The Sweetest Deal (3 page)

She pinched her lips together and stared at him. “In my observations, beautiful isn’t always a necessary prerequisite. Being female is.”

“Who hurt you, C.C.?” He kept his voice soft so as not to scare her. He leaned closer, brushed the back of his knuckles along her neck, to the swell of her breasts. He shouldn’t kiss her…not yet…

“Max! Max, my boy!”

They sprung apart as Grayson Crowell bound down the steps and descended upon the car. Grayson flung open the passenger door and boomed, “I was wondering when the hell you two would get here.”

Max stepped out of the car and shook Grayson’s hand. “It was my fault. Sorry.” No explanation beyond that. What could he say? I almost kissed your daughter and it had absolutely nothing to do with the deal?

“Well, come on in. Maggie’s chomping at the bit, worried her gravy will be thicker than paste.”

“Maggie’s your fiancée?” Max couldn’t remember her name.

Grayson looked startled. “Hell, no. That woman’s too mouthy for a wife.” His voice softened and he added, “But she’s a helluva good cook and housekeeper.”

C.C. laced her arm through her father’s and said, “She’s the only woman I know who can boss you around.”

“If it weren’t for her skill in the kitchen, I’d give her the boot.”

“And starve,” C.C. said.

Max didn’t miss the tenseness in C.C.’s voice. Who was responsible for it? The future Mrs. Grayson Crowell? Or Max? He cleared his throat and shifted his attention to the Crowell residence. Mansion was indeed a more fitting description. When they entered through the double cherry doors, he wished Rhyder were here to see the black marble entrance, the twenty-foot-plus vaulted ceilings, the double winding staircase, the fountain in the center of the foyer.

What kind of people had elevators in their homes? And fountains? He shot a quick glance at C.C. who shrugged out of her black shawl as though the opulence surrounding her were so commonplace she could ignore it. This was a far cry from Pittsburgh where Max had grown up in a worn-out two story with bad plumbing and drafty windows.

“The fountain was Catherine’s idea,” Grayson said as he ran his fingers along the edge of the white marble fountain. “She liked the sound of it at night, said it helped her fall asleep.”

Max wondered if she still had problems sleeping. A vision of her lying naked in the rumpled bed at his hotel flashed through his brain. He shook his head and concentrated on the ornate crown molding along the ceiling. “My partner would love this house,” he said, turning so his line of vision didn’t include C.C.’s long legs.

“Maybe we’ll have to invite him here,” Grayson said. “This would make an exquisite backdrop for a wedding, don’t you think?”

“Uh, yes, I guess it would,” Max said, working his fingers beneath the collar of his shirt. Weddings, talk about weddings, even insinuations about weddings, made him jumpy.

“What do you think, Catherine?” Grayson turned to his daughter. “Could you picture yourself getting married here?”

“I don’t picture myself getting married,” she said in a crisp voice.

“Come, come, dear.” His soft voice belied the business mogul’s ability to squash opponents with a mere flip through his Rolodex, “You might be almost thirty-two, but you’re beautiful and brilliant, isn’t she Max?”

Max swept his gaze over her small breasts, followed the slender cords of her neck and settled on her moist lips. “Yes,” he admitted, grudgingly, “she’s beautiful.”

C.C.’s tongue darted out to wet her lips. Clearly, she hadn’t expected him to say this.

“Well, well, well,” Grayson Crowell murmured.

“Max!” The woman’s voice pulled him down and under, erasing the last three years of his life. “Max! Is it really you?” He lifted his gaze to the top of the spiral staircase and the woman who stood dressed in shimmering red, black hair flowing along milk-white shoulders. She was more beautiful than he remembered.

“Hello, Candy.”

“Max?” Grayson inquired. “You two know each other?”

“Yes,” Max said. “We certainly do.”

The woman descended the staircase with the elegance of royalty, her smile dazzling and aimed at Max.

“I never expected to see you again.” She stood on tiptoe and grazed her lips over Max’s cheek, leaving a faint smear of red.

“You look great,” he said, “but then you always did.”

Candace’s smile grew even more dazzling. “Thank you, Max. Coming from you, that’s a true compliment.”

“Are you two going to tell us how you know each other, or should Catherine and I play twenty questions?” Grayson asked.

C.C. didn’t need twenty questions to figure out how Max and Candace knew one another. She’d bet her entire stock portfolio they’d slept together. She tried to squash the thought but it wouldn’t die.

“We met on a project a few years back,” Max said, his voice as noncommittal as his expression.

Candace slipped an arm through Grayson’s and added, “We dated.”

“That was a long time ago,” Max said, glancing at C.C.

Why was he looking at her? Because she’d figured out his past relationship with her father’s fiancée? What did she care if Max had dated one the most beautiful women C.C. had ever seen? Somehow, she could see it, much more than she could picture him with someone else, say herself, for example…

“A lifetime ago,” Candace said with a touch of sadness. Then she turned her attention to C.C. and held out both arms. “Catherine. Your father has told me so much about you. I’m delighted to finally meet you.”

C.C. had no choice but to hug the woman. “Thank you,” she managed, hugging and then quickly disengaging herself from Candace’s embrace. “I’ve been anxious to meet you, too.” Not exactly true, but her upbringing dictated politeness.

Candace’s hazel eyes sparkled. “Thank you. I’m sorry we couldn’t meet sooner. I wanted to fly to Chicago last month, but your father wanted to wait.”

Really? He’d never mentioned a thing about visiting her.

Grayson shrugged. “I couldn’t get away and I figured you’d be here soon enough.” He gestured toward the dining room. “Maggie’s been in the kitchen all day and I’m starving. Shall we?”

C.C. spent the next twenty minutes nibbling on a romaine salad and taking in the situation. As much as she’d like to find a long list of faults with her father’s fiancée, she couldn’t. Candace was sophisticated, intelligent, poised, beautiful, and dammit, she was
nice.
It was the niceness that bothered C.C. most of all. She’d wanted her to act like a wicked stepmother, so C.C. could dislike her for more than just being too young for her father.

“Catherine?” Candace turned her attention on C.C. “Did your father give you any details on the wedding yet?”

“No, actually he hasn’t.”

“We’d like to get married at the club, just small and informal.”

“Oh. Sure. Sounds great.” She’d thought Candace would demand an audience and a ritzy venue. Could her preconceived notions have been all wrong? “Where will you honeymoon?” The answer would be telling.

Before Candace could answer, Maggie burst through the kitchen door, chiming in an overloud voice, “More wine, anyone?” She held a bottle of chardonnay between her chapped hands.

“Thank you,” Candace smiled at Maggie and held out her glass. “Everything is lovely. I’m hoping you’ll give me a few lessons in the kitchen. I hate to confess, I can barely scramble an egg.”

Maggie shrugged and busied herself pouring wine. “I’m here every day. Make a list of what you want to know.”

“I will.” And then, she turned to Max. “Are you and Rhyder still partners?”

Max nodded. “We are.”

“Please tell him I said hello. I’m sure he’ll be delighted.”

Was that sarcasm in her voice, C.C. wondered, looking for anything negative.

“No doubt he will.”

“Have you met Rhyder Remmington yet, Grayson?”

“No, but I’ve heard a good deal about him.”

Candace lifted her wine glass and said, “He’s brilliant. Charming when he wants to be. Very protective of Max.” She shot her ex a look. “And more amphibian than flesh and blood.”

Max’s mouth worked into a smile. “I’d say the feeling’s mutual. I’ll send him your best.”

More sarcasm, definitely.

She saluted him with her wine glass. “Please do.” She sipped her wine and in an obvious attempt to change the subject, asked, “Are you still running marathons?”

“No time,” he mumbled, tearing into a roll.

“Karate?”

“Nope.”

“Boxing?”

He looked up from his plate and said, “Why are you so interested in my exercise routine?”

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips. “You look good. Something’s agreeing with you.” She glanced at C.C. “Or someone.”

The brackets on Max’s mouth deepened. “I run five miles a day, lift weights three times a week, play racquetball whenever I can, and I row.”

“Row?”

“It involves an oar and water.”

She laughed. “I know that. I just wasn’t aware you were involved in that sort of thing.”

“A lot can happen in three years.”

Her smile faded and a look of pain flashed across Candace’s face. “That’s true. People change,” she said softly.

Did that look have anything to do with Max? Had he left her? There was a mountain of history between Candace and her ex and C.C. hated to admit it, but she wanted to take a peek at their past. How long had they dated? Were they serious, or just passing by? Did they ever talk about marriage? Children? Visions of dark-haired babies flitted through her brain and made her light headed.

His blue gaze narrowed on Candace’s face. “Some change, others just change their tactics.”

The pain flitted across her expression again, then disappeared. “Or they learn from their mistakes.” She toyed with a piece of romaine lettuce and said in a light, inquisitive voice, “Are you still afraid of mice?”

He scowled, his face contorting into equal parts distaste and anger. “I am not afraid of mice,” he enunciated in perfect syllables.

“You fainted, Max.” She looked at Grayson and C.C. “It was the only flaw I ever found in him.” She paused. “Well, that and his inability to commit to anything but his work.”

At the mention of work, Grayson jumped in. “That’s not necessarily a fault, especially in a young, driven man like Max. Given time and the right woman, he’ll find his match.”

He spoke with such certainty, C.C. wanted to ask him how he knew this.

Apparently Max was bothered more by his ex’s comment on mice than her thoughts on his commitment issues. “I did not faint,” he ground out. “I slipped and hit my head on the counter.”

Candace offered him a knowing, sympathetic look.

“I’ve done that before,” C.C. blurted out the lie. “Right in front of my apartment. Wet leaves are the worst. Snow, too. And rain,” she added. Why the sudden need to help Max Jerrnigan save face? He probably
had
fainted. After all, any man who couldn’t handle chocolate was a man who would faint at the sight of a mouse.

“I had no idea you’d grown so clumsy,” her father said. “Fourteen years of ballet and you still can’t maneuver a sidewalk?”

C.C. shrugged and concentrated on buttering a roll.

“I’ve had my less than graceful moments, too,” Candace said with a wry grin. “Ice got me once and I couldn’t sit for three days. Another time I caught a heel in a sidewalk grate and hit the ground so fast I almost got whiplash.”

Grayson shook his head and looked at Max. “Did you ever see two more beautiful, albeit clumsy women in your life?”

“No,” Max said, his eyes on C.C. “Never.”

***

“So, let me get this,” Roxie Revito said in the trademark husky voice that drew the attention of every male age fourteen to ninety-four. “Your father is marrying this guy Max’s ex-girlfriend? The guy you met on the plane?”

“Right,” C.C. said. She kicked off her heels and sprawled in the middle of the Hilton’s king-size bed.

Roxie whistled through the phone. “Twisted.”

“I know.” C.C. hadn’t been able to get Max Jerrnigan or his ex out of her mind since last night. It didn’t help that she and Max had just spent the past ten hours together; walking the potential development site, reviewing the drawings and proposals he and his partner had made. They were good—very good. When he spoke of the project, passion thrummed in his voice and glittered in his eyes. She had wanted the opportunity to put these plans into action and gain her father’s confidence in her ability to one day run the company. But he’d chosen Max, and Grayson Crowell never second-guessed himself. She knew she shouldn’t take it personally, but dammit, she did.

“Why’d they split?”

Roxie loved gossip; juicy, over-the-top, mind-boggling gossip. “Not sure.” C.C. bit into a triple chocolate cookie. Actually, she’d been wondering the same thing since last night, but Max hadn’t volunteered any details and she refused to ask him straight out.

Not that she even cared about his love life. He could have ten ex-girlfriends and it wouldn’t matter to her, unless the ex was about to marry her father. That was the only reason she wanted to know about Max and Candace.

“Can’t you get him to spill?” Roxie asked. “Smile sweet, hike your skirt and say pretty please?”

“I will not stoop to begging,” C.C. said around a mouthful of cookie. “Max Jerrnigan is the only thing standing between me and proving my ability to my dad.”

“Oh, C.C., relax and enjoy this guy. Grayson Crowell will always be your father. You’ll get a chance on the next one.”

“I don’t want the next one. I want this one.” Dammit, she deserved it. “I’ve done everything he wanted me to do—attended the Ivy League schools because I needed a solid foundation, worked in investments so I could understand the financial aspects. I even dated a banker because it seemed that’s what Dad wanted. And you know what? Every time I crossed one achievement off my list, he threw in five more. Now he says Max is the lead and I’m his little helper.”

“Grayson called you a little helper?”

“Not exactly, but he might as well have. I’m thirtyone and I’m tired of waiting.” She might never have a baby or a husband, but she’d be damned if she’d lose her foothold in the company because she didn’t wear pants and pee standing up.

“What a mess.” Roxie sighed. “Looks like this Max isn’t going to make it into your perpetually empty bed.”

“I’m not trying to get him into my bed. You think I should act stupid so he trips all over his scuffed-up loafers to please me?” The thought of it made her hyperventilate.

“No, all I’m saying is not every man’s David. Ooops. Sorry, I know that name’s off limits. Sorry, I’m a dummy.” There wasn’t a dumb cell in Roxie Revito’s body, though she hid her genius under a mop of dyed red curls, a set of false eyelashes and a string of slang. She’d spent her first twenty-five years pleasing her father as well, earning a Ph.D. in astrophysics from Harvard and publishing a book entitled
Astrophysics: Then and Now
. At twenty-five and a half, she’d crashed, quit her job, disowned her father and moved cross country where she got her cosmetology license and sublet a condo next to C.C.

“Tell me more about this Max.”

“There’s not much to tell.” She wasn’t going there. If she told Roxie about the muscles and the baby blue eyes, her friend would start drooling and drawing conclusions. C.C. was not going to let any man manipulate her the way David had, doling out just enough affection and hope to make her believe he wanted a life with her, a home, a marriage—a child. She’d been the dummy. How many nights had she spent poring through
Bride
magazine, waiting for David, who more often than not, got caught up in last-minute meetings and couldn’t make it? She’d been a dummy
and
a fool. What man actually bought his supposed girlfriend
Bride
magazine and told her to circle her Tiffany choices? Only a man with no intention of actually buying a ring. David bought time and C.C. bought his lies, the cruelest ones involving a little boy and a little girl.

“Is he invisible?”

“No.”

“So?”

“He’s,” C.C. paused and studied a chunk of chocolate, “just a guy.”

“Hmmmhmmm.”

“What?”

“You’re saying more by not saying anything.”

“Roxie, he
is
just a guy.”

“Eyes?”

“He has them.”

“Do they have a color or is he one of those space creatures with laser lights?”

“Blue,” C.C. admitted grudgingly.

“Hair?”

“Brown.” Pause. “Chestnut brown.”

“Height?”

“Six-two, maybe six-three.”

“Build?”

“Lean, muscled, good abs.”

“Now you’re getting the hang of it. Tush?”

“Firm.”

“How do you know?” Roxie giggled.

“I do have eyes.”

“Well, he sounds yummy. I hear what you’re saying, C.C., but I’m also hearing what you’re
not
saying.”

C.C. stuffed the rest of cookie number two in her mouth and muttered, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think he turns you on. You haven’t looked at the color of a man’s eyes in two years.”

“I only noticed because I was trying not to stare at his broken nose.”

“You noticed the guy had a broken nose?” Roxie’s voice skittered through the line in a rush of excitement. “I was going to tease you about hooking up with him, but this is much more serious than I thought. I mean, we may be talking wedding bells here, girl.”

“Don’t even joke about that. My father wants me to act like I’m crazy about Max to help the deal.”

“Doesn’t sound like that would be a major inconvenience, considering the description.” Roxie sighed. “Plus, he passed your stupid cookie test.”

“But he failed test number two.”

“Which is?”

“We’re in the same line of business.”

Roxie grumbled over the phone. “That’s a little overkill, don’t you think?”

“I’m just following the rules. He’s in real estate and so am I.”

“No guy’s passed the stupid cookie test since its inception, until this guy. You should keep an eye on him.”

“Speaking of keeping an eye on someone, I’d like you to visit his partner. His name’s Rhyder Remmington. I’ve looked him up on-line, but I need you to spend some face time and give me your impression.”