Mad About the Man (9 page)

“That's right. Li
-lah,
” she said, stretching out the name. “How long did it last with her?”

He thought for a moment. “About six weeks. It wasn't anything serious.”

Especially not after he'd run into Brie again. He'd broken it off with Lila after his lunch with Brie and was glad he had, considering the nasty rant Lila had started when she'd figured out she was being dumped. But he'd warned her from the start that he didn't do commitment and that they were just having fun. Guess she hadn't been ready yet to find someone new to keep her amused.

“I think six months is the longest you've ever been with anybody.” Daphne drank the last of her coffee. “If you don't count Ellen, that is.”

“I don't.” His voice was hard, the subject a closed one.

“And you're sure you have no interest in ever getting married again?”

“Zero point zero percent.”

“But what if you meet someone and really fall in love?”

He shrugged. “Even if I did, it still doesn't mean I'd want to get married. Been there, done that, end of story. Anyway, considering what you've been through, I'd think you'd be the last person out there waving her pom-poms and cheering on the institution of marriage. Surely you don't have an interest in going there again?”

Their waiter approached and refilled his and Daphne's cups with fresh hot coffee. Daphne waited until he'd gone, taking an extra minute to stir in cream and sugar.

“I might,” she said slowly. “If I met the right person. In the meantime, the business is doing great, I love living on the shore, and I'm having way too much fun being single to worry about serious things like whether I'll ever tie the knot again.”

“That's right. You're having fun. I'm having fun. Let's agree we're both happy exactly the way we are.” He flipped open the leather holder containing the bill and did a quick scan before signing the slip inside. “You finished?”

She drank another swallow of coffee, then reached for the last sugarcoated square of passion fruit gelée that sat on the ultramodern entremets plate. “Seems a shame to waste it.” She popped the confection in her mouth and smiled.

Maddox shook his head and smiled back.

I
t was Thursday afternoon nearly a week later when Brie's office phone buzzed. With her mind squarely focused on a corporate spreadsheet analysis she was reviewing, she pushed the speaker button with only partial attention.

“Yes? What is it, Gina?” she asked her administrative assistant. She didn't take her eyes off the screen, typing in a couple of notations.

“Sorry to interrupt, Brie, but there is a client here to see you.”

“A client? I don't have any appointments today. Tell them I'm sorry but they'll have to come back.”

“I did, but he says he needs to see you now. It's Mr. Monroe.” Her admin added the last part in a kind of stage whisper.

Monroe? Here? Now?

What did he want?

Whatever it was, she supposed she would have to see him. He was a significant new client and however much she wished she could tell him to schedule an appointment and come back another day, she worried about the blowback, and the reaction of the other partners, if she did.

She swallowed a sigh. “All right. Give me two minutes, then send him in.”

After typing in a final comment and marking her place, she clicked the electronic file closed, then enabled a sleep corner that brought up a screen saver of the law firm's blue and gold logo. She shoved a handful of stray pens into a caddy, retaining one, which she set atop a bright yellow ruled legal pad.

Gina's quiet tap came at the open door, and there stood Maddox Monroe, waiting just behind her administrative assistant. He towered over the diminutive brunette, looking undeniably attractive in a gray three-piece suit with a white pocket square and a dark eggplant-colored tie. He'd gotten his hair trimmed recently, yet a stray piece lay tumbled over his forehead; it practically begged to be brushed back.

She ignored the impulse, curling her hands into relaxed fists as she stood and came around from behind her desk. “Mr. Monroe, what a pleasant surprise.”

He quirked a brow, plainly amused by her carefully polite greeting.

“Come in and have a seat.” She gestured toward a comfortable corner grouping of sofa, chairs, and coffee table. “What can I get you to drink? Water? Soda? Coffee?”

“Nothing, thank you.” Monroe went to take a seat on the sofa.

Brie followed, perching on one of the chairs. She waited until Gina left before she dropped the customer service routine. “So, why are you here? Is this business or personal? And I hope you're going to say business.”

“Is that any way to speak to your newest, most important client?”

“No, but it's how I'm speaking to you. What's up, Monroe?”

“Maddox.” He met her eyes. “You used to call me Maddox.”

“I used to call you a whole lot of things, including Mad Bastard and Ox Breath—oh, and Creepface—but I never had the nerve to use any of them to your face and it was a long time ago. ‘Monroe' seems preferable now and far more politically correct under the circumstances.”

He gave her a crooked half smile. “I suppose I deserve that, Brie-Brie, considering some of the taunts I used to make about you.”

“Hmm, such as calling me a creamy little cheese?”

“Well, you did look smooth and luscious, even to a smart-ass seventh grader. But I apologize now for any hurt I may have caused.”

She sat, surprised not only by his apology but by his apparent sincerity as well. Did he really mean it? Was he sorry for the way he'd once treated her? Even if he wasn't, it seemed shallow and immature to continue nursing a grudge over things they'd done when they'd been children. Time to move on. Time to act like adults.

“Apology accepted. Maddox.”

“Good.” He relaxed back, laying an arm along the back of the sofa. “Ox Breath? Really?”

She smirked. “Ox Brains too; and
that
was
very
accurate, since you got As in every damned class without studying.”

“I had to crack the books hard in college, so don't feel bad. And I didn't graduate from Harvard and Harvard Law.”

She saw his gaze move across to her diplomas displayed on the east-facing wall. They were arranged near a large, attractive landscape painting of Connecticut in the fall, the setting not far from where she'd grown up.

And he had as well.

“So, is this just a personal visit? Did Daphne get back home okay?”

He looked at her again. “She did. She's back at the B and B making blueberry scones and homemade jams, scrubbing toilets and putting fresh sheets on guest room beds.”

“You probably shouldn't let her hear you talk about her work that way.”

“She'd be the first to say she's the goddess of all things domestic. I'm very proud of her. Her business is small but thriving. As for your question, I did have another reason for dropping in on you.” Pausing, he reached into his interior jacket pocket and withdrew a folded sheath of papers. He held it out to her. “This was delivered to me yesterday.”

Brie accepted it, then leaned back to peruse the contents. She said nothing as she scanned the document, taking note of the name of the rival law firm, whose reputation was nearly as good as MMP's. For them to take a case like this, they must smell blood in the water, or at least the potential for a hefty payout.

“You're being sued for fifty million dollars.” Her surprise didn't show on her face or in her voice; she'd learned long ago how to hide her reactions, especially in front of a client. “This man . . . this”—she glanced down to locate the plaintiff's name—“Roger Mergenfeld. He says he was a partner in your company and that he was driven out. He claims he is entitled to half of your business but will accept fifty million dollars in exchange for his waiving any current or future interest in the corporation.”

“He's a greedy little weasel, that's what he is. He isn't entitled to a penny.”

“I can see you have strong feelings on the subject. I have to ask, though, does his complaint have any merit? Was he your partner?”

Maddox's jaw clenched, teeth grinding. “He was, but it was a long time ago when he and I were both starting out. We opened the first M Hotel together in Santa Barbara, California. Roger put up most of the money, an inheritance he'd gotten from his aunt. When the hotel took off and I wanted to expand, he said it was too much work and trouble and that he wanted out. He'd rather surf and write music.

“He's always been a wannabe rocker. So, I paid him back his initial investment plus a fair cut of the profits to that point. He seemed happy and I was glad to be on my own, free to make my own decisions without any one else's say-so. I assumed that was the end of the matter.”

“Is this lawsuit the first time you've heard from him since then?”

Maddox shook his head. “No. He started writing and calling me about six months ago. He sold a couple songs, but his solo music career isn't going well apparently, and, from what my investigators discovered, he's burned through all but a few thousand dollars of his money.”

She jotted down a few notes on the legal pad. “How much was the original payout you gave him?”

“Seven hundred and fifty thousand. Five hundred for the initial investment and two fifty for his share of the business. I had everything valued at the time, so it was more than fair.”

“Did you put everything in writing including the dissolution of the partnership?”

“I did. We used a lawyer, not one of your caliber, but he seemed legitimate.”

She nodded. “I'll need to see all that paperwork. The contracts, valuations, separation agreements, everything you have from that time, even notes. From the sound of it, he's just casting out lures, hoping he'll get a bite. But I can't say for sure whether there's any merit to his claim until I've started a review.”

“He doesn't have a claim. I paid him what he was entitled to.”

She met his eyes. “Yes. But the firm he's hired is a good one and I doubt they'd have taken his case unless they think there's a chance of a settlement at the very least.”

He scowled.

“Don't worry. Send over everything you have and I'll get on it right away. Hopefully all I'll have to do is send a cease and desist letter and maybe threaten to countersue and they'll decide to drop the whole thing.”

“Good. I'm relying on you to take care of it, Brie.”

“That's why you hired me.”

She stood.

He did as well, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Now, back to the personal.”

“We have nothing personal to discuss.” She went behind her desk.

“Of course we do.” He smiled. “You still owe me dinner. How about tonight?”

“I never promised to go to dinner with you. Besides, you just added a huge amount of work to my already full schedule. I don't have time for dinner.”

“Of course you do.” He flattened his hands on her desk and leaned forward. “You've got to eat. Why not with me?”

“I'll order something in and eat here.” She looked into his rich brown eyes. “Go away, Monroe.”

“Maddox,” he reminded, his voice low and dangerously appealing.

“Go away, Maddox.”

“I'm a client. Surely you wine and dine clients?”

“The firm does. Would we be discussing more firm business, then? Maybe I should invite a couple of the other partners. I'm sure they'd love to tag along.”

“Do you always aim for the jugular, counselor?”

A genuine smile broke over her face. “Every chance I get. Now I really do need to get back to work. Surely you have business to attend to, or do you let your subordinates do all the heavy lifting these days?”

“Like I said, straight for the jugular.”

She laughed and waved him out.

To her surprise, he went, looking far too tempting for words.

With an inward sigh, she watched until he disappeared into the hallway, and wondered when he'd gone from detestable to
GQ
delicious.

Frowning, she sank into her Aeron chair and clicked her computer back on. With a focus she'd cultivated in law school, she put Maddox firmly out of her mind.

B
rie took the train up to Connecticut the following Thursday, leaving the office in time to snag a seat with a table so she could spread out while she did some work along the way.

Ivy and James's wedding was that Saturday afternoon and family and friends were arriving from all corners of the globe. James's parents had flown in from Bora-Bora, arriving only two nights before, and an aunt from the Grayson side of the family had come all the way from Tierra del Fuego, where she was studying migratory birds.

Tomorrow would be a busy day with the rehearsal at five, followed by the rehearsal dinner, which was being held at a fine-dining restaurant in a lovely old historic mansion.

Since Brie didn't have a car, her brother had volunteered to pick her up at the train station. P.G. was waiting on the platform. His russet hair glinted red-brown in the bright June sunlight, his strong, intelligent features seeming to grow more attractive with each year. His blue eyes were full of patient good humor, which was a good thing considering the pair of children who were practically jigging at his side with pent-up excitement. The kids screamed, “Auntie Brie, Auntie Brie” the moment they saw her step off the train, racing like a pair of lunatics to grab her for hugs and kisses.

She laughed and caught them both to her for a hard squeeze, ruffling nine-year-old Brian's brown hair, then bending low to give six-year-old Heather a smacking kiss on the cheek. Heather giggled, her auburn curls dancing around her fair-skinned cheeks, while Brian launched into a story about a new video game he'd just gotten that was “super gnarly,” and how soon did she think they could play?

“I doubt your grandmother is going to cut either one of us enough slack for video games right now.”

Brian let out a loud, deeply put-upon sigh. “I know. Grammy caught me ‘idling' yesterday and made me fill about a bazillion little white bags with lavender seeds. My hands smelled like a girl when I was done.”

“That would be the worst ever, huh?” Brie said, hiding a sarcastic smile.

“Yeah.”

“I like smelling like a girl,” Heather piped with a proud smile.

“You would, twerp, 'cause you are one.” Brian smirked.

Heather's face fell.

“Brian, what did I say about not calling your sister names?”

P.G. sent his son a stern look.

“Sorry, Dad.” Brian scuffed a tennis shoe against the concrete and looked down. “Sorry, hair ball.”

“Brian.”

“Sorry, Heather.”

Brie hid another smile. “You know, Heather, I'm a girl. I like smelling girlie too sometimes.”

Heather beamed and tucked her small hand inside Brie's.

Brie looked up again and met P.G.'s eyes. “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself.” P.G. stepped forward to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “How are you doing?”

“Good. Better obviously than you.”

P.G. rolled his eyes. “The house is a zoo; you wouldn't believe. This wedding prep is driving everyone crazy.”

“Of course it is. It wouldn't be a wedding otherwise.”

He laughed and relaxed, then leaned over to take her bag. He extended the handle as far as it would go, then angled it to roll on a pair of small, built-in wheels.

“Can I pull it, Dad?” Brian gave P.G. a hopeful look.

“I don't know. Can you?”

“
May
I pull it?” Brian said, correcting his grammar. “I'm strong. Please. Please let me do it.”

“Famous last words,” Brie murmured softly to her brother. “In a couple more years, you'll be begging him to do stuff like this.”

P.G. met her eyes and grinned. Then he looked down again at his eager young son. “Sure, why not? Here you go, kiddo. All yours.”

With Brian and the suitcase leading the way, the four of them walked along the platform and out through the station to the parking lot beyond.

“Caroline decided not to come?” Brie said after they reached P.G.'s SUV and popped the trunk to stow her bag.

“She's back at the house, napping.”

“She's okay, right?”

Caroline, P.G.'s wife, was a cancer survivor. Diagnosed with uterine cancer roughly two years earlier, she'd undergone a series of grueling treatments, including a couple of experimental ones. Everyone had feared the worst, along with Caroline herself, who'd been quietly preparing those she loved best for the day she would no longer be with them. But then, to everyone's joy and relief, she'd started getting better.

She'd looked so healthy and happy the last time Brie had seen her that it was hard to believe she'd ever been sick at all. Surely the cancer wasn't back.

P.G. laid a reassuring hand on Brie's arm, obviously reading her alarm. “Hey, she's great. Really.”

He waited while Heather and Brian clambered into the backseat of the car and shut the door; then he continued. “She just saw the doc three weeks ago and got a clean bill of health. She's still in remission and everything looks good.”

“Then why is she tired?”

“'Cause she's been doing too much and running on too little sleep. Heather had some twenty-four-hour bug a couple days ago, which kept both of us up most of the night. Then Caro offered to help Mom and Ivy out with last-minute details and didn't get to bed until nearly two this morning. I made her stay home and nap.”

His face took on a fierce expression. “I told her if she didn't get some rest, I'd get out a hammer and nails and some boards and seal her in the bedroom. Since I'm an architect and know my way around a jobsite, I could do it.”

Brie smiled. “You're a good husband.”

He shrugged. “Caro makes it easy. She's my anchor and I can't imagine life without her. Every day we have together is a blessing. I know it now, more than ever. I cherish each and every moment we have.”

P.G. blinked and looked away, then reached up to slam the trunk closed.

Brie said nothing as she walked around to the passenger side of the car, thinking how lucky he and Caroline were to have each other in spite of the problems they faced.

What must it be like to love and trust someone with that kind of depth? To know that the person you loved more than life would never desert you, would never deceive you, and would always be there no matter what dark storms appeared on the horizon.

She'd loved someone once and he'd left her heart a wasteland. Yet for all her adoration, she realized that she hadn't known a fraction of the devotion P.G. and Caroline shared together each and every day. She'd never experienced that kind of deep mutual respect and affection. Or a desire that went far beyond the flesh and into the very spirit itself.

Ah, to love and be loved like that.

What a joy.

What a sorrow should it ever be lost.

She worried that real love was never going to happen for her. That she would always be alone, taking more comfort and satisfaction from her work than she ever did from a relationship.

She'd been burned and emotionally held men at arm's length. She wanted someone strong enough to tear down those invisible walls. A man who would love her enough to fight for her—for them. And she wanted to feel the same way in return.

Foolishly, perhaps, she wanted it all.

She wondered what Maddox Monroe would think of her sentimental yearning. He'd probably laugh and make one of his patented smart-assed remarks. Except his remarks hadn't been so smart-assed lately. In fact, he'd said a few things that were so nice, so tempting, that he'd made her downright tingle.

But what the hell was she doing thinking about Ol' Mad Ox?

She was here in Connecticut with her family, gathered to celebrate her little sister's special day of happiness as she and one of her oldest friends joined their lives in marriage. She was going to enjoy herself and not let annoying thoughts, and even more annoying people like Maddox Monroe, ruin the occasion. This wedding was a Maddox-free zone and she was going to make the most of his absence.

*   *   *

The Grayson house was brimming with noise and activity when P.G. parked in the long driveway, which was filled with a dozen other vehicles.

Off to the side in the vast green backyard, Brie could see a huge white tent that was being set up for the wedding reception, workers moving busily about their labors. She'd heard enough about the wedding plans to know that a romantic wooden arbor was also being built in a lush portion of the garden where roses and peonies and daylilies flourished in abundance. The arbor itself would be covered in freshly cut white and pink flowers in time for the ceremony.

Ahead in the driveway, a trio of men were off-loading chairs and tables from the back of a white van. More fresh flowers, china, crystal, and linens were scheduled for delivery in the morning. Brie knew the day would be long and eventful and she planned to assist her mother and Ivy in whatever way she could.

The homey scents of lemons and roasting chickens greeted her as she walked through a side door that led directly to the kitchen. P.G. and the kids had gone in the front and were busy taking her suitcase up to her old childhood bedroom, where she would be staying through the weekend.

Her mother stood in front of the stove, stirring something in a large saucepan. Two pies, not long out of the oven—peach and cherry from the look of them—waited on cooling racks on the big center island. A tall coconut layer cake stood on a delicate pink Fostoria glass cake stand that had been handed down from her maternal great-grandmother. Brie's mouth watered at the delectable sight.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her mother turned her head, her eyes lighting with pleasure. “Brie! You're here!” Setting down the long-handled wooden spoon, she hurried over to envelop Brie in a warm hug, which Brie returned with enthusiasm.

“How was your trip?” her mother asked.

“Good. The train was crowded, but I found a seat without too much trouble.”

“And worked the whole way up, no doubt. Well, there'll be no legal work this weekend.”

“Just wedding work, huh?” Brie teased.

“Exactly!” Her mother laughed. “My assistant, Edyth, is outside now keeping track of the crew while I get things together in here. I don't know what I'd do without her. She's twenty-five and has more energy than a lightning storm.”

“Kind of like you, Mom.”

Laura waved a hand. “Oh, not the way I used to. Even I'm beginning to slow down.”

“Well, if you are, I haven't seen any signs.”

Her mother chuckled, then went to the refrigerator. She took out a tall pitcher of fresh lemonade, poured a glass, and handed it to Brie.

Brie thanked her and took a long drink, the taste deliciously tart, sweet, and cool on her tongue.

“Assuming you aren't the one who's too tired,” Laura said, “I could use help with dinner.”

“Sure thing.”

Crossing to the large farmhouse sink, Brie soaped and rinsed her hands, then dried them on a bright yellow kitchen towel.

Meanwhile, Laura reached into a basket on the far counter, then gathered several thick, emerald green zucchini, a plump, shiny purple eggplant, a pair of large golden onions, a clove of garlic that crinkled in its papery skin, and several ruby and yellow heirloom tomatoes. She rinsed the vegetables in the sink, then passed them to Brie, who had already gone to get a cutting board and a knife.

“Ratatouille?” Brie confirmed.

“Of course. What goes better with roast chicken and buttered mashed potatoes than a big bowl of ratatouille?”

“Just-picked asparagus?”

“We're having that too.”

Brie set to work while Laura returned to the stove, where it looked and smelled like she was making soup. Wedding soup appropriately enough, the rich, fragrant chicken stock simmering with onions and escarole. Tiny meatballs waited in a bowl nearby. They would be added at the end, along with beaten egg and extra salt and pepper to taste. Summer or winter, Laura always liked to start a meal with soup, and this was another family favorite.

“P.G. said he'd take my bag upstairs,” Brie remarked. “Then he and the kids are heading out again to pick up Caroline from their house. So, when is everyone else rolling in?”

“Madelyn and Zack and the girls should be here any minute—they called from the road about half an hour ago,” Laura told her. “As for your father, he and your uncle Owen and several of your cousins went out to pick up a few last-minute things. Beer, of course. Apparently I didn't buy enough of the right kind.”

Laura tapped the spoon on the side of the pot. “Your aunt Constance is upstairs sleeping. Jet lag. Or at least she's supposed to be sleeping. She brought a new male friend with her, of course. Ricardo. He's a marine biologist. Very dashing and very Latin.”

Laura's younger sister was a notorious free spirit who believed in the sanctity of marriage—for everyone other than herself. Confirmed single though she might be, she never went without male companionship and seemed to have a new lover with her every time she came for a visit.

Laura went to the kitchen window for some herbs that grew there in small pots. “I told Constance if she breaks the guest room bed, she's paying for it.”

“Mom!”

“What?” Laura's eyes twinkled. “Her driver's license may say she's fifty-two, but she acts like she's your age. You haven't brought a male friend with you, have you?”

Brie resisted the urge to sigh. “No. I think you'd have noticed him by now if I had.”

“A mother can always hope.”

Brie sliced the eggplant with extra force. “So where are the bride and groom? Off stealing a few moments alone?”

“No, they're next door with the Jordans. James's parents are giving Ivy some heirloom crystal and china that has apparently been passed down for generations. Oh, and the keys to a seaside villa in the south of France. Apparently, that's Donald and Sylvia's wedding present to Ivy and James. And one of the places they're going for their honeymoon. James is keeping the other location a secret. He won't even tell me.”