The Sweetest Deal (11 page)

Her father’s concern filtered through the line. “Did you make a deal with Max to get me pregnant?”

“What? Who told you such a thing?”

“Just tell me. Did you?”

“Max and I discussed many things. I remember telling him what a beautiful daughter I had and—”

“Dad. Just tell me the truth.”

“Catherine—”

“Please.”

“You wanted a child. I saw it in your eyes every time you spotted a baby or a pregnant woman. I couldn’t stand to see that pain so I devised a plan to give you what you wanted.”

“And that’s where Max came in,” she said, her voice flat and empty.

“He didn’t want to do it. He came up with every objection imaginable, but I played hardball, and he finally agreed. Catherine—”

“How could you? Do you consider me so worthless you’d barter me away like a side of beef?”

“What are you talking about? You’re my daughter. I love you.”

“But not like a son. I’m only a daughter.”

“Nonsense. If I’ve been hard on you, it’s because I want you to face your fears and beat them. You’re so damned talented but you’re the only one who can’t see that. I’d act the same with a son.”

Years of never being able to please her father burst her control. “You wouldn’t have made a deal like this.”

“You’re right. I would’ve kicked him in his behind and told him to get over it. You’ve been sulking over that loser David for two years. Max was the kind of man who could make you forget him. I won’t deny I wanted him to give you a child, but I wanted Max, too. For you. I knew he had too much integrity to walk away after you were pregnant. When I saw the two of you together, I knew I’d made the right choice.”

“No, please, don’t say anymore.” A numbness seeped into her body, spread to her brain.

“But—”

“Just promise me you won’t tell him I know.” The numbness circled her heart, squeezed. “If you do, I won’t speak to you again.”

“I’m so sorry, Catherine. Yes, yes, I promise.” His voice held a desperate urgency foreign to a man like her father. “How did you find out?”

“Candace told me. Funny, I was certain I’d hate her, even before I met her, but I don’t. She was the only one with enough courage to tell me the truth.”

***

Max was on his third cappuccino when C.C. showed up dressed in a designer label and cool detachment.

Had she seen
David
last night? Shared a bed with him? Her bed? Had she moaned and screamed his name in bed like she’d done with Max? He clenched the pen in his hand so hard it hurt.

“Hello, Max.”

Damn her for sounding so polite—so unaffected. “Morning.” Hell, there wasn’t a damn good thing about it. He felt like crap and he probably looked like it, too. Damn if he cared. A half bottle of bourbon hadn’t begun to take the edge off when he’d passed out on the couch last night.

“Are you ready to get started?” She set her briefcase on the table and popped it open.

Max watched those efficient fingers as they removed drawings and papers. He remembered those fingers well, remembered those hands, too, and those lips, and the tongue…

“We have a luncheon meeting with the landscape designer at twelve-thirty. And I think he wanted us to bring—”

“Where are your cookies?” Was she just going to pretend she hadn’t found the ring?

“I gave them up.”

Right. She’d resorted to bold lies to hide the discomfort of an unwanted ring. He could think of ten, no twenty women who’d die for that ring. “You gave them up?”

“I did.”

“When?” The minute she found the ring?

“Yesterday.”

How long were they going to play this game? “So, you didn’t eat the cookies I brought?”

“No.” And then, “Do you want them back?”

Now there was a question. Maybe she hadn’t opened the bag yet. “No, you keep them.” He’d bet she wouldn’t make it a day before she tore into the bag.

And what?

Desperation clamped his mouth shut. Maybe once she found the ring she’d realize she really did care about him, loved him even.

He was pathetic. She didn’t love him. She loved
David.

Max threw his pen across the table and said, “How could you sleep with me and three days later hop into bed with someone else?”

She blinked. Twice. “Max, I really don’t want to discuss this.”

He needed an answer. “Tell me.”

“Men do it all the time.”

That, he had not expected. Not from her. Not from the woman he loved.

“So, you did sleep with him?” The wondering drove him insane.

She snapped her briefcase shut and snatched it from the table. “I am not going to do this, Max. You said you wanted to continue to do business. Fine. But if you intend to badger me with personal interrogations, I’ll demand to work with Rhyder.”

“Aha, the woman is making demands. Pardon my confusion, but less than a week ago you were making other demands and they were of a
very
personal nature.” Why was he acting like such an asshole? Why couldn’t he just shut up?

“Goodbye, Max.”

He watched her walk out of his life and never once did her voice wobble, her eyes mist, or her fingers shake. Maybe she really didn’t need those cookies anymore, just like she obviously didn’t need him.

***

The first nights were the hardest. And the mornings. And the afternoons. Everything reminded him of C.C. The petunias outside his condo were the same pink flush of her skin when they made love. The morning air held C.C.’s fresh scent. Even the amber of Max’s nightly bourbon mimicked her eyes.

He tried to forget her but that was like trying to forget to breathe. She was always there, filling every cell in his body with a reminder. All he could do was try to smother the memory with work, and exercise, and drink. Denial, too. The last was the deadliest, because he told himself it didn’t matter, that she’d never really cared about him, but that wasn’t true. She had cared.

What the hell happened? He still didn’t know. There’d been phone calls from Grayson too, removing him from the project and relieving him of his part of the deal.

How about that? Maybe the old man realized it took two interested parties and his daughter was definitely not interested. But then, Grayson didn’t need him anymore.
David
could take care of the other half of the deal.

The thought of another man touching C.C. enraged Max. He should have thrown the whole damn box of condoms in the garbage, said to hell with it, and gotten her pregnant the first time they’d had sex.

He half wished he had.

At least he’d still have a reason to be part of her life.

He hadn’t seen her in a week, since the morning he’d made an ass of himself in the boardroom and she’d walked out. Rhyder was the new liaison. He called daily, sometimes to discuss projections and drawings for the project. Most times, the talk ended with minute insinuations into Max’s personal life.

“How long are you going to let this go on?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You know, Max, it’s not like you to run and hide.”

“Dammit, Rhyder, I’m not hiding.”

“Then what do you call it?”

“Moving on with my life.”

There was a snort on the other end of the line. Rhyder? Snorting?

“I’ve been very busy, so busy I hardly have time to sleep.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Stop it, Rhyder.”

“Did you hear about your ex?”

“Candy?” He refused to think of C.C. as his ex. The term implied something to be gotten rid of, forgotten, destroyed.

“Yeah, Candy, my sweet confection.”

“What did she do now?”

“According to Roxie, she and Grayson split.” He hesitated a second and said, “It was mutual.”

Maybe he and Candy were just the type destined to remain alone. It was not a welcoming thought, not since he had seen what life could be like with someone he loved.

Rhyder let out a long, disgusted sigh. “Okay, well, I can tell you’re really busy, so I’ll let you go.”

“Good. Fine.”

“And if you want to join the human race one of these days and listen to a little logic on how to win the girl back, call me.”

She hadn’t seen Max in three weeks. Twenty-one days without hearing his voice, feeling his touch. The pain would shrink with time, just like it had two years ago. She told herself that every day, but deep down, she knew better. This pain would never go away completely. It would house itself just under the surface, like a scab ready to break open with the slightest probe.

C.C. slumped on the couch and buried her head in her hands. She’d thought Max was the one man who could love her for herself. She’d thought she could discard her camouflage and relax.

She’d been so wrong.

He’d used her. Her father, no matter how well intentioned, had done the same. There were no tears left now, no words either. Roxie had coaxed them all out days ago.

She lifted her head and slid a glance toward the freezer. Twenty-two days since she’d had a triple chocolate cookie. It was Friday night and she was all alone. Again. Max was gone. She needed a chocolate boost right now and damn the twelve-step program. C.C. jumped off the couch, raced to the kitchen, and yanked open the freezer door. She moved aside a bag of edamame and a container of sorbet to reach the cookies.

“I’ll try again tomorrow,” she promised, pulling open the frozen bag of cookies. She grabbed two stiff chocolate discs and tucked the bag back in the freezer. Microwave on high for fifteen seconds, a glass of milk, and two minutes later she was halfway back to normal. Not true, not entirely, but the cookies were cathartic.

Just one more. She deserved the rush after the pain of these last weeks. Back to the freezer, scoot the edamame and sorbet to the left, reach for the cookies. She’d have to find a new place to stash them, somewhere not quite so convenient but still close enough to reach in desperation.

C.C. opened the bag and peeked inside. Maybe she’d have two—one last hurrah before she jumped back on the wagon. She reached in and felt a small, fuzzy box. She removed it from the bag, slowly, and opened it. On a bed of royal blue velvet, a solitaire diamond winked back at her.

“No.” She snapped the box shut. Her stomach lurched and chocolate chunks shot up her throat like a geyser. She barely made it to the bathroom where she heaved her good intentions and hunks of triple chocolate into the toilet.

Roxie found her two hours later, curled in bed with a wet cloth slapped on her forehead.

“Gee, you look like crap.”

“Thanks,” C.C. mumbled.

“Flu?”

“No.”

“So, you’re not contagious?” Roxie inched closer. She wore red pleather pants and a lime green T-shirt.

“No, but that outfit’s going to make me heave again.”

Roxie smiled. “Got it half off at Hot Topic.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Too many cookies.”

That brought Roxie right to the edge of the bed. “What?”

“Nothing. It has to be overload after a three week withdrawal.”

“Uh, you’ve never thrown up from those cookies, and you’ve eaten seven at a time.”

C.C. leaned on her elbows and pulled a chunk of hair from her eyes. “Okay, I was upset then.” She reached under her pillow and pulled out the blue velvet box. “I found this in the bag of cookies he brought the night he came back from California.”

Roxie eased open the box. “Holy shit,” she gasped. “I think the guy loves you.”

“I’m sure after these last few weeks I’ve killed any feelings he had for me. Except loathing, I’m sure he still feels that.”

Roxie traced the cut of the diamond. “Is this the first time you’ve been sick?”

C.C. had to think about that. “Actually throwing up, yes, but the past few nights I’ve been kind of queasy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Why are you staring at my stomach like that?”

“No reason.”

“It’s his fault. He should have told me about the deal and then given me the ring.”

“Like you would have listened.”

Roxie was right, of course. But still. “He could have tried.”

“I’d say the man did try, honey, but you weren’t up for listening. And then you pulled
David
out of your bag of tricks. I’m sure that went over well.”

“I’m so confused.” Max had bought her a ring. That had to mean he was going to ask her to marry him. Until she blew it. Her stomach jumped again and she took three deep breaths.

Roxie squeezed her hand. “It’ll be okay, you’ll see. Do you mind if I run to the drugstore? I’ll be back in five minutes.”

“What do you need?”

“An EPT test. If my guess is right, you’re pregnant.”

***

“We’ve got to get them back together.” Roxie popped a handful of cheese puffs in her mouth and chewed.

“Why?”

“Because they’re like peanut butter and jelly. Or salami and rye.”

Rhyder sliced and cored an apple with graceful precision. “Smoked salmon and cream cheese?”

“Yeah, that’s it.”

The man did have a certain flair about him, Roxie had to admit, even if it said “giant nerd.” If he loosened up just a teeny, tiny bit, he might be attractive. If a girl were interested in the “I’m so impressed with my own brains” type.

Which Roxie so clearly was not.

She’d wandered over to Rhyder’s this evening after spending the morning with C.C. The EPT was positive, just as Roxie had predicted. For a smart girl, C.C. certainly was dense about some things. Like Max Jerrnigan, for one. Men didn’t buy gargantuan stones like the one in that box if they didn’t want to be around to enjoy the benefits.

She stretched her leopard-print legs on Rhyder’s couch. Comfy. Cozy. She closed her eyes and let a purr escape. She liked it here, in this soft, warm room that smelled like Rhyder…her eyes popped open.

Rhyder was slowly munching on his apple, his eyes glued to her. “What?” She scrambled to a sitting position. “What did I do?”

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you to keep those little pleasure sounds to yourself when you’re in a man’s apartment? Unless you’re trying to get him to join in?”

“No!” She scooted to the edge of the couch.

He shrugged and picked up another slice of apple. “You don’t have to worry about me—we wouldn’t even be speaking if it weren’t for Max and C.C., but you should know.”

“Thank you. I’ll tape my mouth shut from now on.”

His lips twitched. “You’d never make it, Roxie.”

“You’d be surprised what I can do with this mouth,” she spat out.

He quirked a dark brow. “Is that what you tell all your male acquaintances?”

She ignored him. “You know what I mean. We have to get them together.”

“Uh, that’s going to be a little hard to do.”

She jumped off the couch and advanced on him, eyes narrowed, fists clenched. “Why? Did something happen you didn’t tell me about?”

“No.” He shook his head and busied himself with another slice of apple.

“Rhyder. Tell me what’s going on.” Funny how she could tell when he was keeping something from her. Almost like a couple. She half choked. No, definitely not like a couple.

“Okay, okay.” He tossed half an apple slice on a plate and turned to her. “He took off for Los Angeles this morning on the red-eye.”

“Oh.” She picked up his half-eaten apple and munched. “Well, get him back. This is an emergency.”

“That’s the problem. We got the deal in L.A. and he’s relocating as soon as possible.”

“No. He can’t do that. We haven’t had a chance to work our plan. Rhyder, you have to stop him.”

“I can’t, Roxie. It’s too late.”

“It can’t be too late.” She leaned in close and whispered, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

***

It felt good to be back in Chicago, even if it was only for five days. Max stepped out of the shower and reached for a towel. L.A. was even faster paced than Chicago and a single guy could find entertainment anywhere, anytime, but after a while, a person just needed a break.

He had tonight all planned out; ball game, pizza, beer, and he wouldn’t have to leave home for any of it thanks to HDTV and delivery service.

Max pulled a beer from the fridge and popped the cap. Relax. That’s what he needed to do. The stress of the deal in L.A. had stolen too many hours of sleep and he needed to recharge. When his cell rang, he almost didn’t answer it.

“Damn.” He snatched it up and looked at the screen. Rhyder. Even after all this time, a tiny speck of hope crept into his voice each time his cell rang. He pressed the button and said, “Hello.”

“Max? I’m in the mood for Matilda’s.”

“Good to know, Rhyder.” Max pulled out the phone book and flipped to the yellow pages. “I’m in the mood for Pizzeria Uno.”

“I know a good cardiologist. Keep eating like that and you’ll be using him.”

“So, I guess I shouldn’t order the breadsticks with it, huh?” Rhyder and his wacked out healthy eating—no alcohol, no white flour. No fun. Except for desserts—for those he made an exception. Go figure.

“You could order the filet I suppose and have them sauté the mushrooms in olive oil instead of butter.”

“Thanks for reworking my menu, but I don’t want to go out tonight. I’m going to order a pizza, drink a beer or two, and watch the ball game.”

Pause. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”

“I’ll be in the office at eight o’clock. Can’t it wait until then?”

“No, actually it can’t.”

“Rhyder, you’re not trying to set me up with somebody, are you? Some researcher from Yugoslavia or something?”

“Katya was from Russia and she was a genetic scientist. I have no idea why you didn’t get along with her.”

“She could only say three words in English: taxi, cheeseburger and internet.”

“I thought you knew Russian, and besides, how much talking do you really do with your women anyway?”

Bam,
that hit home. He’d found a woman he could talk to and she’d dumped him. “I’m not interested.”

“I’m not trying to fix you up. I need to talk to you.”

“You know, you’re a nag. Just like a little old lady.”

“Right. I’ll see you at Matilda’s at eight. Don’t be late.”
Click.

Rhyder was up to something. Max should just ignore him and order his pizza. He told himself this as he drank his beer and pulled out a black turtleneck and gray slacks. He should just stay home.

Forty minutes and a bourbon later, Max knew he’d made a mistake. Rhyder was twenty minutes late. Rhyder was never late. The bar area reeked of pick-up lines and aftershave and the same brunette had just shimmied past him for the third time in her shrink-wrapped sweater dress which did nothing for Max’s mood.

“Max!”

He turned and there was Rhyder looking like a page out of Ralph Lauren’s catalog in tan slacks and a navy cashmere sweater. “Where the hell have you been, Mr. Punctual?”

“Accident on the freeway. Sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. He didn’t even look sincere. “So, what did you want to talk about?”

“Let me get my drink. Then we’ll talk.”

“Christ, Rhyder, I’m not going to be here all night. I’m starving. I could be gorging myself on a double-stuffed pepperoni and mushroom pizza right now.”

“Your arteries will thank you in ten years for not doing that. Just give me a minute.”

Max waited while Rhyder ordered a Perrier with lime. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something red and jagged moving toward him. What the hell? He turned to see Roxie Revito dressed in some black leather get-up with matching boots and a pink leotard.

“Hello, Max.” An odd little smile crossed her lips.

“Roxie.” He looked past her tiny frame and there
she
was, standing less than three feet away, the woman who’d stolen his sleep and ripped his heart apart. Why was she here? “C.C.” Had he spoken her name or merely thought it?

“Max.”

She was beautiful, even in a White Sox sweatshirt and jeans. He drank in every detail; the long hair sweeping over slim shoulders in a soft chestnut swirl, the slight flush of cheeks, the brightness in the amber eyes, the slender neck, the small breasts, the long legs… He snapped himself alert. She was with
David
now. He cleared his throat and said, “Hello.”

Rhyder appeared with his Perrier and just enough recognition to appear guilty of something. Had he orchestrated this
chance
reunion?

Max would strangle him if he had.

“We were just about to sit down and I know tables are tight,” Rhyder was saying. “Would you care to join us?”

He had to be kidding.

“That would be great,” Roxie chimed in.

Was the little Cyndi Lauper pixie in on this, too? Max hazarded a glance at C.C., who looked paler than paste. Were Rhyder and Roxie behind this? What the hell was going on?

“We’ll be right back,” Roxie said, grabbing Rhyder’s arm. “I think I see my cousin, Roberta.”

When they were gone, Max shook his head and said, “I guess you didn’t tell her I know about Roberta.”

“No.”

The brunette in the shrink-wrapped sweater dress slid between him and C.C. with a seductive smile and another lingering once over. Some men might find the blatant perusal enticing, and maybe he’d been one of those men before, but not since C.C. Nothing had been the same since C.C. She stepped closer and he inhaled her citrus scent. God, he missed her. Be casual. Stay cool. “So, how are you?”

“Why’d you stuff a ring in my cookie bag?”

So much for casual conversation. It took a few seconds to think of a plausible response. The truth would make him look like a fool, considering she was in love with another man. What to say? He settled on a half-lame excuse. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Why?”

Because he loved her. Because for the first time he wanted “forever.” He shrugged. “Men do crazy things sometimes.”

“Not you, Max. You only do things for a reason.”

He had to change the subject before he made a fool of himself. “It doesn’t matter. It’s history. Keep the ring. It’s not like I have another one in line.”

She winced. Was she going to hand him more bad news, like,
I’m getting married to David the Asshole?

“I wish we could have been more honest with each other,” she said, pinning him with those beautiful eyes.

“I was honest with you.” Except for the deal, he’d been one hundred percent honest with her and look where that had gotten him.