Who Gets To Marry Max?. Neesa Hart

thought you might have a guest.”

      He shook his head. “Not up here. I don’t entertain guests in this room.” He met her gaze, waited to see if she recognized the significance of the statement. Awareness flickered in her gaze. Satisfied, he waved the bottle at her. “Will it change your mind if I tell you this is iced tea?”

      Sidney’s eyebrows lifted.

      “It’s a quirk of mine,” Max continued. “I don’t drink on the job either.”

      “Aren’t you always on the job?”

      He gave her a knowing look. “That’s why I keep tea instead of bourbon in my decanters.” He poured her a glass. “I’m surprised Philip didn’t tell you.”

      “He told me everything he thought I needed to know to help make this a successful weekend for you. He doesn’t tell me your personal business.”

      Max pondered that. Philip had told him certain details about Sidney’s life, it was true, but when he thought about it, he really knew very little about her personal habits and preferences. He nodded. “I’m sure he doesn’t. That’s one of the reasons I like him.”

      “Uncle Philip is very professional, and he cares for you. You’re lucky to have him.”

      “I know I am. Smart people surround themselves with smart people who are strong where they aren’t. I’m sure you’ve learned that in business.”

      She nodded. “That’s why Kelly’s in charge of client relations, and I stick to making chocolates.”

      Max’s gaze narrowed. There was something significant in the statement, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d never been particularly gifted at reading the nuances of conversation. Especially not from the female of the species. “Something like that,” he admitted.

      Shifting slightly in the chair, Sidney waved a hand in the general direction of the party. “The more you tell me, the more I can help you.”

      A smile played at the corner of his mouth. She was, indeed, Philip’s niece. Philip Grant’s personal motto was: Knowledge Is Ammunition. “That’s probably true. Are you sure you’re willing to help me?”

      She looked surprised. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

      “Against your better judgment?”

      “No, of course not.”

      “How did your staff feel when you told them they’d be working for ‘Mad Max?”’

      Her lips pressed together in a tight line. “They were pleased.”

      “I’ll bet.”

      “You pay very well. They were pleased.”

      Max shrugged. In a burst of restless energy, he slipped open the buttons of his double-breasted tuxedo jacket, then dropped into his desk chair. “Did you tell them I’m prone to fits of brooding and unmanageable temper and that most of my acquaintances are scared to death of me?”

      “No.” There was firm resolution in her voice. “I did not. I don’t indulge in spreading rumors.”

      Had her expression been any less serious, he might have laughed. She meant it, he realized, and the thought warmed him as little else could. “No, I don’t suppose you do.”

      Sidney watched him for long seconds, then settled back in her chair. “So what else is riding on this besides a merger with Edward Fitzwater?”

      Max exhaled. “Just about everything,” he told her. “I’m concerned about Greg.”

      In the next few minutes, Max carefully explained to her how much he wanted his brother’s relationship with Lauren Fitzwater to progress. Yes, he admitted, the merger represented a significant gain for Loden Enterprises, but his true concern was for his brother’s welfare. Greg needed stability in his life, and Lauren would give it to him. If Philip were there, Max knew, he would have done whatever he could to ensure that Greg’s engagement came off without a hitch—Alice Northrup-Bowles notwithstanding.

      When he finished his long explanation, he gave Sidney a cautious look. “Sorry. That’s probably more than you bargained for.”

      “Actually, it’s what I expected.” Sidney tilted her head to one side in a manner painfully reminiscent of that night in the library. “Max, can I ask you something?”

      He sensed danger, but deliberately dismissed it. “Sure.” He glanced out the window again.

      “Why are you so sure this is right for your brother?”

      His hand tightened on his glass. “Family is important to everyone, Sidney.”

      “By family, you mean marriage.”

      “For Greg I do.”

      “Don’t you think that’s up to him to decide?”

      “I know my brother. I know exactly what he needs.” He didn’t bother to explain that the same instincts that drove him in business told him that his brother’s life had reached a crucial turning point. A few more years, and Greg the immature young man was going to become their father—bitter, broke and completely alone.

      “I see.”

      He didn’t think he imagined the doubt in her tone and it annoyed him. He turned to face her. “Look, I’ve spent the last ten years taking care of my brother and my two sisters. Sometimes, I’m in a better position to know what’s best for them. In Greg’s case, he has trouble committing himself. If he can find a way to screw this up, he will.”

      “Do you think he’ll make Lauren happy?”

      “Yes.”

      She frowned again. “Will he cheat on her?”

      Max studied her for a few seconds, cursing the man who’d put that pained look in her eyes. Evidently, the memories of her first marriage still stung. She knew firsthand just how devastating infidelity could be. “No. He won’t.”

      “How can you be so sure?”

      “I wouldn’t let him.” His voice held a note of iron resolve, the same tone he used when he made reckless business decisions and dared his staff to question him.

      “You couldn’t stop—”

      Max shook his head. “That’s not what I mean. I mean Greg knows that no one in this family would tolerate it if he cheated on his spouse. We’re not that kind of people, Sidney. He’d have hell to pay if he decided to wander, and Greg’s not extremely fond of paying consequences.”

      She studied him. “That’s an interesting theory.”

      He wasn’t going to argue with her. She couldn’t possibly understand. “It’s the way I do things.”

      As if she sensed the challenge in the words, she gave him a short nod. “I understand.”

      “Then we’re clear on that?”

      “Absolutely. I’m here for you.”

      The slight emphasis nearly undid him. Could she even suspect the effect she was having on him? He searched her expression and found it stubbornly unreadable. Setting his glass on the desk, he leaned toward her. She smelled like chocolate. He found it more arousing than any designer perfume.

      Carefully holding her gaze he said, “I’m counting on it.”

      FROM THE adjacent room, one of Max’s maids, who’d spent an hour on the phone with Philip Grant earlier that evening, smiled as she flicked the lamp on and off three times. She watched her contact, the young bartender near the fountain, for a response. He glanced around, then carefully selected a champagne glass to polish with a soft, white cloth. Understanding the message, the maid nodded to the other young woman in the room before she headed off to intercept Max’s sister Colleen, who was at that moment, according