Читать книгу Who Gets To Marry Max? - Neesa Hart - Страница 11

She looked good in black.

Sidney studied her reflection. She hadn’t thought she’d like it, but now that she wore it, she had to admit she was glad she’d splurged on the outfit. Auspicious occasions, her uncle Philip claimed, demanded auspicious clothing. And being in the Hudson River valley home of Max Loden, financial guru and world’s most enigmatic bachelor, she supposed, was just about as auspicious as it got.

The luxurious fabric, which had seemed so incredibly impractical, highlighted the best aspects of her figure with exquisitely tailored perfection while somehow managing to downplay her flaws. It skimmed her hips and fell gracefully to the floor, giving her an air of sophistication she suspected she was going to urgently need. The short jacket, with its structured shoulders and waist-trimming fit, inspired her Miracle Bra to new levels of achievement.

Perhaps, she thought whimsically, she might survive this encounter after all.

“What the hell is going on here?”

Or, maybe not. Sidney took a deep breath before she turned to face him. At the fierce look on his face, she had to stifle a grin. She could easily picture him saying, fee, fi, fo, fum. Sidney schooled her countenance into an appropriately solemn expression. “Hello, Mr. Loden.”

“Mad Max,” as his enemies and even some of his friends called him, was everything she remembered and more. Elegantly clad in a black tuxedo, he towered over her. His melt-her-kneecaps gaze swept her from head to foot. “Sidney.” He sounded simultaneously baffled and annoyed. “Where’s Philip?”

She straightened the lapels of her catering jacket to disguise the customary nervousness she felt in the presence of the indomitable Max Loden. It was his eyes, she’d decided years ago. They had a way of dismantling her. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with me,” she said. “Uncle Philip’s not here.”

His razor-sharp gaze darted around the spacious kitchen of his Hudson River home—although, Sidney mused as she thought of the sprawling structure, the term was loosely applied. Her staff had seized the kitchen, and were functioning at their usual peak efficiency. Rows of hors d’oeuvre trays lined the stainless steel countertops. Three of her pastry chefs put finishing touches on an assortment of desserts and handmade chocolates. Champagne glasses, freshly polished, stood in neat rows, and her assistant busily rushed about making careful notes of each procedure. Evidently done with his inspection, Max met Sidney’s gaze. “What do you mean he’s not here?”

“Uncle Philip isn’t well.”

That turned his generally fierce expression into a full-blown scowl. “Not well? He’s ill? What’s wrong with him?”

She refused to let the bulletlike pace of the interrogation rattle her. “He has the flu.”

“The flu—are you sure?”

“Very. He was extremely upset that he couldn’t be here for you this weekend.” She clasped her hands behind her back to keep from fidgeting.

“Hell.” Max rubbed at the muscles of his neck. The motion, she noted, spread his black jacket open to emphasize a broad chest that had been rumored to make women swoon.

Sidney made a mental note to thank Philip for encouraging her to abandon the jeans and sweatshirts she usually wore when she supervised a party this size. Although she spent her time behind the scenes, and would generally remain invisible to Max’s guests, both the cut and the cost of the black jacket and trousers boosted her confidence. “Uncle Philip sends his regrets,” she told Max.

“His—” He swore. “Is he going to be all right?”

The question would have surprised many, she knew. Max Loden had something of a reputation. People called him all sorts of names—compassionate was not generally one of them. Had it not been for her uncle’s long relationship with him, Sidney, too, might never have seen behind Max’s implacable facade to the heart of this amazing, if daunting, man. She tilted her head to one side to study him. “I’m sure he will be.”

“Does he need anything? Has he seen a doctor?”

Not for the first time, Sidney decided that every story she’d ever heard about “Mad Max” Loden was completely unfounded. No man could inquire after the health of his butler with that rough and tender voice and be missing his heart, no matter what his critics said. “Yes, he has. And he’s quite fine. I stocked his refrigerator and his pantry before I left.”

“The flu can be dangerous for a man his age.”

Heartless indeed, she mentally scoffed and felt her inner knot of tension begin to unwind. Even Philip’s home was another of Max’s flagrant generosities. While most butlers lived in their employers’ homes at their employers’ whims, Max had provided Philip with a personal retreat for his off-duty hours. “Yes, it can. That’s why his doctor confined him to bed.”

“Is someone with him?”

“A neighbor.”

“You’re all the family he has.”

“Except you,” she said quietly.

He stared at her for long, disconcerting seconds, his silver gaze searching her face. Everything else about him was dark. His hair, his expression, his countenance, even his voice. But those eyes were positively brilliant. “Shouldn’t you be taking care of him?” Max prompted.

“He wanted me to take care of you instead.”

Max lifted one eyebrow in an expression she was willing to bet sent his employees scrambling. “That sounds like Philip.”

“He knew this weekend’s house party was exceptionally important to you. He briefed me that your brother, Greg, is considering an engagement to Lauren Fitzwater. That, with any luck, Greg will finally muster the nerve to ask the young lady to marry him—and that you hope the relationship will further your efforts to merge Loden Enterprises with Edward Fitzwater’s electronics company.”

Max’s eyebrows lifted. “Philip’s in top mental form, I see.”

Sidney nodded. “He also explained that the younger Mr. Loden probably wouldn’t respond favorably to that information, and that you’d prefer discretion from the staff. Without Philip here to command them, he was worried they might not understand the importance of decorum. Since the Fitzwaters and several of your investors will be present this weekend, this particular event could prove both profitable and beneficial to your long-term goals.”

“It could,” he agreed.

“And, knowing that, Philip was extremely concerned. He knew how much you have riding on this event. He’d already employed my staff to assist your own for the weekend, and, in his absence, he asked me to supervise.” She finished the speech and breathed a mental sigh of relief.

Max studied her for long seconds. “Philip told me you’re in business for yourself now.”

The note of admiration in his voice almost felled her. Not in her wildest imagination had she pictured him admiring her for anything. Not when his first impression of her had been as a miserably unhappy adolescent who’d cowered from him for no apparent reason, and every subsequent impression would have been formed while watching her cater his friends’ parties and assist her uncle. Though she’d seen him from a distance, this was their first substantial conversation in years. “I am,” she said.

“You run a temp agency.” He drummed his fingers on the counter. “Waitstaff and caterers,” he clarified, still holding her captive with his gaze. “As Philip explained it to me, you started the business after your divorce.”

She cringed. Uncle Philip, it seemed, was certainly quite liberal with the details of her private life. She wasn’t prepared for the idea that Max Loden had an intimate view of her failures. “That’s true.”

“And you supply extra personnel for large events and household needs.”

“And parties like this one.”

“I see.” He continued to stare at her.

“Was there something else you wanted, Mr. Loden?”

“Max.” His voice was nearly a whisper. He seemed to be studying her. Without warning, he grabbed her hand and tugged her toward a door at one end of the kitchen.

She gave him an anxious glance. “Is something wrong?”

Max looped his fingers under her elbow as he hurried her toward the pantry. “Maybe.”

Sidney decided not to resist. If she did, he’d probably make a scene. Max loved scenes. It was one of his quirks. “Chip,” she called out to one of her assistants, “Can you take those lobster crepes out when the buzzer rings?”

“Sure.” He lifted his eyebrows.

Sidney ignored him. Max steered her into the relative quiet of the pantry. The door swung soundlessly shut behind them. “Why are you here, Sidney?” His voice had dropped to a low rumble.

The only light in the cramped space came from the slight space around the door. With a sharp tug on the string, she switched on the overhead light. A mistake, that, she mused. The single light bulb made his expression more fierce. Gathering her calm, she met his gaze. “Uncle Philip—”

Max cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I know. Philip’s sick. He asked you to stand in. You haven’t answered my question, though. I want to know why you agreed.”

“I’d do anything for him. He was very worried that he—”

“Couldn’t be here.” Max moved a step closer. “You told me. But Philip told me that you almost never supervise parties yourself. You leave that to your assistant.” His eyebrows drew closer together. “Kelly—” She could almost see the gears turning in his brain.

“Lars,” Sidney supplied.

Max’s nod was short. “That’s right. You run the business and assist your clients with event planning, but she handles the events on site. Isn’t that right?”

“Uh—”

He nodded. “It’s right. So I want to know why you made an exception in my case.”

“Well, I—”

“Why did you decide that this particular event needed your personal touch?”

Gritting her teeth in frustration, she resisted the urge to tell him it was rude to interrupt. “I knew uncle Philip was particularly worried about not being here, and that he’d rest easier if he knew I was.”

He frowned. “Is that what he told you?”

“Not in so many words, but he was very agitated about missing this event.”

Max watched her through a narrow-lidded gaze. “Is that the only reason?”

She swallowed. “What other reasons would there be?”

He raised one hand to rest it on her shoulder. The slight pressure of his fingers eased her closer to him. “I don’t know, Sidney. You tell me.”

Her breathing turned shallow. He couldn’t possibly know the effect he was having on her—the effect he always had on her. By design, she saw him rarely. Most of what she knew about Max, she knew from her uncle. She stayed out of his way whenever possible simply because he had this ability to melt her bones. “Max, I—”

His fingers tightened. “Damn it,” he whispered.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Damn it,” he said again.

“Max—?”

His eyes drifted momentarily shut. When they opened again, she saw the resolve in them. “I want you to stay here this weekend.”

Sidney blinked. Oh, Lord. Not that. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I want you to stay here.”

Vintage Max, she mused. No explanations. No commonsense argument. Direct, and straight to the point. What Max wanted, he was used to getting. She’d been afraid of this when she’d spoken to her uncle. Max had a lot riding on this weekend. He’d want to make sure someone was covering for Philip. He couldn’t know that three uninterrupted days with him would shrink her into a bowl of nerves. “I don’t think—”

“There are twenty bedrooms in this place, not including the guest quarters where Philip usually stays when we’re out here. You could have the apartment to yourself.”

“Really, I—”

“Your staff is going to stay, aren’t they?”

She reached for her patience. “Not all of them. Only the few that I’ll need for early morning. You have an ample household staff to cover whatever happens during the night. You won’t need any extra help until your guests start moving around tomorrow.”

“I want you to stay.”

She stifled a groan. “I know you—”

He leaned closer to her and said, with a soft insistence that curled her toes, “I’m serious.”

She couldn’t decide what he meant by that. “I can see that.”

“Philip would stay.”

“It’s Phillip’s job to stay.”

“He won’t like it if you leave.”

She recognized the lightning-fast change in strategy. He wasn’t getting his way by bullying her, so he’d switched to guilt as a maneuvering tactic. “He doesn’t like being sick, either, but he is. I had planned to stay with him tonight.”

Max eased his hand down her arm to cup her elbow. There was something oddly intimate about the slight heat of his fingers seeping through her jacket. “I appreciate your concern about Philip. I’ll send someone over to take care of him.”

Sidney felt herself losing ground. “I really feel I should check on him myself.”

“He told you to stay here, didn’t he?”

The man was too insightful, that was his problem—and he was making it her problem. Philip had argued with her for nearly an hour. Somehow, Max knew it, and didn’t hesitate to use the knowledge to his advantage. “I think you can understand why Philip would want—”

“Didn’t he?” Max prompted.

She squelched a sigh of irritation. Max knew Philip well. “Yes.”

Philip had worked for the Loden family for forty years. Two days after Max’s birth, he’d been promoted to senior butler. And he considered the care and tending of Max Loden his life’s work. When Sidney had informed him that she planned to leave her assistant in charge overnight, Philip had pushed himself up in his sickbed and given her a sound lecture on the importance of personal service. Sidney had no answer for that. She certainly couldn’t explain that she was sure to be wearing her heart on her sleeve by the end of the weekend.

“Then what’s the problem?” Max persisted.

Sidney frowned at him. “Uncle Philip doesn’t run my life, you know?”

“He runs mine pretty well.”

“And he can’t right now. He needs someone, and I want to be there for him.”

“By driving home at two o’clock in the morning? Do you have any idea what kind of people are on the road at that hour?”

“Overworked caterers who are being harassed by their clients?”

His scowl darkened his features. “Drunks and criminals.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He uttered a mild curse. “It’ll be almost four when you get there. You’ll get three hours sleep, and then drive back out here tomorrow. That’s inefficient and foolish.”

Blunt as usual, she thought irritably. “There’s more to life than efficiency, you know.”

His expression told her he thought that was ludicrous, and barely resisted the urge to tell her so. He shook his head instead. “What are you going to be worth to me tomorrow night, or the night after, if you’re exhausted?”

“I assure you, you won’t have any complaints.”

“I know I won’t if you stay here.”

“Why are we arguing about this?”

“Because you aren’t giving me my way.” He reached for the wall phone. “I’m going to send Charlie to your house to pick up your clothes.”

Sidney recognized the name of one of Max’s chauffeurs. “Max—”

He ignored the warning note in her voice. “Really,” he said. “I left Charlie in town with the limo. It’s a stretch. I never use the damned thing. Too pretentious, and parking’s impossible.” He punched a couple of numbers.

“Then why have it?”

He shrugged. “Because I’m supposed to. People expect it.”

Sidney abruptly pressed down the receiver button. “Max, stop it. This isn’t going to work.”

He ignored her. “Of course it will. If you call someone to pack a bag for you, Charlie can swing by your place, get your stuff, then stop at Philip’s on the way here to let him know your plans have changed.”

“That’s not—” She drew a deep breath. “I’m not staying.”

“He can be here by midnight if I call him now.”

“I hadn’t planned to work all weekend.” Sidney said.

That stopped him. “You had plans?”

Plans like fighting her way through her accounts, and trying, somehow, to dig her way out of the mess her tax accountant had left her holding. Plans like taking care of her uncle. Still, they were her plans, and while Max might have succeeded in taking over the lives of his family, her life was her own. “Yes. I do.”

“Hell. Can you cancel them?”

“Maybe I don’t want to. And why is this so important to you, anyway?”

“I just want you here to take care of things, Sidney.”

Something about that didn’t ring quite true. She frowned at him. “I know you’ll miss Philip, but—”

“I’m not trying to be a jerk about this, you know.”

“Really?” She raised a knowing eyebrow.

He stared at her. She pictured him rummaging through his mental bag of tricks for a new strategy. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he said softly. “What am I paying you for this? Four, five thousand for the weekend?”

She gritted her teeth. “There hasn’t been time to discuss the terms of the contract. Philip got sick this afternoon.”

“Did you already have an event for this weekend?”

“That’s not—”

“Did you?”

“Yes.”

“Did you have to cancel it?”

“I spread my staff out, and brought on some extra people. We’re fine.”

His low whistle parted her hair. “I hope you’re charging me a premium for this. How much overtime are you shelling out this weekend?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the bill hurts when you pay it.”

“I doubt it. Look.” He covered her hand where she still had her finger on the phone. “Whatever you’re planning to bill me, I’ll double it if you stay.”

“Why?”

He stared at her for several breathless seconds. “Because I’ve got a lot riding on this weekend and it’ll make me feel better if you’re here.”

“For a man with a renowned sense of business acumen, paying twice my fee for a little personal security seems a little rash.”

He shrugged. “Don’t let it get out. The stock market might crash.”

Not even a hint of humor showed in his expression. Sidney searched his face for some indication, even a flicker of evidence that he wasn’t absolutely serious. Finding none, she released a careful breath. “Are you going to let me out of the pantry—or do you plan to hold me hostage in here until I agree?”

“Will it work?”

“I can be kind of stubborn.”

“So Philip tells me.”

“I really feel like I should check on him tomorrow.”

“If I send someone over there tonight to make sure he’s okay, can’t you go in the morning?”

“I’d have to drive all the way down there and back in time for lunch.”

“I’ll go with you. I’ll drive you.” She started to shake her head. His fingers tightened on her hand. “I want to.”

The quiet insistence chipped away at her resolve. “You have guests.”

“So?”

The question shouldn’t have surprised her. Social niceties generally eluded him. “If this weekend is as important as you say, you should be here to entertain them.”

“My guests expect to sleep until eleven-thirty, then take advantage of my pool, my tennis courts and my bar. If we leave early, I’ll be back for the important stuff. No one will miss me.”

There was something profoundly sad in that statement. Max had everything money could buy, and none of the things that mattered. Not for the first time, Sidney wondered how, and why, he’d surrounded himself with such superficial people. When Max entered a room, he immediately took up all the available space. Dynamic and compelling, he left a vacuum in his wake. Anyone who failed to notice was a self-absorbed fool. Deliberately, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “You aren’t going to give up, are you?”

“I rarely do.”

“So I’ve heard.”

He tilted his head to one side. “Say yes, Sidney.”

She hesitated. Why, oh why, did he have this effect on her? What was it the man did that made her want to simply melt into the floor? She’d seen him less than ten times since she’d come to live with her uncle Philip, and every time, he had the same, unnerving effect on her. “Max—”

He held her gaze with intense scrutiny. “Say yes.”

It was that boyish charm that did her in. It had never ceased to amaze her that people found Max Loden irascible and ruthless when she found him so irresistible. “Are you sure you can get someone to stay with uncle Philip tonight?”

He squeezed her hand. “Not a problem. I’ve got a full staff of people in the city who love Philip. In fact, I’ll get Gertie to go over there with some chicken soup. Unless I miss my guess, she’s got a soft spot for your uncle.”

“He likes her, too.” Her uncle spoke often and warmly of the older woman who took care of Max’s New York penthouse.

“See? Problem solved. Do you want Charlie to pick up your stuff?”

“Yes, no—oh, I don’t know. This is too complicated. I can’t think this fast. I like to plan things more than five minutes in advance.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated. Just let me take care of everything.”

Just like he always did, she thought. Max Loden, general manager of the universe, caretaker of the downtrodden. She thought of all the reasons she shouldn’t—even prepared a quick list in her mind—but as she prepared to tell him no, he trailed the tip of his index finger along the back of her hand. “Sidney,” he said, his voice a rumbling whisper that set off a fluttering of butterflies in her belly. “I thought you were a customer service fanatic.”

She was going to lose, she realized. He was going to captivate her, just like he did everyone else. “I am,” she blurted, more to herself than to him.

If he sensed her inner turmoil, he ignored it—or rather, capitalized on it. “Then make the customer happy.” His thumb found the pulse in her wrist. “Make me happy, Sidney.”

She could no more resist that pleading tone in his voice than she could fly to the moon. Waging silent war with the warning bells in her head, she hesitated for long seconds, then nodded. Max’s gaze flared with satisfaction as he brushed her hand from the phone and again punched the numbers. With a few efficient words, he set the wheels in motion to take over her life—or her weekend, at least.

When he pressed the receiver into her hand a few seconds later, she couldn’t meet his gaze as she explained the change in plans to her uncle. He seemed relieved. She frowned at the sound of his racking cough. “Uncle Philip, are you sure you’re going to be all right?”

“Fine, fine,” the older man told her. “Gertie’s soup can cure anything. How’s Max?”

Sidney glanced at him. “Stubborn as ever.”

“Good. I told you that you should stay there. Max is going to need you.” He coughed again. “You can’t imagine how much, Sidney.”

That made her smile. “I’ll never be able to replace you, you know.”

“You’ll do fine. Make sure someone pays special attention to Greg Loden.”

“I know. Keep him away from the gazebo.” According to her uncle, the younger Loden’s favorite seduction spot was the picturesque gazebo in the grove of apple trees near the foot of the estate.

“And keep the women away from him.”

“Got it. Anything else?”

“Don’t let Max turn into a tyrant.”

“Too late for that.”

His slight laugh warmed her. “And don’t worry about me. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right. We’ll be there by nine. Good night, Uncle Philip. Promise you’ll call if you need me.”

“My word, my dear. Good night.”

“Good night.” Sydney slowly replaced the receiver. She raised her gaze to Max’s. “You win.” He still had that probing look that made her feel oddly transparent. She drew a deep breath.

“Good.” He pushed open the pantry door. “I guarantee that I’m always in a much better mood when I win. Do you want Charlie to bring you some clothes or not?”

“I guess not. I can make do for tonight.” Sidney followed him back into the kitchen. Her assistant, Kelly, could lend her whatever she couldn’t scrounge in Philip’s apartment.

He jammed his hands into his trouser pockets as he turned to face her once more. “I’m glad we settled that. And I meant what I said, I’ll double your fee just for giving in.”

His voice was a sultry whisper that reminded her of a hot summer wind: strangely welcome, and more than a little disconcerting, as if a storm was sure to follow in its wake. Worse, he smiled at her. At the sight, her heart skipped a beat. Max Loden’s smile, she’d long ago determined, was like a well-preserved piece of art: he displayed it on the rarest occasions and it never failed to impress. “I’ll see you later, Sidney.”

And then he left.

The room went suddenly still. The vacuum caused by his absence, she mused. Like the aftermath of a hurricane, unnatural silence settled on the bustling kitchen. Sidney turned to find her staff watching her with wary eyes. “What?” she prompted.

Kelly Lars, her assistant and best friend, shot her a grin. “That was him,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

Sidney nodded. “Yes. That was Mr. Loden.”

One of her pastry chefs, a young woman who’d joined Sidney’s team several weeks ago, leaned one hip against the counter and exhaled an audible breath. “Wow.”

Chip Meyers, who’d worked for Sidney for several years, gave the girl a sympathetic look. “It’s not usually like this, Becky. Most of the places we work, we never even see the people we work for. This is a little different because Sidney is friends with the guy.”

Kelly laughed. “I’m not sure I’d say that exactly.”

Sidney shot her a warning glance. “Kel—”

“Well, you’re not,” Kelly insisted. “You’ve talked to him—what? A dozen times in twelve years?”

Sidney suppressed an irritated retort. “My uncle is his butler,” she explained to her overly curious staff. “Uncle Philip has been with the Loden family for forty years. He’s known Mr. Loden all of his life. You’re here this weekend because my uncle hired you to augment Mr. Loden’s staff. I’m here because uncle Philip couldn’t be.”

Becky was busily wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “You didn’t mention, when you asked me if I wanted this assignment, that we’d be working for a human stick of dynamite.”

“You’re not.” Sidney’s voice was sharper than she’d intended. “You’re working for me.” The dynamite, she silently added, is my problem.

Chip frowned. “You know, Sid, when you told me the guy made his living making toys, this wasn’t what I was expecting.”

“Toys?” Becky asked.

Sidney exhaled a slow breath. “Max Loden makes his living making money. AppleTree Toys is just a part of the Loden Enterprises empire.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “AppleTree—oh my God! Max Loden. That Max Loden?” Her expression changed to awe. “I can’t believe I’m in Max Loden’s house. And that he looks like that.”

Kelly laughed. “What did you expect him to look like?”

“Well, I expected he was like, sixty at least.” Becky leaned against the counter. “I had no idea he was such a—well—such a stud. My kid sisters love those dolls.”

Chip laughed. “So do the rest of the girls in America. That’s how we ended up working in digs like this. Who knew a guy could make billions selling dolls.”

Becky warmed to the topic. “I remember when the Real Men collection came out. I was so jealous of my sisters. When I played with Barbie dolls, all we had were Ken and Alan to date Barbie and all her friends.”

“That was a man’s kind of world,” Chip countered.

Becky glared at him. “Then along came AppleTree Toys with the Real Men collection. How many are there? Six?”

“Eight,” Sidney supplied. “Max got the idea from watching his friend’s daughters play with their dolls. There were never enough males to go around.”

Kelly snorted. “Very insightful.”

Becky nodded. “Lucratively insightful. I remember reading that. So he conceived this entire line of male dolls. Each one has his own personality. There’s a stockbroker, a park ranger, a football player, a doctor—I can’t remember the rest. Anyway, the Max doll is the central figure. Supposedly, his staff named the doll after him.”

“They did it without his knowledge,” Sidney said quietly. “By the time he found out, the ad slicks had already gone out. At the time, AppleTree toys was operating on a shoestring, and Max didn’t feel like he could justify the expense of pulling the ads.” She paused. “He doesn’t like it.”

“Yeah, well,” Becky continued, “like it or not, the Max doll, and all his friends, are phenomenally popular. My sisters have a zillion of them, and all their accessories.”

Chip raised his eyebrows. “They have accessories? No guy I know would be caught dead with anything that could be called an accessory.”

Becky laughed. “Not even if the accessory is a twin-engine airplane?”

“Well—”

Kelly came to his rescue. “What she means, Chip, is that the Real Men dolls have an entire line of fashions and play sets that suit their individual personalities. I have it on very good authority that when the Max doll pulls up in his Jag roadster, it sends any self-respecting Barbie doll into a swoon.”

Chip flexed his biceps beneath his white chef’s jacket. “I’ll bet he doesn’t have Chip the super chef.”

Becky swatted him with the dishtowel. “Those dolls are so popular, the advertising slogan for the line is Who Gets To Marry Max? When little girls drag their dolls out to play, that’s the first question they ask.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Kelly quipped. “Every society reporter and fortune hunter in the country keeps asking the same question about who’ll marry the real Max Loden.”

Chip shook his head. “So that’s how ‘Mad Max’ made his millions.”

Sidney lost what was left of her indulgence. “Don’t call him that,” she said firmly.

The three looked at her, wide-eyed. Kelly placed a hand on her arm. “He didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Sidney assured her, and managed a slight smile at Chip. “I know you didn’t. But I don’t want to hear that name again while we’re here.” She paused. “For that matter, I don’t want to hear it after we leave, either. Max Loden inherited his father’s company on the verge of bankruptcy. Thanks to the success of the Real Men dolls, he earned enough capital to bail out some of Loden Enterprises’ less successful public ventures. He took an ailing company, put his mind and effort behind it, and made it grow. Just because his methods are a little unorthodox, and just because some of his adversaries think he’s a little—eccentric—doesn’t mean we’re going to disrespect him. I trust I’ve made that clear.”

Chip looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, Sidney. I didn’t know you—”

“It’s all right. He’s heard the name before, I’m certain. But I don’t want him to hear it from us. Mr. Loden is paying every member of this staff extraordinarily well for their service.”

Becky nodded. “I’m getting twice what I did for the last house party I worked.”

Sidney tugged at the points of her jacket. “Most of you are. So in addition to your service, he’s going to get your respect, too. I’d like you to alert the rest of the staff to that. If I hear anything that even hints at disrespect, I won’t hesitate to let someone go.”

Becky and Chip stared at her, astonished. Kelly alone seemed to sense the volatile nature of her mood. “Chip,” she said, with the soft authority Sidney had always admired. “I think now would be a good time for you to find Mr. Loden’s chef and decide how the two of you want to divvy up the kitchen responsibilities. Do you have the punch list I gave you?”

He nodded. Kelly waved him away with a sweep of her hand. “Good. Becky, I’d like you to gather the rest of our staff in about ten minutes so we can brief them.” She scanned the kitchen, then tucked her clipboard under her arm. “We’ve got two hours,” she continued, “and I’m going to make sure the guest rooms are up to spec.”

As Kelly picked up a tray of chocolates, Sidney gave the confections a final, assessing glance. The shaped candies were Sidney’s personal trademark. Individually made, each candy represented a guest’s personal interests. Before a major event, she interviewed her clients to determine how best to serve their guests. The chocolates, which her staff placed on the pillows of the guest room beds or at each place setting for meals, were a special touch her clients usually raved about.

Kelly paused on her way to the door. “Sidney, would you like to instruct the rest of the staff, or shall I?”

Sidney gave her a grateful look. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” At her friend’s dubious look, Sidney laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve delivered my last avenging angel speech for the day.”

“All right,” Kelly agreed. “I’m going to deliver the chocolates, then.” She inspected the tray. “You know, these look really good, Sid,” she said. “Even if you did make them at three this morning. No one makes them as well as you do.”

Sidney shrugged, unwilling to discuss why she’d been unable to sleep the night before, and had decided to personally make the chocolates—a duty she generally would have delegated. “I enjoy doing it. I hadn’t done them in a while, and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost my touch.”

Kelly gave her a shrewd look, but silently hoisted the tray of chocolates to her shoulder. As she strolled past Sidney, she whispered, “Sure you don’t want me to put the Cupid on Max’s pillow, Sid?”

Sidney frowned at her. “Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“Every one of them. That’s why I asked.”

“Kel—”

“Okay, okay. He sure is cute, though.” She sailed out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

Sidney almost laughed out loud. Max Loden was many things. Daunting. Charming. Elegant. Ruthless. Brilliant. Maybe even handsome. But never, ever had anyone described him as cute. Sidney sometimes doubted that Max had even entered the world as a baby. Instead, he seemed to have walked onto the stage of his life full-grown and ready for battle.

When his parents died, leaving a twenty-five-year-old Max full responsibility for his brother, his two sisters and his father’s struggling corporation, Max had taken the reins like a man born to lead. He’d made a lot of money, and a lot of enemies along the way. Sidney’s uncle, Philip Grant, had seen him through all of it. And while the world found Max’s eccentricities, razor-sharp business acumen and incomprehensible ability to take the wildest risk possible and make astounding profits from the venture both infuriating and intimidating, Philip adored him. His adversaries and even his colleagues claimed he had no heart, that he placed profits above people and that he’d step on anyone who got in his way. “Mad Max,” they called him. And as far as everyone could tell, he liked it.

But Sidney had never believed it, for reasons she’d told no one—not even Philip. On a cold rainy evening, years ago, not long after she’d come to live with her uncle, Max Loden had given her a gift so generous, so unthinkably extravagant that she’d tucked it close to her heart and used it whenever her confidence had needed it most.

He would never remember the incident, she was sure. She’d been fifteen. He was a college student bound for glory. Everyone agreed it was his destiny. She’d been afraid of him, and hadn’t known why. In those days, however, it seemed she had feared everyone. Even then people talked about him. He had what Philip called presence. He always seemed to be involved in terribly important, terribly serious business. While his brother and sisters were enjoying the carefree life afforded them by wealthy parents, Max appeared to know, somehow, that his destiny would be different—that, too soon, he would bear responsibilities far too heavy for most men’s shoulders.

Yet on that night, for reasons she might never know, he had stepped off his constantly spinning world to give Sidney’s self-esteem a desperately needed transfusion. And, in that instant, she’d mentally cast aside his critics as shallow fools and envious naysayers. And “Mad Max” had become, forever known to her alone, as “Max the Magnificent.”