Once Upon a Christmas Eve (12 page)

What she wanted to do was tell him she hadn't meant to pry as deeply as she had. Fairly certain he'd rather she let it go, she sought more comfortable ground herself.

“You're wet,” she said, looking from the rain beaded on his squall jacket to the droplets clinging to his dark hair.

Max watched her lift the towel a little higher, saw a tentative smile enter her eyes.

“The papers are out on the bar. Dry off and I'll get you some coffee.”

That little smile held apology and what almost looked like concern. Bracing himself against the appealing curve of her mouth, he took what she held. “Don't go to the trouble.”

“It's no trouble. I have everything ready. All I need to do is pour the water into the pot. Besides, it was cold out there. This will warm you.”

She knew he liked French press. So that was what she had set out to prepare for him.

“I have a couple servings of pear torte left,” she told him, unzipping her jacket. She had one of bread pudding, too, though she wasn't about to offer him that. “Do you want some with your coffee?”

“You don't have to wait on me, Tommi. Or feed me. And regular coffee would have been fine.”

“But you like this kind better,” she reminded him.

That was beside the point. “Tommi, don't.” He didn't want her doing anything special for him. He didn't want her feeling sorry about his aversion for a holiday he hadn't celebrated since he was seventeen. He didn't want her looking
at him with all that concern, or making him want to know if her mouth was as soft as it looked. He didn't want to remember the incredible silkiness of her hair, her skin or how perfect she'd felt in his arms.

Mostly, he didn't want the restlessness that came with wondering what she'd feel like naked and moving beneath him.

He pushed his fingers through his damp hair, his body tight with the unfamiliar and building frustration he had to jam down every time he was with her.

“You don't need to take care of me the way you do everyone else around here. You have enough to do as it is,” he muttered, trying hard not to sound as defensive as he suddenly felt. “Let's just get this agreement ironed out. Or, better yet,” he decided, since his effort seemed to be failing, “call me tomorrow and we can go over the rest of it on the phone. We should have everything wrapped up by the end of the week.”

She set the small pot back on the workstation. As she did, the faint click of metal bumping metal merged with the no-nonsense ring of his cell phone.

Tommi watched him pull it from his pocket. After a quick glance to see who was calling, he palmed it and let the call go to voice mail.

“If you'd rather I call, of course I'll do that.” His edginess had escalated. She could practically feel it humming along her skin.

That feeling lingered as he gave her a tight smile, and an even tighter nod.

“Tomorrow, then,” he said—and left her with the strange feeling that he hadn't closed her out, so much as he'd closed himself in.

M
ax leaned against the edge of his wide, ebony desk, his jaw tight and his arms crossed over his loosened silk tie. On the other side of his expansive office with its built-in bar and insanely expensive modern art, Scott adjusted the lens on the telescope in front of the wall of windows. Their 40th floor offices afforded sweeping views of Puget Sound and the islands and peninsula beyond, but he wouldn't be able to see much through the fog and drizzle.

His brawny, fair-haired partner wasn't interested in the view, anyway. He was just trying to let him know he took the problem less seriously than Max did.

“I know you want to open that office the first of March, Max. And I know it could take a while to work in the right people. What's the big deal if we push it to June? Or even wait a year?” he asked, abandoning the non-view to poke through the files stacked on the conference table. “We've been doing great working out of here and Chicago.”

“The ‘big deal' is that we could be doing even better if we were bigger.”

“And to get bigger means one of us is going to have even less time than he does now. Since you already sleep in your suit, that means it's my time getting cut into.”

“Since you only work three days a week that shouldn't be a problem.”

The tips of Scott's ears reddened as he looked up. “I just spent ten days in Singapore closing the HuntCom deal.”

“And the two weeks before that in the Florida Keys.”

“Is it my fault you don't take vacations?”

“You spent the first of November on some game shoot. That left you all of three days in Chicago and five here last month.”

“You're keeping track of my time?”

It was all Max could do to keep his resentment in check. “We have clients, Scott. Somebody has to take the meetings.”

His jaw worked as he took a deep breath. They'd been through this before. In the past year, past two, probably, Scott had taken “down time” to a whole new level.

“You agreed to expand,” he pointed out, ever so tightly.

“Well, I changed my mind. I don't want to move to New York.”

Because of Tommi, Max thought. “Fine,” he said. “I will.”

“That still leaves everything here to me!” He checked his own tone. “Maybe I don't want to work that hard.”

Clearly ready to move on, Scott returned his attention to the files. “Let's just get to what we need to do here, okay? Bring me up to speed on the Westland and SymTech relocations.” He nudged at another file, checked the tab. “And
The Corner Bistro.” Picking the file up, he smiled. “Let's start with this one.”

Max's frustration with his partner suddenly collided with agitation of an entirely different sort. He'd done his best not to think about the woman with the warm brown eyes who scraped at his raw spots and drew him with her smile. She had called on Monday, as they'd agreed, but he hadn't seen her since he'd helped her hang her lights. Now, every time he saw Christmas lights, he thought of her. And Christmas lights were everywhere.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, feeling restless, he paced toward the tall curve of polished marble anchoring one end of his credenza. “She's fine with everything except the clause about wages and insurance. I reminded her that our agreement with our investors is for a certain percentage of profit. For our company to do business with her, the clause has to stay. She agreed.” Ever so reluctantly, he remembered. “So legal messengered the final contract over to her yesterday. It's pretty much the standard agreement for a silent partnership we have with the other restaurants in the portfolio.”

“I wish you hadn't sent the contract out. I could have taken it to her myself.”

Remaining silent, Max kept his back to where he could hear Scott flipping through her file.

“I called her when I got back last night,” his partner continued, sounding faintly distracted by what he was perusing. “I told her I wanted to talk about her expansion, but she said she's really busy right now. Something about private dinner parties she needs to prepare for. I think I'll stop by, anyway. Just tell her I'm checking to make sure she's okay with everything, you know?”

Mention of the private dinner parties she had booked had Max frowning at the large oval of rock. He didn't care
what Tommi had said about her energy coming back soon. She needed it now. He could only imagine how exhausted she'd be by the time the holidays were over.

“We need to take good care of her. Really good care,” Scott emphasized, oblivious to his partner's silence. “That girl is a goldmine.”

Max turned, his frown firmly in place. “What are you talking about? Her operation is the smallest we've ever taken on.”

“It's her connections, man.” With his golden-boy grin, Scott tossed the file onto the table. “I've only met her once. A little over a month ago at some event for the Hunt Foundation.

“Harry was telling me he'd heard great things about our operation and started asking all kinds of personal questions. He's kind of eccentric, you know,” he added with an easy chuckle, “so I just went along with what he asked and pretty soon he'd had her brought over. He introduced her as his surrogate niece and a member of his board of directors. After she left, he hinted pretty heavily that there could be a position on his board for me if I got serious about her.”

He shook his head, grinning. “Guess he's looking to make an honest woman out of her before she has her kid. He didn't mention that she was in a family way,” he stressed, sounding as if he figured the guy had deliberately withheld that bit of information. “But, hey. She's easy enough on the eyes.” He set aside the file he apparently intended to take with him. “And I imagine she has one hell of a trust fund.”

Glancing back, looking like an ad for weekend wear, he planted his hands on the hips of his casual slacks.

His smile did a slow fade.

“What?” he asked.

With questions piling up like cars in a chain collision,
Max didn't bother to question the protectiveness that had risen straight up his back. His expression ominous, his tone more so, his eyes narrowed to slits of blue ice.

“Tommi knows Harry Hunt?”

“I just said she did. She's on his board—”

“I got that.” He'd also understood that Harry had introduced her as a surrogate niece, whatever that meant. What he didn't understand was why Tommi would have come to them if she had ties to the Hunts. “And I finally get why you're after her. I just don't believe what I'm hearing. You just want to use her?”

Scott held up his hands, palms out, his expression appeasing. “Let's not put it that way,” he countered easily. “Men marry women all the time for what they can do for them and their careers. Who knows what doors she can open for me?” He held his hands wide. “And for you,” he pointed out, ever generous. “The company will benefit, too. If all this works out and we start getting business from Harry's Forbes-list buddies, you'll have all the expansion you can handle. Just hire more help.”

Max wasn't sure if the man was looking for support, approval or a blessing. Whichever it was, he wasn't getting it from him. The fact that he didn't seem to think Max would be at all put off by his ploy felt like an insult.

“You know what, Layman?” Disgust fairly dripped from Max's tone. “I've overlooked little things like you working half as hard for half our profits—”

“Hey,” the beefier man cut in. “It's not half as hard. Just because you've had to cover a few meetings for me lately—”

“I'm not going to debate your math skills,” Max shot back. “If you can't make a meeting, you figure out how to explain it to the client. I'm done covering for you.”

Clearly trying to defuse him, obviously thinking it was
only his work habits ticking off his partner, Scott's easygoing smile resurfaced. “Come on, man. You know you'll do what you have to do to make all this work. You love this company too much to let me mess it up.”

The good-natured, every-guy's-buddy attitude worked well with everyone else. It used to work with Max, too, mostly because Max didn't tend to sweat the small stuff in their working relationship. But the small stuff had become bigger with his partner's blatant disregard for his responsibilities.

It had become huge with what he had revealed about the reasons he'd staked his claim on Tommi.

The deceptive calm remained in Max's voice. It was the steel threading it that added the threatening edge. “I care about it.” The company was as much his life as Tommi's bistro was hers. “But I meant what I said. If you have a meeting, you show up. You pull your weight. And as far as Tommi Fairchild is concerned, the last thing she needs is you or anyone else trying to manipulate her. Stay away from her bistro.”

At the purely masculine warning, good nature failed. “Hey, buddy. You need to remember who owned this company first. You wouldn't be a partner here if I hadn't hired you on. My end of these deals is to implement any physical changes we're paying for. I'll oversee her expansion. Whatever I want with her personally is none of your business.”

Heat rising from the collar of his polo shirt, he glanced away, looked right back. As if he'd just caught the possessiveness in Max's tone, his eyes narrowed.

“Are you after her yourself?”

A corded muscle pulsed in Max's neck. “The only thing I'm after is for you to stop screwing around. We don't abuse our business relationships. And what you need to remember,” he echoed in the man's same posturing tone, “is that
you wouldn't still have this operation if I hadn't come on board.” He'd have played it right into the ground. “Unless you want me to get her on the phone right now so you can tell her why you're after her, you leave her alone.”

Scott clearly took exception to having his hand called. He didn't look too happy having his plans with his little goldmine gutted, either. But with no way to defend himself and his calculating now worthless, he seemed to think better of voicing any further displeasure in the moments before a knock sounded on the door.

The instant it opened, Margie poked her head inside.

“Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen,” she said, her neat gray bob swinging. “But, Scott, Kathy said you wanted to know when the box of documents you shipped from Singapore arrived. FedEx just left. She put them in your office.

“Max,” she continued, all quick, professional efficiency as she walked in and slipped his mail into the inbox on his spreadsheet-covered desk, “Ross Hayden has called twice in the past hour. He said he spoke with you last week about moving their operation to Washington from San Jose. He wants to meet with you as soon as possible.

“I made your reservations for Chicago on Monday,” she went on, seeming aware of the tension in the room, clearly intent on ignoring it. “If you want to tack that trip on, let me know and I'll route you from Chicago to San Jose. It's only two weeks until Christmas and flights are filling up.”

The interruption had Max drawing a deep breath. “I'll do that,” he told her. “Thanks.”

He'd call their client now, he thought, turning to his desk. He had nothing else to say to his partner, anyway. With Scott avoiding eye contact with him as he followed his assistant out, it seemed apparent he didn't have anything to add to their discussion, either.

He wasn't sure he trusted the resentment in his partner's
silence. Or if he trusted his partner anymore at all for that matter. More pressing just then was that he had no idea what was going on with the woman who was working so hard to take care of the business and the people she cared about.

He wanted to know why she hadn't gone to Harry Hunt for the money she needed to pay her new chef. The man was as rich as Croesus. What she needed would be the equivalent of pennies to him.

He wanted to know what she was doing on the board of directors of a multibillion-dollar international computer corporation.

He especially wanted to know why Harry Hunt was trying to marry her off, and offering bribes in the process. Scott had assumed that the man wanted to legitimize her baby, possibly even save face for her. But Max didn't believe her pregnancy was the reason at all. She was trying too hard to keep that circumstance to herself. As far as he knew, he—and his partner—were the only ones who knew she was expecting.

He jammed his fingers through his hair. The fact that he'd somehow thought he was protecting his partner by disclosing her condition now seemed laughable. Even as the thought registered, so did guilt. When he'd made that call, he'd also wanted to know if the information would change his partner's interest in her. Now, as then, he didn't question why that had mattered. All he considered was that Scott wouldn't have been privy to the fact if not for him. Tommi hadn't asked him not to say anything about her condition. Yet, he felt as if he'd betrayed her, anyway.

He stood behind his desk, his hands on his hips, head down, jaw working. The questions demanded answers. The disgust, disappointment and protectiveness coiling inside him demanded that he step back and wait. He didn't trust
anything about what he felt just then. Least of all the intensity of it. Because of that, he wouldn't allow himself to pick up the phone and call her. He'd hear from her as soon as she finished reviewing the final contract, anyway. Though she'd agreed to its terms, knowing her, she'd try one last time to talk him out of the wage clause.

Having decided that much, Max started to make the call to their new client only to be interrupted by another call. Then, by Margie needing signatures. Then, by Scott, all business, wanting to know when he'd be available to talk about the WestLand properties. He'd decided to take a long weekend and go skiing, so the sooner the better.

The fact that the unmistakably disgruntled guy would soon be off to play again suited Max just fine. With him gone for a few days, he didn't need to worry just yet about what sort of payback his partner had in mind.