Catering to the Italian Playboy (5 page)

If
he ever remembered who she was.

Sophie collected herself, calmed her clamoring heart, kept her eyes averted – she would
not
look toward the door of his hotel suite – and marched into his office armed with her small handbag and her menus determined to cling to some shred of dignity and prove she could be a professional.

A kind-looking woman greeted her with a smile and an appraising glance in the reception area. “Ms. Westbrook?” When Sophie nodded she continued. “Mr. Rinaldi is expecting you. Go on in.” She motioned to the closed door behind her desk.

Sophie walked to the door and hesitated. Shouldn’t she knock first? She raised her hand to give it a light tap when it swung open.

“Excellent, you’re here.” Max grinned stepping aside so she could enter. “Make yourself comfortable and I’ll be with you in a sec.” He pointed toward a small leather couch against the wall while he paced the toast-colored carpet holding his cell to his ear. His tone sharpened as he spoke into the phone. “No. That is unacceptable. I want them here by tomorrow at noon. Not a second later.”

Sophie crossed the room clutching her folder to her chest, settled onto the couch and set her handbag on the floor so she could sort the papers in the folder. His office, though sparsely decorated, blended culture and modern art. A couple of abstract paintings hung on the wall above the expansive oak desk. A small sculpture – possibly a Tiki god – sat on the end table by the couch. One potted plant, in dire need of water, stood wilting in the corner.

“I don’t really care how you get it here. You can fly it over on a crow’s back if you want. Just get it here. By noon. Tomorrow.” He flipped the top down on his cell. “Sorry about that. A delivery mix-up.” He sank to the couch beside her. His thigh brushed against her leg and delicious tingles danced along her skin.

Sophie swallowed hard. Did he have to sit so close? The warmth from his thigh was doing strange things to her leg. Then, of course, there was the problem of his cologne. Every movement no matter how subtle sent a whiff of pure heaven – or was it just his masculine essence? – her way. God, he smelled divine.

Max shifted on the couch and another wave of heaven drifted her way. Sophie’s toes curled inside her sensible flats.

“So what did you have in mind to whet my appetite?”

Sophie blinked. Whet his appetite? Was he talking about…

Food, you idiot. He’s talking about food.

Of course! The menus. A nice safe topic that had nothing whatsoever to do with hard muscles, exotic masculine spice or body heat.

“Mr. Rinaldi, I–”

“Call me, Max.” His boyish grin crinkled the corners of his eyes and sent a new tingle down her spine. “No need for formalities unless you’re an investor shelling out millions of dollars.”

Sophie’s cheeks flamed. The last time she’d used his Christian name he’d been anything but boyish and she had been begging for him to take her over the edge of insanity.

And he had. Several times.

“Max then…” Good lord, when did her voice become husky? Sophie cleared her throat. “I’ve put together a couple of sample menus for you. We can go with either one or you can choose some items from each.” She handed him the two papers from her folder and hoped he didn’t notice her hand shaking. “I’d go with the second one myself.”

Max took the papers, his fingers brushing against hers ever so lightly. Another spasm shot through Sophie’s stomach at the butterfly touch. She shoved her hands in her lap and prayed he didn’t notice the effect he had on her.

He didn’t. Or at least he didn’t appear to. Max bent his head to read the options on each list. After a few
mmm hmm
’s and
hmm
’s he finally lifted his head. Dove-gray eyes – the mirror image of her son’s – stared into hers. Sophie’s stomach gave another flip. Then a flop. “I agree. I prefer the roasted lamb to braised pork. I think I’ll go with Menu B.”

“Do you…” Sophie’s mouth went dry as his eyes continued watching her with interest. She swallowed hard and refused to let his sensuous mouth and bedroom eyes distract her. “Do you want to change anything?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing.” His teasing, silky tone brought more heat to her cheeks. “Everything is perfect. Just the way it is.”

Sophie swallowed again. She had the sneaky suspicion he wasn’t just referring to the menu. 

“Fine. I’ll order everything tonight so it will be here in plenty of time for your party. You did say it is next Friday?”

“Friday. Six o’clock sharp here at the hotel. You do have the correct meeting room this time?” A smile played at the corner of his mouth taking the sting out of his question.

“Yes, of course. The Venetian Room. Third floor.”

“Good. We wouldn’t want any more mix-ups, would we?”

Sophie grinned in spite of herself. “No. I don’t think I could afford to cater anymore free gigs.” 

Max chuckled. “It doesn’t bode well for business, I agree.”

“Friday then. Felicity and I will be here around four to set everything up.” Sophie closed her folder and stood to leave.

“Sounds good.” Max shoved to his feet as well and Sophie couldn’t help but notice he towered over her petite five-foot four-inch frame by at least six or seven inches. “I’ll see you Friday.”

Sophie left feeling a little more optimistic about the whole situation. Max seemed reasonable enough and so far – knock on wood – he didn’t appear to remember their little tryst.

An unexpected shiver of disappointment skittered down her spine. The fact he didn’t seem to remember her did chip at her self-esteem a bit. Being
that
forgettable wasn’t exactly an ego booster. But, it
was
for the best, she reminded herself firmly. If all went well she would only have to see him one more time, then she would be home free.

And Max would never learn he had son.

* * *

“Mommy!”

The shrill cry spurred Sophie to her feet in a flash. She shoved her knitting to the side and hurried to the bathroom in their small apartment to find Alex sitting in the bathtub furiously splashing water on his face.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” Fear anchored in her chest as she frantically searched his face and limbs for blood or bruises. Oh, God! Had he found her razor?

“Shampoo in my eyes. Burns.” As if on cue Alex promptly burst into tears and pummeled the water with his hands.

“Here, darling.” Sophie pulled a towel from the shelf and wiped his face. “I told you to wait and let me help you wash your hair. You’re not quite big enough yet.” She planted a kiss on the top of his head to take the sting out of her scolding.

“Am too. I’m five.” He sniffled and set his chin in the same stubborn way Max did when he wanted to make a point. “I’m in kindergarten.”

Sophie smiled inwardly. Her little guy was becoming more and more like his father every day, which only proved some things were definitely hereditary. “Yes, and you’d probably rather not go to school with soapy red eyes tomorrow either.” Still, she couldn’t help but smile at his newfound independence as she rinsed the rest of the shampoo from his hair.

The doorbell chimed just as she finished. Sophie frowned. It was almost eight. Who would be calling at this hour?

“Ok, little man.” She lifted him from the claw-foot tub and set him on the pale green bathmat. “Towel off and get dressed. It’s time for bed. I’ll be in there in a few minutes to read you a story and tuck you in.”

The doorbell chimed again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Keep your socks on,” Sophie muttered to herself crossly as she padded across the hardwood floor in the living room. She peeked out the peephole and her heart plummeted to her toes.

Max!

Oh, dear Lord! Not now! Not here! Not while Alex was still awake!

Sophie stood rooted to the spot as the blasted doorbell continued to chime.

“Aren’t you going to answer it, Mommy?” Alex appeared in the hallway dressed in his dinosaur pajamas watching her with a puckered brow. “It might be ‘portant.”

“Yes, of course. Now, go get in the bed. I’ll be right there.” Sophie said in a hushed tone. When he didn’t move she nodded toward the end of the hall. “Scoot. It’s almost past your bedtime.”

She waited until Alex disappeared to his room before opening the door.

“I’m sorry to bother you so late, but you left this in my office.” Max held up her wallet. “It must have fallen out of your handbag.” He flashed a charming grin. “I promise everything is still intact. I only opened it to find out who it belonged to. Your address was on the driver’s license so I thought I’d bring it to you.”

Wonderful. He’d seen her driver’s license picture. The one that made her look like she had taken a mug shot after a three-day crime spree.

Right. And the horrid picture on your license is the main concern here? Not the fact father and son are only a few feet apart separated by a thin wall and your entire life could fall apart at any given second. Get it together, Sophie!

“Th–Thank you. You didn’t have to come all this way.” The Rinaldi was at the opposite end of town. Why would he go out of his way to bring her the wallet? “You could have just called. I would have picked it up tomorrow.”

“I thought you might need it in case of an emergency. I’m sure all your credit cards and insurance cards are in there though I didn’t actually look at anything past the license.” Max casually leaned against her door frame. His eyes traveled the length of her and for the first time Sophie realized she wearing her grungy around-the-house sweatpants. The ones that were two sizes too big, but oh so comfortable.

Why, oh why did she have to look like something the dog drug up and the cat wouldn’t have when Max looked immaculate as usual in his sharp tailored suit, probably imported from some expensive overseas tailor. Not to mention that knee-weakening cologne drifting into her living room.

Max reached into the breast pocket of his suit. “I brought you something.” He handed her a small wrapped box.

Puzzled Sophie opened the top then exclaimed, “Oh! You shouldn’t have.”

“Yours was broken. I figured you could use a new one.” Max’s tanned face reddened slightly as if he were embarrassed.

Sophie lifted the silver chained watch from the box. It was beautiful. Not flashy. Just a simple elegant piece. “Thank you, but I can’t accept this. It far too expensive–”

“Yes, you can. You need a watch. I need you to be at the party on time. It’s as much for me as it is for you.” His eyes crinkled at the corners. “It’s no big deal.”

Actually, it was a big deal to her. No man had ever given her anything so exquisite before. Not even her high school sweetheart whom she’d had a semi-serious relationship with for a few months right after they graduated high school. Sophie held the watch in her palm. It really was a beautiful piece of jewelry and not an appropriate gift from a practical stranger, but when he put it that way how could she refuse.

“Thank you. That was very thoughtful of you. It’s beautiful.”

“Glad you like it.”

He didn’t appear in any hurry to leave and uneasiness crept over her. Did he expect her to ask him in? Was it impolite of her to not offer him a drink or at least a cup of coffee for his trouble? 

Before she could dwell on it further, she felt a tug on the bottom of her sweatshirt. “Mommy, are you coming to read my story?”

Time crawled to a stop. Sophie’s breath froze in her chest. Seconds – which felt more like hours – passed before she was able to find her voice. Even then it sounded more like a croak. “I’ll be right there, sweetie. Go on back to bed.”

While Alex trudged back to his room, her eyes locked with Max’s. First, she saw shock. Then denial. Then raw, unbridled fury. She shivered at the storm brewing in his eyes.

“Exactly when did you plan on telling me?” His quiet deadly tone iced her blood.

Sophie clutched the watch as her world suddenly began to spin out of control. “What do you mean?” The room swayed and a wave of dizziness grabbed her by the throat.

“He’s my son.” Max snarled with contempt. “Why didn’t you tell me you got pregnant from our fling six years ago?”

** FOUR **

Max clenched his fist to keep from slamming it into her apartment door. How could she have done this? All this time he’d been worried about her remembering how he’d taken advantage of her during her time of grief and all along she’d known exactly who he was.

And had his son as proof.

This changed everything. His honorable intentions flew out the window. He wanted answers. Now!

“I – uh…” Sophie licked her lips. “How do you know–”

“Drop the charade, sugar. He’s definitely mine and I’ll get a DNA test to prove it if necessary. He looks
exactly
like I did as a child and he’s about the right age.” Max thrust he apartment door open and brushed past her without an invitation. “I want to know what the hell kind of game you are playing?”

Sophie stiffened, green eyes snapping with indignation. “What are you talking about? I’m not playing any kind of game. And keep your voice down. You’ll upset Alex.”

Alex.

His son’s name was Alex.

Max shoved a hand through his hair. He needed a drink. Preferably vodka. Straight up. Better yet, the whole bottle.

“Let me get Alex settled in and we’ll talk.” Sophie blew a breath between her lips. “Make yourself comfortable.” She gestured toward her couch before padding down the hall.

Comfortable? After finding out he’s a father? Not likely. He’d probably never be
comfortable
again.

Max loosened his tie – damn thing suddenly seemed to be choking the life out of him – then collapsed onto the brown-and-orange plaid couch. The squeaky piece of furniture must have come with the apartment because no one with all their marbles would have chosen such an ugly sofa.

Max could feel a headache coming on. The kind he got when he’d been staring at bottom lines for far too long. He rubbed the back of his neck hoping to relieve some of the tension.

It didn’t work. Then reality caught up with him and the realization kicked him in the gut like a cat 5 hurricane.