The Sweetest Deal (6 page)

“What?”

“Catherine. Please tell me you aren’t.”

“No!” And then with less force, “No, I’m not.”

“Don’t do it, Max.” She moved toward him, her red sweater clinging to her perfect body like sex in motion.

What would she say if she knew about the deal Grayson had made with him? “My sex life is none of your business.” He did not want to talk about C.C. with her.

“Of course it isn’t, but I like Catherine and I want a chance at a good relationship with her.” Her voice dipped as she added, “And I care about what happens to you.”

“Sure you do. That’s why you stole my ideas and hooked up with Alex Drummond.”

Pain flashed across her face. Or had he imagined it? “I didn’t steal your ideas, Max. I thought you were moving too slow. All I wanted to do was speed things up a bit. I did it to help you.”

“You stripped my credibility with Drummond and he lost confidence in me. That was a major deal, my deal, and you got all the credit.”

Her hazel eyes glistened. “You just walked away, Max. From the project, from your work.” She hesitated, then said in a soft voice, “From me. I’ve always regretted what happened. If I could take it back, I would.”

He wanted to change the subject. “So this thing with Grayson, are you in love with him?”

Candy picked up a blue and silver print tie from the back of a chair and traced the pattern. “You always were a sharp dresser.” Seconds passed and he began to think she wasn’t going to answer his question, which would, of course, answer it. “I do love him,” she said, looking up. “In a calm, steady, admirable way.”

“Kind of like an owner loves his dog?” This was Candy Monroe, the firecracker who could play with the best of them, full out, all out, with heat and passion? She’d never used the words
calm
or
steady
in her life.

“Don’t make fun, please.” She sat in the chair by his desk and absently stroked his tie. “A year ago, I was working on a huge project outside London. Big rush, you know how that is. Three days before I was scheduled to leave, my mother had a minor heart attack. I thought about rescheduling but she was doing so well, I decided to go and return to the States in four weeks.” Her voice fell out flat and empty. “Six days after I left, she suffered a massive heart attack. She died before I could get back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I lost my mother. My sister had to deal with this alone because I was on a different continent. I should have been there and I’ll never forgive myself.”

“You couldn’t have known.” This sad and introspective woman didn’t sound like the Candy he knew.

She swiped at a tear. “When I lost my mother, it was a wake-up call, Max. I quit my job, took time off to spend with my sister and her family. Eventually, I started consulting, but now I don’t jump continents and live out of a suitcase. I travel a few days a month, the rest is done from my office. I met Grayson on a consulting job.”

“And you’re happy?”

A flash of something close to regret crossed her face. “I’m content.” She switched gears quickly. “But I didn’t come here to talk about me. I came to talk to you about Catherine.”

“Catherine?” What could she possibly have to talk to him about?

“Please don’t hurt her.”

“Who says I’m going to hurt her?” The words fell out of nowhere, implying a long-term relationship of some sort, definitely not what Max had in mind. He planned to fulfill his part of the deal and move on, with visitation rights minus a wife.

That’s what he wanted.

Wasn’t it?

“You never mean to hurt anyone, but you do.” She folded his tie and placed it on the desk. “You don’t even realize what you’re doing. We all make it easy on you because we’re so desperate for a piece of you. But there’s something inside you that won’t let you commit. When you walked out on me, I cried for two months.”

Max scrubbed a hand over his face and wished this conversation were over. “I’m not going to hurt her,” he said, as much to himself as to Candy.

“Yes, you will. You won’t mean to, but it will happen.” She stood up, and made her last appeal. “Please, Max. Do us all a favor and leave her alone. She’d never survive you leaving her.”

Roxie Revito stood outside J&R Associates, debating whether or not to confront Rhyder Remmington before or after lunch. She checked her watch. It was 11:35 a.m. C.C. had told her the man was an architect, which meant he probably followed a rigid schedule; lunch at 12:00, not 12:01. And since Roxie needed his full cooperation in order to evaluate him, she didn’t want to annoy him, not that Roxie could annoy a man. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d even mildly irritated one, with the exception of her father. Him she hadn’t spoken to in seven years.

Roxie stuck a double wad of watermelon-flavored gum in her mouth and considered her strategy. Two days earlier she’d contacted Mr. Remmington’s assistant under the pretense of soliciting architects to design a botanical garden for her great aunt, Cecilia Revito, well-known Chicago humanitarian. Okay, so Aunt Cecilia was wandering around Tibet for the next six months, but if she
were
here, she’d be thrilled with the idea of a botanical garden. Of course, Roxie had no desire to involve herself with anything philanthropic, academic, or remotely logical. That life was past. All she wanted to do now was cut, perm, dye and blow dry.

She snapped her gum and blew a monster bubble. Time to do a little detective work for C.C. Roxie pulled open the large stainless rimmed glass door and waltzed inside.

Piece of cake
. Architect or not, Rhyder Remmington was still a man, and men were her specialty.

***

Rhyder checked his watch and permitted himself a half smile. Cecilia Revito’s niece was punctual, a necessity for any reasonable business negotiation. He’d have preferred meeting with Cecilia directly, but the niece would do for now. She was most likely merely a messenger. After all, one couldn’t expect much in the area of gray matter from someone with a name like Roxie. Rhyder winced. The name reminded him of a lead-in to a circus act. Or a stripper.

When the door flew open and Ms. Roxie Revito pounced through, Rhyder realized two things: the woman behind the name was most likely not only part of a circus act, but she was probably a stripper as well. He’d never seen such
I Love Lucy
red hair, spiked short and sprouting out in all directions. He could see the black eyeliner from across the room, framing eyes that could be any color—blue, green, purple. She reminded him of an elf with her pointy chin and upturned nose on a frame that wouldn’t reach his shoulder, even with the spikes.

“Roxie Revito,” she announced in a husky voice, thrusting her small hand at him.

There were rings on every finger, sparkly big ones, round, square, and two on her thumb. Rhyder maneuvered his hand between the geometric designs and shook her hand. Her grip was strong, and surprisingly self-assured. Interesting.

“Rhyder Remmington,” he managed, carefully extricating his hand. “Have a seat.”

“Thank you.”

He pulled out the adjoining chair and sat down. This woman was going to give the go ahead for a multi-million-dollar project? This woman with the red-spiked hair and enough holes in her ears to play connect the dots controlled the outcome of a major deal? And what was that in her right nostril? A stud? Or a speck of glitter? He couldn’t tell from where he sat but he’d guess it was a stud—the woman certainly had an affinity for making holes in her body.

“So, you’re Cecilia’s niece?” Probably the black sheep of the family.

“Yes. Aunt Ceci is my father’s sister.”

“Are you any relation to Roberta Revito?” He’d read an article in
Newsweek
a few years back about a child prodigy who’d entered college at sixteen and earned a Ph.D. in astrophysics before her twenty-first birthday. Now there was a real woman.

The red-headed pixie sitting next to him squirmed and looked away. “She’s my cousin but we don’t speak.”

Probably because you can’t understand her.
“Too bad. That woman’s a genius. Mankind needs more of those people.”

She flashed him an angry look and narrowed her eyes until all he saw was eyeliner. “Too many brains can provide their own source of misery.”

As if she would know.
“I’ve never seen where that’s the case.”

“Then you’ve never looked.”

Rhyder scanned her short red spikes, ball earrings—were those really bowling balls?—teeny sweater hugging tiny breasts, pink pleather mini and thigh-high black boots. An interesting comment from someone like her. And then another thought hit him. “Are you saying your cousin was miserable being brilliant?”

She shrugged and shook her spiked head.

“What then?” He shifted in his chair. From the time he calculated his first algebraic equation at the age of six, he’d been called brilliant. He’d enjoyed that title, relished the knowledge that no problem existed he couldn’t solve. Better to be brilliant than charming. How many times had he used that line? But little Ms. Roxie Revito of the spiked, red-headed, multi-pierced crowd thought differently.

“Even light bulbs dull over time.”

“What does that have to do with this conversation?” It was obvious her cousin had inherited the majority of gray matter in the Revito family.

She waved a hand at him. “You know, light bulbs illuminate brilliance? Brilliance fades over time? Light bulb dulls then dies out? Get it?”

The woman had the audacity to sound annoyed. He had no interest in debating the issue with this woman. Her cousin, on the other hand, would offer up a lively discourse. “You know, I’d love to meet this cousin of yours, discuss the book she wrote, anything to witness her brain in action.”

“She wouldn’t be interested.”

Now he was offended. “Why not?”

Roxie Revito thrust a finger at him and started wagging it. “You’re too full of yourself, too arrogant, too condescending. Shall I go on?”

He stared at her. Hard. And then he started laughing.

The man was a complete imbecile. She’d known far too many of his type at MIT: brilliant, self-absorbed know-it-alls. If she hadn’t promised C.C. to get the scoop on him, she’d tell him to take his fancy degrees and stuff them.

“You find my observations amusing?” She could see why this Max Jerrnigan’s ex-girlfriend didn’t get along with the guy. He was a jerk.

“Observations?” His smile vanished. “I’d say you’ve just made a few unfounded assumptions based on less than ten minutes with me. That’s extremely reckless on your part.”

“I observed them in three. The other seven merely served to confirm my theories.” The man’s jaw twitched, just the tiniest bit. Ah, she’d gotten to him.

“Observations can be misleading. As can assumptions.”

“Really?” She knew she should keep her mouth shut but someone had to set the man straight. “Observations often lead to assumptions. For example, your tie contains a tiny geometric pattern with the concentric origins in the middle, indicating a very tiny—” She paused, tilted her head to one side.

“Tiny what?” he ground out.

“Tolerance for error.” She feigned innocence and asked, “What did you think I was going to say?”

“I have no idea.”

But the dull flush on his face told her differently. “And of course, a quick glance at your desk, and your shoes—” and she pointed to the gleaming wing-tips on his feet, “—tell quite a bit, especially about your relationships.” There. She sat back and waited for the next wave of heat to roll over Rhyder Remmington.

“What profession are you in, Ms. Revito? Mind reader? Psychic? Feng shui expert?”

Why wasn’t he squirming? She couldn’t wait to see his face turn purple when she told him his habits indicated an uptight lover. Of course, she’d made it all up, but she probably was pretty close to being right.

“Ms. Revito?”

She shrugged. “I’m a hair stylist.”

“Ah. A hair stylist.”

She might as well have said she picked up dog doo at doggy parks.

“I find it very interesting that your aunt sent you here.”

She fiddled with a scissors charm on her bracelet and said, “Careful about making too many assumptions based on observations. You could be way off base.”

“Am I?”

What was with this guy and his questions? He reminded her of Reed Richards from the Fantastic Four in a freaky, uptight way—oh, God, their initials were even the same!

“Oh, yeah. You are way off base.” She nodded, amused. “You’re not even in the same ball park.”

***

This really had to stop. C.C. adjusted her turtleneck once more. She leaned forward, glanced in the mirror and jiggled her shoulders. She turned to the side, scanned her slacks; loose, unrevealing. If she could wear sweats to meet Max she would. Unfortunately, that wasn’t an option.

It was Monday morning and she hadn’t seen him since Friday night—the night of the banquet, the night she apparently tried to seduce him and then proceeded to vomit her intentions into the toilet. Her father had called yesterday to invite her to dinner but she’d begged off with a headache—partly true, especially when she heard Max had already accepted.

Since when did Grayson invite a stranger before his own daughter? Had Candace been there? If C.C. could have hidden in the kitchen with Maggie, she’d have loved to watch the meal play out between the fiancé, the ex-boyfriend and the woman tied to both. Her poor father, but he’d gotten himself into that mess…

Roxie’s phone call last night hadn’t revealed much either. She’d finally connected with Rhyder Remmington and, as impossible as it seemed, she didn’t like the man. Not one bit. In fact, she said he made her stomach queasy and not in a good way. Roxie had never met a man she didn’t like on some level, but she’d been so busy listing all the reasons she detested the pig-headed architect, she forgot to find out why Candace and Max broke up. C.C. might have to go to the source for her answers, but right now, asking Max Jerrnigan about his ex-girlfriend was just a little too personal.

Sighing deeply, C.C. checked her watch and headed for the office.

***

Max had spent the past two hours working on revisions for the office park daycare center. His neck ached and he had the beginnings of a headache. He threw down his pencil and glanced out the window, zeroing in on the woman waiting to cross the street. She stood among a cluster of five or six other women, but he spotted her instantly. She wore sunglasses and a navy turtleneck with gray slacks. The dark brilliance of her hair shone in the afternoon sun. His gaze skimmed her body, appreciating her legs, which were a good foot longer than the other women’s. Shapely, sexy, perfect for wrapping around his waist.

The “walk” light flashed and she strode across the street as Max undressed her from his fifth-floor perch. He’d spent the last two nights drifting to sleep with visions of C.C.’s delectable body shimmering in his brain… When they saw each other today, would she pretend nothing happened the other night? He could play that game. He’d done it with enough other women before, women who wanted to pretend one night together meant everything—a future, a ring, a commitment. But for some insane reason, he didn’t want to pretend it meant nothing with C.C. Hell, he didn’t want to pretend
she
meant nothing. And dammit, it had nothing to do with the deal he’d made with Grayson.

“Hi, Max.” She moved into the room and set down her purse and briefcase. “How are the revisions coming?”

He opened his mouth to respond but the words wouldn’t come.

“Max?”

Something about her voice churned his insides. “Huh? Oh. Good. I’ve extended the playroom and added a base here.” He slid the drawing closer to her. “What do you think?”

“I like it.” She studied the section he’d indicated. “You know, Dad’s really excited about this project. I haven’t seen him this energized in years.”

That’s because he’s going to give his daughter something she wants very much. “Glad to hear it.”

“Max?”

“Yeah?” He kept his head bent with the pretense of studying the drawing. It was the only way he could pretend indifference. If he looked into those honey eyes, he’d be done.

“I’m sorry about the other night. I put you in a terrible position and I apologize.”

“No problem.” God, he hadn’t thought of anything but her.

“I never have been much of a drinker.” She tried for a laugh but it fell out like a gurgle.

“You don’t need to apologize.” She moved closer. Stop breathing, he told himself. He couldn’t let her scent invade him.

“I do need to apologize.” She touched his arm. “It was an irresponsible thing to do and I’ve been beating myself up over it for the past two days.”

His skin tingled where her fingers rested against his shirtsleeve.

“Look at me, Max. Please?”

Damn. He raised his gaze to meet hers. She looked so soft and vulnerable—and so entirely kissable. He clenched his hands under the table and gritted his teeth.

“I don’t remember what I did but that’s no excuse. It won’t happen again.”

“It won’t?” Don’t bet on it.

She shook her head. “No.”

“How can you be sure?” She had no idea what he had planned.

“Because I can’t jeopardize our business relationship for the occasional,” she paused, added, “errors in judgment on my part.”

“You mean mixing business with pleasure?” She had no idea how much pleasure was in store for her: hot oil rubs, massages, hours and hours in bed.

Her breathing hitched. “Exactly.”

Was that a strain in her voice? “What if both parties consent?”

“Not even then.”

“Tell me about him, C.C.”

Her lips quivered. “What are you talking about?”

“The bastard who hurt you. Tell me about him.”

“I—”

“Nobody reacts that strongly who hasn’t been burned. My guess is you fell hard and the guy left you in the dust.”

She balled her hands into fists so hard her knuckles blanched, but she remained silent.

“I’m sorry he hurt you.” He really was sorry. She was warm and sensual, and afraid to let people see that. Hell, he bet she was afraid to let herself see that. Most of the time she walked around in a block of ice, determined no one would melt it and get close to her again. How could she live that way? Why should she? Not all men were jerks. There were some decent ones out there who would care about her, who wouldn’t want to hurt her. It shocked him to realize he was one of them.