The Sweetest Deal (2 page)

***

Grayson Crowell owned three thousand acres of prime Virginia real estate, the perfect location to develop a community/nature-friendly office park, complete with jogging tracks, babysitting facilities, a rec center, restaurants, even a few duck ponds. And it was all within Max’s reach.

“Well, Max, my boy, have you given my proposition any thought?”

Max cleared his throat. He’d thought of nothing else for the past week. Of course, Rhyder wanted him to go ahead with it, said it would open up the opportunity for nationwide expansion. He wasn’t the one donating a body part or his sperm. Actually, Rhyder was the kind of guy who probably
could
do it, all the while studying a balance sheet and a prototype and walking away, after.

“Max?”

If C.C. hadn’t stood him up last night, there would be no need for debate. He would have declined Grayson’s offer and figured out the details later. But she’d been a no-show, and he’d spent the rest of the night nursing a bourbon and dreading the morning. He tried to side-step Grayson’s question with good old-fashioned hype. “Rhyder and I have a great concept, one that could net you millions if you sold us the land and became one of our investors.”

“I agree. It’s a brilliant idea.”

That’s what Max’s father had said years ago when he envisioned the project. “We’re planning to use this as a pilot, which is why we’re willing to offer you such a lucrative price for your land.”

“I’m well aware of your plans. Just tell that partner of yours to take a few breaths and relax. I’m behind you, one hundred percent.” He straightened his silk tie and said, “If this takes off, the two of you will have office parks all over the country.”

“That was the plan.”

“It could still be the plan.” Grayson studied Max. “Would you like me to tell you a little about my daughter?”

No. He nodded. “Sure.”

“Catherine is brilliant. She ran the investment side for First Capital in Chicago.”

Max tried to pretend interest. “I didn’t know she was from Chicago.”

Grayson’s smile spread as he expounded on his daughter’s attributes. “Magna cum laude from Brown, master’s from Wharton, vice president at twenty-five.”

“A modern-day Einstein.”

“Just about.” The smile faded. “That’s the problem. She’s too damn smart, scares all the men away.”

Oh God, not a female Rhyder. His partner was a genius but he was seriously deficient in the emotions department.

“Does a smart woman intimidate you, Max?”

“Absolutely not.” He’d never been intimidated by an intelligent woman. C.C. had appeared very intelligent…

“Catherine’s joining me at Crowell Limited.” Grayson waited for a reaction and when he got none, continued, “You’d have plenty of opportunity to get acquainted with her should you decide to accept my terms.”

There it was, in simple English. “What does she know about real estate development?”

“She’s a Crowell.”

“This is too important to screw up.”

“She won’t screw it up. You won’t let her, will you?” Grayson gestured to a vacant chair. “Sit down, Max. Catherine will be here soon and I’m sure you don’t want her to see you agitated. She might think she was the cause, and that wouldn’t bode well for you.”

“I haven’t given you my answer yet.” There was still time to escape with his conscience. All he had to do was turn and walk out. One step at a time. He might lose the deal, but he could hold his head high, knowing he’d done the noble thing.

But Grayson had his own opinion.

“You’ve already answered me, don’t you realize that? Why would you bother to come all this way if you planned to turn me down?”

Damn him. Max hated to admit it, but Grayson was right.

The older man smiled from across his massive desk. “I’ll back you and your partner one hundred percent.” He paused. “And find ten investors as well.”

What could Max say to that? In the early morning hours, he’d contemplated the idea of a child. His child. The pain of losing his son would never disappear, but a child could ease it. And a child without the disastrous encumbrance of a wife was even better. For the first time in four years, Max let himself think about being a father. Even if it meant mating with a woman he’d never met, one who most likely had less emotion running through her veins than Rhyder, it would still be worth it to have another chance. And Grayson said she wanted a child, so it wasn’t like Max was taking advantage of her, was it? She’d get a child without the mess of a relationship. Before logic kicked in, he blurted out, “I’d want to be involved in my child’s life.”

“Of course.”

“Holidays, too.” This was wrong! Stop talking!

“That’s reasonable.”

“And his birthday.” Walk out. Now!

“Or her birthday,” Grayson corrected with a quiet smile.

“Right.” He couldn’t do this. Was he crazy? “I won’t marry her.”

“Of course not.” Grayson spoke without a second’s hesitation. “Anything else?”

Max ignored his conscience condemning him to hell. Everything he ever wanted was a mere handshake away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Think of this as doing a good deed. It might not be as painful as you think. You just never know.”

Grayson was right, Max didn’t know. Especially about Catherine Crowell. Catherine. The name reminded him of nobility, or some stuck up high society woman with too many clothes and not enough purpose. The phone rang and Grayson snatched the receiver from its cradle. “Yes, Helene? Well, show her in.” He turned to Max and lowered his voice. “Catherine isn’t stupid. She’ll sniff out your insincerity a hundred miles away.”

Before Max could respond, the door opened and a tall, slim brunette entered. Long legs. Very long legs. Slim hips. Hmmm. Maybe this task wouldn’t be so painful after all. His gaze followed those legs. Sexy, shapely, tanned.

And they belonged to C.C.

Obviously, she recognized him because her complexion morphed from pale to paste.

“You two are gawking at each other like you know one another,” Grayson commented.

C.C., the Triple Chocolate Macadamia Nut cookies woman, was Catherine Crowell? The woman yesterday exuded sensuality and playfulness. This one dripped ice water.

Grayson’s daughter cleared her throat and continued to stare.

Max recovered first, taking a step toward her. She looked shocked—and nauseated. He didn’t blame her. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the discovery that the woman who’d stood him up last night was Grayson Crowell’s daughter. He extended a hand and said, “Max Jerrnigan.”

She cleared her throat again. “Catherine Crowell.”

Max clasped her hand, annoyed when a zing shot through him again. He didn’t want this woman to affect him. Period.

“Nice to meet you,” she murmured as she disengaged her hand and brushed it on her skirt.

Max studied her as she approached her father and kissed him on the cheek. “How are you, Dad?”

Grayson hugged her and smacked a kiss straight on her lips, which turned her bright red. “I’m one happy man. I’ve got my daughter, my health,
and
my future bride.”

“Yes, well, I’m anxious to meet her.”

She sounded as anxious to meet her father’s future wife as a guy lining up for a vasectomy.

“Good,” Grayson said, unaware of his daughter’s discomfort. “We’ll have dinner tonight. You, too, Max. Seven o’clock, my place. Margaret fixes a mean beef tenderloin.” He smiled at Max and said, “She’s my cook, housekeeper and gardener. Hell, she’s my right and left arm. Catherine, why don’t you pick Max up on your way over? And get out of that damn hotel. Whoever heard of a daughter coming home and not staying at her own house?”

C.C. slid a glance at Max. “Dad, can we discuss this later?”

“There shouldn’t be a discussion at all. That house is just as much yours today as when you were a little girl.”

“Actually—”

“No actually about it. Two women should be able to live in the same house. Don’t you think so, Max?”

She caught him watching her and looked away.

“Yes,” Max said. “I agree.” Where was the spunk, the smile, the allure of C.C.? And why had she stood him up last night? That he wanted to know most of all.

“Catherine will pick you up tonight at six-thirty.”

Grayson had been talking but Max hadn’t been paying attention. He couldn’t wait to get C.C. alone so he could pounce on her with questions. Who would she be when she was alone with him? C.C. or Catherine? Damned if he knew, but he was going to find out.

The minute Max Jerrnigan left the office, C.C. confronted her father. “Dad, what was that man doing here?”

“He’s going to be working with you on the Grayson Office Park project.”

Not if she had anything to say about it. She couldn’t work with him. She’d scratched him from her list of potentials and C.C. didn’t believe in second chances.

But even knowing that, he still made her body hum. A simple handshake in the presence of her father, no less, and the electricity shot through her. Not good. Her father wanted her to escort Max to their home for dinner so the man could witness the public humiliation of a child whose father was marrying a woman his daughter’s age? Horrible.

“I like Max, Catherine. He’s smart, driven and talented.”

Of course. And he was a man. That gave him a leg up on C.C.

“I want him to build the Grayson Office Park.”

His words seared her brain with hurt, rejection and anger. Had she been born a male, Grayson Crowell would not have handed over the development of Grayson Office Park to a stranger. “Please don’t do this. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this to prove myself. You told me if I want to run this company one day, I had to learn the ropes. That’s what I want to do, and now you’ve gone and made some stranger lead on the project.”

“Max worked on the Stanley Hopewell Complex in Arlington and the Westwood Office Park in Fairfax. He and his partner were reviewed in three real estate journals and I received several letters of recommendation from various principals involved with the projects. He may be a stranger to you, but I’ve known him for some time. Max is an excellent choice.” He smiled at her. “You’ll see.”

“I don’t want to work with him.” Anger coiled deep in her gut and choked out any attraction she may have felt for Max Jerrnigan.

Her father smiled again, but this time determination was clear in the smile. “I’m the CEO of this company, Catherine, and Max is going to head up this project. The question is whether you’ll put aside your bruised feelings and be part of it, too.”

He would choose a stranger over his own daughter. The anger and resentment she harbored toward Max might be irrational, but it consumed her. It didn’t matter. She’d already lost hopes of a child. Work was all she had left. She would not lose that, too.

“Are you with us on this?”

She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she merely nodded.

“Good, and Catherine, I want you to show him Crowell hospitality.”

What on earth was he talking about? “Crowell hospitality?”

“It’s simple.” Her father grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Act like you’re crazy about him.”

***

Of course, the man who had stolen her opportunity would have to stay at the same hotel. C.C. took the elevator to the eighth floor and stepped into the hall. Be nice, be nice. Act like you’re crazy about him, her father had said. She wanted to strangle both of them right now. Her father had no idea what he asked of her. Pretending wasn’t in her nature. If she were his son, he wouldn’t have handed the project over to an outsider or told him to act like he was crazy about that person.

C.C. adjusted the strap on her black cocktail dress. Roxie had tried to talk her into buying a red one, but thank God she hadn’t listened. Red was for people like Roxie who thumbed their noses at life and laughed, not C.C. who stuffed extra quarters in parking meters and never even jaywalked.

Act like you’re crazy about him.
Right. She wet her lips and knocked on room 812.

The door flew open and Max Jerrnigan stood in front of her…too tall, too dark…too male…shirt partially unbuttoned to reveal an abundance of dark chest hair. Instinct warned C.C. to look away but curiosity glued her eyes to the patch of chestnut hair visible between the crisp folds of open shirt. A jolt of heat shot through her. She assured herself it was only anger, paired with resentment.

“You’re early,” he said, his expression unreadable. “I’m almost ready. Why don’t you come in while I finish getting dressed?”

“All right.” She stepped inside and her gaze shot straight to the unmade king-size bed. Big mistake.

He caught her staring. “Sorry about that.”

She yanked her eyes from the rumpled sheets and mumbled, “That’s fine.” Was it hot in here? She fanned her face and scanned the rest of the room while he disappeared into the bathroom. A briefcase and laptop lay open on a table in the corner. Fine. Business-related objects she could handle. She moved toward them, anxious to distance herself from the heat
and
the man. That’s when she spotted the black silk boxers tossed on the chair next to the table. Visions of a naked Max Jerrnigan flitted through her head.

What was wrong with her? This man was lead on a project she believed should have been hers.

Max emerged from the bathroom adjusting his tie. “So, are we going to get this over with now or just pretend until the night is over?” He moved closer, blocking her ability to think straight.

“Can I have my personal space?” She was caught between the bed and the man with nowhere to go.

He took a few steps back and waited. He would be a formidable opponent in the board room; she could tell by the light in his eyes and the determined set of his jaw. No wonder her father wanted him. She had a reputation as a powerful negotiator as well, but she doubted Grayson considered that when he offered Max the lead on the project. “I assume you’re referring to the plane ride.”

“Exactly.”

Those eyes sliced through her in ways that made C.C. wish she’d worn a sweater and a coat, not that they would protect her from his intense stare. Better to get it over with. “It’s really no big deal. We had a conversation on the plane—”

“You stood me up.”

“Oh, that.” She couldn’t tell him she nixed the deal when he told her his profession, so she said, “I forgot.”

The left side of his jaw twitched. Twice. “I see.”

“I didn’t think you’d really show. I mean, we exchanged casual conversation but it was all part of being polite and passing time.”

“Right.” And then, “What was the deal with the cookies? Were you trying to overdose me so you could humiliate me? Or laugh at me?”

He didn’t seem happy with either prospect. “Neither. I merely offered them to you. You could have said no or stopped before you turned green.”

“Believe me, I wish I had just said no.”

The way he said it told her he was talking about more than just cookies. Did he mean no to the obvious attraction they’d shared on the plane, which she now denied? Yes, she’d guess he did.

Max rubbed his jaw and studied her, as though she were an unidentifiable encumbrance. “Look, if we’re going to be working together, we need to clear the air. What’s really going on? You were all warm and chummy on the airplane and now you’re colder than a block of ice.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You’re like two different people. There’s C.C. who’s all soft and sexy and somebody I wanted to get to know better and then there’s Catherine, who I would be happy not to run into again for another thirty years.”

That stung. “Why can’t I be both?” She might be a bit reserved right now, but she was still the same person inside and anyone who cared about her or cared about knowing her would figure that out.

He ignored her question and asked one of his own. “You didn’t forget about dinner. Why’d you no-show?” His eyes were too blue, his voice too soft. She couldn’t think. His voice grew even softer, almost making her forget he’d just insulted her. “I thought we connected.”

She kept her gaze fixed on his chest. A buttoned-up chest, thank goodness. No swirls of dark hair peeking from the whiteness of a starched shirt. Much better and less threatening than those blue, soul-searching eyes.

He stepped closer and the fresh scent of his cologne swarmed around her. “Look at me.”

Had he ordered it, she would’ve refused, but she had no defense against the quiet plea in his deep voice. She lifted her gaze to meet his, half afraid he’d see the uncertainty on her face. If she had to pretend to be crazy about him, how could she
protect
herself from him at the same time?

He settled his large hands on her shoulders and in that same gentle voice said, “Tell me what’s going on, C.C. I’d like to understand.”

His breath fanned her face as his words cut off logic. If she lifted her face to his right now, would he kiss her?

Did she want him to?

She needed to get back in the dating scene so she’d know how to handle someone like Max Jerrnigan. There hadn’t been anyone since David. Even Roxie’s brother, Angelo, whom she’d studied with abstract appreciation as one would an object d’arte, hadn’t been able to elicit more than casual interest.

But Max Jerrnigan was dangerous. She didn’t even like him, she reminded herself. He was the reason her father hadn’t put her in charge of the project. But if she weren’t careful, Max would steal her objectivity, her logic
and
her mind, with his mere closeness and the intensity in those entrancing eyes.

C.C. stepped out of his reach, determined to put distance between them. “I work in a man’s world and I want to be taken seriously. I dress the part and I act the part.” She lifted her chin a notch. “Like one of the men.”

His lips twitched. “And you don’t think a woman can be taken seriously if she cracks a smile and shows her feminine side?”

“I don’t.”

“Ah. You’ve had issues with this before.”

The man was too damn intuitive. “I have.” That was all she’d admit.

“Well, if it’s any reassurance, I’ve never subscribed to a sexist work environment. As long as a person can do his or her job, I don’t care if she’s got three heads.”

Why couldn’t he have a nasally voice and a hare lip? Why did his words spill over her? But most of all, why did Max Jerrnigan have to be the one man who passed the cookie test?

***

Max slid a glance at the woman beside him as they pulled off the interstate and headed along the main road toward Grayson Crowell’s home. Actually, he looked at her long legs, illuminated by a scrap of moonlight as she pressed her foot on the accelerator. She wore shimmery hose, the kind that sparkled when she moved and made a man want to trace his fingers up and down her legs just to feel their sleek sexiness. The woman had great legs. Really great legs. She must’ve been a dancer when she was younger. Perhaps ballet. Or jazz. His gaze inched up her hips to her small, full breasts which were covered by the sleek black material of her dress. Who would have thought the C.C. on the plane would be Grayson Crowell’s daughter? Max had wanted to find her again, now he wished he hadn’t. Actually, he wished C.C. and Catherine were two different people, not the same person pretending to be two different people.

A queasiness settled in his gut as he thought about C.C. and the deal he’d made with her father.

“It’s just another minute or two,” C.C. said, glancing at him.

She hadn’t spoken more than ten sentences since they’d left the hotel and all of those were related to the project. He’d answered politely and then just as politely shifted the topic back to more personal issues. “Why didn’t you just stay at your father’s house rather than the Hilton?”

She hesitated a second too long. “I thought it would be more comfortable for everyone.”

Hardly. There wasn’t an ounce of truth in that statement. “Meaning, you didn’t want to see him shacked up with the future Mrs. Grayson Crowell.”

“Not necessarily.”

He didn’t miss the way her lower lip quivered when she spoke. Women’s emotions were his specialty, even when he was trying to avoid them. “Come on, C.C., own up.”

“Okay, I didn’t want to see it.”

Max settled back against the leather seat of her rented car. “I don’t blame you. If my old man tried to pull that, I’d have a fit. Besides, my mother would kill him.”

C.C. pressed her foot on the gas and the car lurched forward.

“Hey! I was just joking!” He grabbed the door and braced his feet against the floor mats. The woman had a temper. “Slow down. I want to live to see my next birthday.”

“She’s thirty-four.” She zipped around a pickup truck. “That made him twenty-eight when she was born.”

Okay, so this wasn’t a good subject, but maybe he could lighten it up. “I guess he doesn’t like gray hair.”

She swerved around an SUV. “Not funny.”

Or maybe not. “Slow down or I’ll be the one with gray hair!”

She eased her foot off the gas. “Sorry.”

Max shifted in his seat and studied her profile. “You’ve got a very nice nose.”

She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

“And big honey-colored eyes,” he managed, trying to ignore the reaction to that observation in his crotch.

Her glossed lips curved into a tiny smile and Max found himself wondering about those lips, wondering about the tongue behind the lips, too. “You should smile more. You have a very nice smile.”

Her lips flattened.

“Now you look too serious, like a scientist.”

“I like looking like a scientist,” she said. “Actually, a mathematician.”

“Why would any woman want to look like a mathematician—” he scanned her legs again, “—when she could look like an incredibly sexy tormentor to the entire male species?”

She threw him a disgusted look and said, “That’s exactly why.”

“What?” He liked her hands, too.

“The last thing I want to do when I’m in a meeting is look like a sex toy. When a man looks at me, I want him to see more than a body. I want him to see my brain.”

“Can’t he see both?”

She gripped the wheel hard. “No.”

“Oh, I get it.” A wave of unreasonable anger washed over him. “Maybe you should paste your diploma from Wharton on your forehead. While you’re at it, include your SAT and ACT scores, just in case, and don’t forget the IQ score, either.”

“You’re ridiculous.” She turned down a side street and headed toward a Georgian-style mansion. That had to be the place. But then, wasn’t this exactly what he expected Grayson and Catherine Crowell’s home to look like?

C.C. followed the circular drive and jerked the car into park at the entrance of the mansion.

She wanted to be here less than he did. Too bad. They were stuck with each other and they were going to get through it. Max grabbed her arm and forced her to face him. “Do you really think all men are incapable of conducting business with a beautiful woman?”