Who Gets To Marry Max?. Neesa Hart

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      The question shouldn’t have surprised her. Social niceties generally eluded him. “If this weekend is as important as you say, you should be here to entertain them.”

      “My guests expect to sleep until eleven-thirty, then take advantage of my pool, my tennis courts and my bar. If we leave early, I’ll be back for the important stuff. No one will miss me.”

      There was something profoundly sad in that statement. Max had everything money could buy, and none of the things that mattered. Not for the first time, Sidney wondered how, and why, he’d surrounded himself with such superficial people. When Max entered a room, he immediately took up all the available space. Dynamic and compelling, he left a vacuum in his wake. Anyone who failed to notice was a self-absorbed fool. Deliberately, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

      “I rarely do.”

      “So I’ve heard.”

      He tilted his head to one side. “Say yes, Sidney.”

      She hesitated. Why, oh why, did he have this effect on her? What was it the man did that made her want to simply melt into the floor? She’d seen him less than ten times since she’d come to live with her uncle Philip, and every time, he had the same, unnerving effect on her. “Max—”

      He held her gaze with intense scrutiny. “Say yes.”

      It was that boyish charm that did her in. It had never ceased to amaze her that people found Max Loden irascible and ruthless when she found him so irresistible. “Are you sure you can get someone to stay with uncle Philip tonight?”

      He squeezed her hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got a full staff of people in the city who love Philip. In fact, I’ll get Gertie to go over there with some chicken soup. Unless I miss my guess, she’s got a soft spot for your uncle.”

      “He likes her, too.” Her uncle spoke often and warmly of the older woman who took care of Max’s New York penthouse.

      “See? Problem solved. Do you want Charlie to pick up your stuff?”

      “Yes, no—oh, I don’t know. This is too complicated. I can’t think this fast. I like to plan things more than five minutes in advance.”

      “It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just let me take care of everything.”

      Just like he always did, she thought. Max Loden, general manager of the universe, caretaker of the downtrodden. She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t—even prepared a quick list in her mind—but as she prepared to tell him no, he trailed the tip of his index finger along the back of her hand. “Sidney,” he said, his voice a rumbling whisper that set off a fluttering of butterflies in her belly. “I thought you were a customer service fanatic.”

      She was going to lose, she realized. He was going to captivate her, just like he did everyone else. “I am,” she blurted, more to herself than to him.

      If he sensed her inner turmoil, he ignored it—or rather, capitalized on it. “Then make the customer happy.” His thumb found the pulse in her wrist. “Make me happy, Sidney.”

      She could no more resist that pleading tone in his voice than she could fly to the moon. Waging silent war with the warning bells in her head, she hesitated for long seconds, then nodded. Max’s gaze flared with satisfaction as he brushed her hand from the phone and again punched the numbers. With a few efficient words, he set the wheels in motion to take over her life—or her weekend, at least.

      When he pressed the receiver into her hand a few seconds later, she couldn’t meet his gaze as she explained the change in plans to her uncle. He seemed relieved. She frowned at the sound of his racking cough. “Uncle Philip, are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

      “Fine, fine,” the older man told her. “Gertie’s soup can cure anything. How’s Max?”

      Sidney glanced at him. “Stubborn as ever.”

      “Good. I told you that you should stay there. Max is going to need you.” He coughed again. “You can’t imagine how much, Sidney.”

      That made her smile. “I’ll never be able to replace you, you know.”

      “You’ll do fine. Make sure someone pays special attention to Greg Loden.”

      “I know. Keep him away from the gazebo.” According to her uncle, the younger Loden’s favorite seduction spot was the picturesque gazebo in the grove of apple trees near the foot of the estate.

      “And keep the women away from him.”

      “Got it. Anything else?”

      “Don’t let Max turn into a tyrant.”

      “Too late for that.”

      His slight laugh warmed her. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

      “All right. We’ll be there by nine. Good night, Uncle Philip. Promise you’ll call if you need me.”

      “My word, my dear. Good night.”

      “Good night.” Sydney slowly replaced the receiver. She raised her gaze to Max’s. “You win.” He still had that probing look that made her feel oddly transparent. She drew a deep breath.

      “Good.” He pushed open the pantry door. “I guarantee that I’m always in a much better mood when I win. Do you want Charlie to bring you some clothes or not?”

      “I guess not. I can make do for tonight.” Sidney followed him back into the kitchen. Her assistant, Kelly, could lend her whatever she couldn’t scrounge in Philip’s apartment.

      He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as he turned to face her once more. “I’m glad we settled that. And I meant what I said, I’ll double your fee just for giving in.”

      His voice was a sultry whisper that reminded her of a hot summer wind: strangely welcome, and more than a little disconcerting, as if a storm was sure to follow in its wake. Worse, he smiled at her. At the sight, her heart skipped a beat. Max Loden’s smile, she’d long ago determined, was like a well-preserved piece of art: he displayed it on the rarest occasions and it never failed to impress. “I’ll see you later, Sidney.”

      And then he left.

      The room went suddenly still. The vacuum caused by his absence, she mused. Like the aftermath of a hurricane, unnatural silence settled on the bustling kitchen. Sidney turned to find her staff watching her with wary eyes. “What?” she prompted.

      Kelly Lars, her assistant and best friend, shot her a grin. “That was him,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

      Sidney nodded. “Yes. That was Mr. Loden.”

      One of her pastry chefs, a young woman who’d joined Sidney’s team several weeks ago, leaned one hip against the counter and exhaled an audible breath. “Wow.”

      Chip Meyers, who’d worked for Sidney for several years, gave the girl a sympathetic look. “It’s not usually like СКАЧАТЬ