
“Claire?” Nicole said, glad it was earlier in Arkansas than in New York. She’d just gotten into her hotel room and had hurried to call Claire before her friend became alarmed. “I’m home and I’m safe.”
“Good,” Claire said. “Still no passes from the Ogre, huh?”
“Nope,” Nicole said, stifling a yawn. “Just working me to death, nothing else. But this book is beautiful. He has the most beautiful mind.”
“Be grateful its author isn’t pestering you,” Claire advised. “I guess you were right when you said he was harmless.”
Nicole frowned, picturing Max’s tall, well-shaped body and his sardonic smile. “I never said he was ‘harmless.’ I just said he’s not interested in me, in particular. I also didn’t say he wasn’t pestering me. The man’s silence can be louder than anyone I’ve ever known. He’s anything but harmless.”
“Okay,” her friend said peaceably.
“Max also happens to be pretty dang buff,” Nicole told her, kicking off her slippers to climb into bed, “He’s got an entire gym in his apartment. If he wanted to, I’ll bet he could cause a woman quite a bid of ‘harm’.”
“Well, thank heavens, he hasn’t had the urge to work his wiles on you,” Claire said, sounding tired herself.
“Yes,” Nicole muttered as she slipped under the quilt. “Thank heavens.”
* * *
Nicole bit into the piece of apple and smiled across the table the room service people had set up in her room. Max’s agent, Ruth, sat on the other side, sharing breakfast. Nicole had met the woman once or twice in the last week, when Ruth stopped buy to talk to Max. She liked the woman and was glad when Ruth had called out-of-the-blue asking to share her breakfast.
“So Max actually had you cancel my wake-up call? I’m surprised the hotel let you.”
The other woman nodded. “Yes. I told them your boss had canceled your usual early-morning meeting. Max said you left his place really late and should probably get some more sleep.”
“Weird.” Nicole chewed the apple. Max having a considerate impulse was hard to imagine.
Ruth looked at Nicole with speculation in her dark eyes as she buttered a muffin. “Don’t tell him I said so, but Max has his decent moments. Sometimes. You just never know what’ll bring them out. Other than the press—he’s never decent to reporters. And he can’t tolerate the paparazzi. But…I think he likes you.”
Pausing in the act of taking another bite, Nicole stared at her. “You’re kidding.”
“No,” the other woman said with a smile.
“Really? And this is what he’s like when he likes someone?”
Ruth laughed and then grew more serious. “Max is struggling right now. I’m not sure what the deal is, but he’s…grouchier than usual.”
“Thank heavens he’s not always this chilly,” Nicole commented.
Ruth had apparently worked with him for a number of years and seemed to be in a position of confidence as far as he was concerned. From what Nicole had seen of him, Max never gave unqualified confidence to anyone, so she had to assume Ruth did a darned good job at being his agent. Still, she seemed a nice, friendly woman.
“So you represent both Max and his brother,” Nicole said casually.
Ruth flung a startled glance at her paused with a forkful of eggs halfway to her mouth. “Max told you about Pete?”
“In a way,” Nicole said, noting the woman’s shock. “Why? Shouldn’t he have? Is it a secret that he’s got a brother? Or that you work with them both?”
“No.” Ruth shook her head. “But Max doesn’t usually talk about Pete.”
“Why not?” Nicole sliced her muffin in two and buttered one half.
Ruth was silent for several minutes, clearly weighing her words. “Max and Pete are pretty…estranged. They’ve never really been close.”
“What about the rest of Max’s family? Does he talk to them?”
“There is no other family, as far as I’m aware,” Ruth told her.
“So it’s just the two of them, Max and his brother?”
“Yes,” the agent nodded. “Their parents died six or seven years ago.”
“You’d think they’d be close,” Nicole observed. “Since they only have each other. I mean, my dad and I are the only ones left in our family and I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to him.”
Ruth’s narrow face grew meditative.
“Maybe so,” she said, shrugging, “but I think there’s always been a sense of competition between Max and Pete. Pete’s got a good strong career now, but nothing like Max’s. I think he’s always felt over-shadowed by his younger, more brilliant brother.”
Slanting her a glance, Nicole chided, “More brilliant just because he’s more successful?”
“No.” Ruth shook her head. “More brilliant just because he is. Don’t get me wrong, Pete’s a great, solid guy. Any woman would be lucky to have him in her corner. He’s steady and he’s a hard worker, but…he and Max and nothing alike. They look a little like one another, but that’s it.”
Nicole’s gaze rested on the rich table cloth in front of her. “I guess different kids get different things genetically.”
The other woman nodded. “Not that Pete’s a slouch. He writes saleable non-fiction. Does very well for himself—and me. He’s actually getting a big non-fiction career award in the next few weeks. But he still doesn’t feel…you know, as good.”
Finishing her muffin, Nicole pondered. “So Pete’s grown up in his younger brother’s shadow and he can’t get over it.”
“There’s more to it than that,” Ruth said, looking uncomfortable as she reached for the carafe of orange juice. “Their pare
nts weren’t really warm-hearted people. They missed Pete’s wedding—they’ve just never been a close family. I mean, I don’t think Max has seen Pete’s son since he was a toddler and he’s six or seven now. Ryan plays on the same tee-ball team as my son, Josh.”
“That’s so sad.” Nicole put down her muffin and stared at Ruth. She couldn’t imagine having a sibling and being uninvolved in his life to the point of not knowing his son.
“Yes,” Ruth said. “It is sad, but it’s been that way a long time—a lot of water under the bridge—and there’s not much anyone can do about it.”
Watching the woman, Nicole thought about Max with all his acclaim and all his money. She’d teased him about his lifestyle, but he was a tremendously isolated man. Despite the lawsuit he still held over her father’s head, she couldn’t help pitying him.
* * *
Two days later, Nicole switched off the television and turned to leave the small sitting area.
“I can’t believe you choose to spend your time watching talk shows,” Max commented as she walked past him, headed for the office.
Reacting to the inference in his words, she stiffened, saying defensively, “Johnna! isn’t just a talk show. She’s not your typical sleazy host.”
He made a soft scoffing noise in his throat. “Next Week! Pimps Who Pierce Their Armpits.”
Glaring over her shoulder at him, Nicole said, “Johnna doesn’t sink that low. She does uplifting, spiritual themes.”
“Even worse. Just what the world needs—another housewife from Boise getting her hair highlighted for free,” Max mocked following her as she went in and sat down in front of the computer.
“She doesn’t just do make-overs,” Nicole informed him loftily as she went in and sat down at the computer, “although a good haircut and the right make-up can make a woman feel like a new person. Johnna! also does shows on children’s books and meditation and she has experts who help people change their lives!”