Born to Be Wild (11 page)

He didn’t take long coming up with an answer. He just shook his head slowly and very succinctly said, “No.”

That wasn’t the answer she’d expected. “Why?”

“Because you want too much,” he said, all too seriously. “Because the food, the staff, and even the chef at Born To Be Wild could never live up to your high expectations.”

“That’s not true.”

He turned the wheel and rolled the motorcycle so that she was standing right next to him again, so close she could almost feel the bitter chill of his eyes. “You’ve got a lot going for you,” he said. “You’re rich. You’re beautiful. Hell, Lauren, there’ve been a few moments today when I found myself wanting something far more than a business relationship with you. But you know what? That high-and-mighty attitude of yours changed my mind.”

His words hurt, but she couldn’t give up under pressure. “We could still have a business relationship.”

He shook his head, and she felt as if her entire world was going to crumble in on her.

“All right,” she declared, “we can use your waiters.”

“Too late. I’m going to concentrate all my efforts on Mr. Fabiano’s birthday party.”

He revved the engine.

She felt tears welling up behind her eyes, but held them back. “You’re my last hope, Max. If you desert me, what will I do about Saturday?”

He laughed. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t care about Betsy Endicott’s highfalutin wedding. But—”

“But what?” she interrupted, feeling her lips begin to tremble.

“I’m not going to leave you high and dry.”

A little bit of her hope was restored. “You’re not?”

“No.” He grinned. “There’s a Costco in West Palm Beach. They’ve got frozen quiche and shrimp trays that aren’t too bad. Why don’t you give them a try?”

“But—”

“I don’t have time for any more buts, Lauren.”

“Please.”

“Saying please worked the first time, but not anymore.” All too soon the motorcycle thundered down the drive and onto the street, drowning out Lauren’s last attempt to keep Max around.

She stared straight ahead until the roar of Max’s engine died away, her mind muddled with all the horrid scenarios that this latest calamity could bring about. And then she thought of Betsy’s happiness, and she threw back her shoulders.

If Max thought he’d won, if he thought he’d extinguished all her optimism that Betsy’s wedding would be a success, he had another think
coming. Palm Beach would experience the best wedding ever this coming Saturday, and when it was all over, Lauren planned to tell Max all about her victory—in spite of him!

A streak of white shot past Max’s eyes, dragging his attention from the paperwork spread before him on the bar. The balled up pair of socks skidded across the tile counter and came to an abrupt halt when it hit the cookie jar.

“Stop throwing things at me!” Jamie cried out between bursts of laughter.

“They’re your socks,” Ryan yelled back. “Can’t you wear them more than once before throwing them in the dirty clothes?”

Max grabbed the remote control, aimed it at the CD player, and turned the volume up on “Purple Haze,” but Jimi Hendrix couldn’t compete with the playful bickering between Jamie and Ryan. They spent nearly fifteen minutes every night arguing over who would do the din
ner dishes and who would toss a load of clothes in the wash, and more often than not they tried to drag Max into the argument. But he stayed out of it, having realized long ago that the kids were bright enough to work out this ongoing problem on their own.

When the last resounding guitar chord vibrated through the room, Ryan retreated to the laundry, Jamie sulked toward the kitchen sink, and Max went back to work, poring over myriad dessert and entrée recipes as he fine-tuned a new catering menu for Born To Be Wild.

It was a good thing he and Lauren Remington had parted company this afternoon, he thought, as he scribbled a few minor changes to his recipe for Easy Ridin’ Mud Pie. He kept his life simple and his work to a minimum, preferring to give Jamie and Ryan the bulk of his attention. The last thing he needed was a rich, spoiled, snobbish socialite, one who chewed men up and spit them out, imposing on his time.

Of course, she didn’t need a man like him, either, not when he wanted her one minute and despised her the next. God, he’d come on to her right here in this kitchen, and not long after he’d been rude, abrupt, and downright mean. He’d known damn well how she’d react to having Bear, Gabe, and Jazz working as waiters.

He hadn’t had any choice in whom he hired, because getting qualified help for a society affair—especially on short notice—wasn’t an easy task. But he could have broken the news about whom he planned to hire sooner, explained to her
that they’d all worked for his foster dad when they were younger and knew the ropes. But, no, he’d wanted to tease her, wanted her to suffer just the smallest bit for her elitist attitude, and the whole thing had backfired. If he’d caught Jamie or Ryan treating someone—anyone—that way, he’d have their hides.

But it maddened him to think how much he wanted her, when she wasn’t the kind of woman he thought she should be.

Hell, now
he
sounded like a snob, looking down at someone he barely knew, someone he judged over an incident that he’d blown all out of proportion, and condemned from what he’d read in the papers.

A sensible man would come right out and ask her why she’d married and divorced twice, why she’d dumped her last fiancé. He assumed it had to do with her being fickle, but maybe it was something else. He couldn’t imagine anyone marrying—or staying married to—a man like Chip.

And he
had
read some fairly dismal stories about the indiscretions of her second husband, Leland Lancaster, right up until the time he died. But he’d also read stories about Lauren’s escapades, things like naked jaunts on the beach in Rio and flirtations with married men.

As much as he wanted to put her out of his mind, she stayed there, begging him to give her another chance, to get to know her better before he judged her too harshly.

Would it hurt to call her in the morning? Would it be too much trouble to cater her blasted
society shindig? Not really, especially when he thought about her softness, the sweet scent of her perfume, and the way she tried her damnedest to make things work. Hell, he wanted to see her again. There was a good chance Miss Palm Beach would crush him like all the other men in her life, but when had he ever turned his back on danger?

A deafening cl
ang forced him to look up from the blur of papers in front of him. Jamie held a soapy copper-bottomed skillet in one hand and an aluminum saucepan in the other, and a mischievous grin brightened her freckled face. “I knew that would get your attention.”

“A simple ‘Hey, Max,’ would have worked just as
easily.” He put down his pen, closed his notebook, and folded his forearms on the bar, giving Jamie his complete attention. “Okay, I’m all ears.”

“Who was that lady you were with today?”

“Lauren Remington.”

“She’s not a new girlfriend, is she?”

Not at the moment, Max thought. Even though he planned to call her tomorrow, even though he planned to apologize, they had a lot to work out if they were going to have a personal relationship. Hell, she might even hang up on him after today’s brutish display.

“There’s a possibility I might cater a wedding for her.”

Jamie bit her lip and Max knew there was more she wanted to ask, but instead she rinsed the pots and angled them in the drainer on the counter. She rested her elbows on the edge of the sink and scrubbed a spatula. Her eyes slowly drifted up
from her chore. “Are you going to see her again no matter what?”

“I don’t know.”

“Does that mean ‘I doubt it’ or ‘Yeah, I think so’?”

Max laughed. “It’s more like ‘I don’t know,’ but I’ll keep you posted if the status changes.”

“I hope it’s ‘I doubt it’,” Jamie said, slapping the washcloth into the water. At eleven, she considered herself the woman of the house, and she didn’t want anyone intruding on her territory.

Of course, there hadn’t been many women in Max’s life, especially during the last five years. Before his foster father got sick, he’d been in Hollywood and other parts of the country, working and looking for his sister and brother.

After his dad’s death, he’d been too busy handling his affairs to
have
affairs. Philippe had left everything he owned—his home, his entire estate—to Max.

He’d also left a catering business that was nearly bankrupt, but Max had turned A Shot of Class into Born To Be Wild, changing the concept from gourmet to luaus, barbecues, and specialty sixties-era parties complete with restored cars, motorcycles, and loud music. He’d built Born To Be Wild to the point where he and his staff could work two and three jobs a day, seven days a week, if he wanted to, and he had in the beginning.

But there were other things he’d wanted to do, like make Philippe’s dream of opening a place where kids—underprivileged or underloved— could hang out. Max owed his life, everything
he’d become to Philippe, so he’d poured all his energy, all his time into Born To Be Wild until he had the money to open the Hole in the Wall. The Hole was still his pride and joy, but when Jamie and Ryan came into his life two years ago, his entire focus changed. Thankfully his friends had stepped in and took over the day-to-day operation of the Hole.

There hadn’t been time for a steady woman in his life. Of course, if he continually treated women the way he’d treated Miss Palm Beach, no one would ever want him.

The kitchen phone rang and Max grabbed it, aiming the remote control at the CD player again to turn down the volume.

“Born To Be Wild,” he answered, and for one brief moment hoped that Lauren Remington was on the other end, because he wanted to work out their differences.

“Hello, Max.” The deep male voice definitely didn’t belong to Lauren—it belonged to the investigator he’d hired to find Charlotte and Zack—and his disappointment surprised him. “How ya doing?”

“Fine. Any news?” Max hated the silence at the other end of the phone. The last time Harry had been this quiet, he’d called to tell Max that after six months of looking, he’d found some information on Max’s brother—and the news hadn’t been good.

“I might have found Charlotte,” Harry said, “but don’t get your hopes up.”

“You killed any hope I had of finding Zack
when you told me he died in a car fire. I still have hopes of seeing Charlotte again, so whatever you do, don’t tell me she’s dead, too.”

“All I’m trying to tell you is that I found a woman named Charlotte Wilde. She may or may not be your sister.”

“Where is she?”

“Phoenix. I’m heading there on Tuesday to check her out.”

“Have you talked to her?”

Silence again, until Harry’s sigh reverberated against Max’s ear. “I talked to the woman she lives with.”

He hated the way Harry beat around the bush. “And?”

“She’s... she’s
slow. Mentally challenged.”

“That’s impossible. She was perfectly fine the last time I saw her.”

“She was four when you saw her last, and from what I’ve been able to find out, you can’t always detect someone’s mental capabilities that early. But like I said, she may not be your sister.”

Max hadn’t seen his baby sister or his younger brother in twenty years, not since their mother had dumped Max on one of her old boyfriends and disappeared with Zack and Charlotte—who she’d eventually abandoned somewhere in California. He wanted to find Charlotte desperately, but he hadn’t bargained for this.

“Tell me about her,” he said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “What does she look like? How old is she?”

“She’s twenty-four. Black hair. Brown eyes.”

The scant description was correct, but that didn’t mean much. “What else do you know about her?” Did she still like to dance and sing? he wondered. Was she still pretty?

“I don’t know a thing. The woman she lives with was evasive. That’s why I’m heading to Phoenix. I can’t tell you anything more until I see her and try to talk to her. And like I said, this may or may not be your Charlotte Wilde. It wouldn’t be the first time I thought I’d found someone, only to learn that I was way off base.”