by Mary Campisi
Her lips twitched. “Exactly. And you passed.”
He liked the way she looked at him, as though he’d just done something much greater than not puked up a half pound of chocolate. “Let’s meet for dinner,” he said, anxious to set a date before the plane landed. “The Orange Chameleon. How about 7:30?”
She tucked a hunk of dark hair behind her ear and studied him. “I’ll be there.”
***
She really thought he might be the one. He’d put her at ease with his deep voice and slow smile, was well mannered, exquisite to look at, smelled like Ralph Lauren cologne, and best of all, he had an affinity for triple chocolate cookies. But then he’d blown it as they were leaving the gate. Actually, she’d asked him a question and he’d blown it with his answer. Why did he have to be in real estate development, too? After her disastrous relationship two years ago, she’d sworn off personal involvement with all men who were in the same field as she was—and that included Max.
C.C. tried not to think about him as she unwrapped the towel from her head and threw it on the hotel bathroom floor. There was no use wondering what might have happened between them. She began the methodical process of working the tangles from her long hair. The logical approach would be to lop it off, but she couldn’t do it. She shook her head and stared in the bathroom mirror. Chunks of damp, dark curls fell around her shoulders. She flipped on the blow dryer and sifted her fingers through her hair. At work, she wore a chignon or a bun because she wanted to represent competence and intelligence, not “sex in motion” as her friend, Roxie, described C.C.’s unbound hair. That same desire to exude competence led C.C. to purchase tailored suits and one-inch pumps in black, navy and gray. They helped her blend in the boardroom in a way a knit dress and three-inch heels never would. She didn’t care if she looked boring. Boring was safe. Boring had been her motto since her disastrous relationship with David ended two years ago.
Her father insisted all men weren’t like David and she should open up to love again. And, since she worked long hours, what better place to meet someone than in the workplace? When she hit the big three-one last year with no stellar announcements and even fewer prospects, he’d taken his own advice and found his own love match; a real estate developer four years older than C.C. who earned a commission and a commitment from him all in the span of four months.
It wasn’t that C.C. minded the idea of her father remarrying. He’d been a widower for four years and before that, he’d suffered the pain of loving her mother as Martha Crowell succumbed, slowly, to ovarian cancer.
But he was sixty-two. It didn’t take C.C.’s advanced degrees in Accounting and Finance to do that math.
She twisted her hair into a chignon, dusted a little powder on her nose, glossed her lips and coated her lashes with five quick strokes of black mascara. When she met her future mother-in-law tonight she’d be courteous, maybe even cordial. God, she did so not want to do this. C.C. walked out of the bathroom and spotted the duffel bag on the edge of the bed. A few quick bites of cookie would do wonders right now to calm her nerves. Unfortunately, the only remnants in the bag were crumbs—just like her hopes for the mysterious Max.
She picked up her cell and punched in Roxie’s number. Her best friend thought C.C. was crazy for using cookie eating in the mate selection process, but Roxie still wanted all the details, and there hadn’t been anything to report in a very long time.
“Hey, it’s me.”
“C.C.! How are you, girl? Did you meet your future stepmonster?”
Roxie had more energy than a case of Red Bull. “Not yet. That’s tonight. I’m leaving for my dad’s office in a few minutes, but I had to call.” Pause. Deep breath. “I met a guy.”
“Ooooh. Spill.”
“I met him on the plane. He made it through all three cookies. I thought he might be the one.”
“Oh God, C.C.”
“I know. Triple Chocolate Macadamia Nut cookies are not mate selectors.”
“Was he cute? Intelligent? Able to conjugate a verb? Did he make your heart flip-flop, pitter-patter, and thump-thump?”
“Yes.” All of the above.
“And? Please tell me you didn’t let him get away because of that stupid cookie credo you follow.”
It wasn’t stupid, was it? “I did. I can’t help it.”
“Just because you had one bad, okay, disastrous encounter, with a complete jerk, doesn’t mean you have to create impossible criteria for the rest of the male species.”
“That complete jerk had a pregnant wife in the suburbs.” C.C. had believed David was the one. Every indicator, from the gene pool to the financial portfolio, indicated they were meant for each other. They belonged to the same political party, were graduates of Wharton, shopped at the same supermarket, and owned BMWs. They talked about marriage and the two children they would have: David Grayson and Anna Catherine. And then the truth came out.
“Oh, honey, they aren’t all that way. David was one gigantic liar.”
“And I couldn’t tell. That’s what scares me. I’ve tried logical, so now I’m trying this.”
“What? A messed up version of Cinderella where the real Prince Charming will devour three gigantic cookies without barfing?”
“No.” Well, maybe.
“Do you know how ridiculous that sounds?” Roxie huffed into the phone.
C.C. pictured her in jeans and one of the animal print shirts she loved so much, making faces and twisting her fuchsia-tinted hair. “There’s a solid reason behind this. I told you every time my dad came home from a trip, one of the first things he did was chomp down the cookies Mom and I made. Always three. He said it stood for the three of us.”
“Honey, I’m not making light of that touching story, but you were just a kid. Trust me, you don’t pick a mate from a cookie bag.”
“I know. It’s just a prerequisite.”
Another huge sigh. Roxie loved to sigh when she disagreed. “A prerequisite no man will ever fulfill. Did you ever think maybe you’re setting them all up to fail?”
Long after the conversation ended, C.C. thought about what Roxie said. Could it be true? Was she creating impossible obstacles? Why would she do that? All a potential mate had to do was eat three cookies and the magic kingdom of C.C. Crowell would open to them—well, maybe not open, but they’d get a peek inside. Not that there had been all that many tested, but in the two years since the disaster with David, Max on the plane had been the only one to get that close.
She’d wanted him to be the one. From the second those blue eyes met hers, she’d been under his spell. Had the attraction been that strong, or merely the result of valium and caffeine? She’d never know, but she would always wonder.
***
Grayson Crowell owned three thousand acres of prime Virginia real estate, the perfect location to develop a community/nature-friendly office park, complete with jogging tracks, babysitting facilities, a rec center, restaurants, even a few duck ponds. And it was all within Max’s reach.
“Well, Max, my boy, have you given my proposition any thought?”
Max cleared his throat. He’d thought of nothing else for the past week. Of course, Rhyder wanted him to go ahead with it, said it would open up the opportunity for nationwide expansion. He wasn’t the one donating a body part or his sperm. Actually, Rhyder was the kind of guy who probably could do it, all the while studying a balance sheet and a prototype and walking away, after.
“Max?”
If C.C. hadn’t stood him up last night, there would be no need for debate. He would have declined Grayson’s offer and figured out the details later. But she’d been a no-show, and he’d spent the rest of the night nursing a bourbon and dreading the morning. He tried to side-step Grayson’s question with good old-fashioned hype. “Rhyder and I have a great concept, one that could net you millions if you sold us the land and became one of our investors.”
“I agree. It’s a brilliant idea.”
That’s what Max’s father had s
aid years ago when he envisioned the project. “We’re planning to use this as a pilot, which is why we’re willing to offer you such a lucrative price for your land.”
“I’m well aware of your plans. Just tell that partner of yours to take a few breaths and relax. I’m behind you, one hundred percent.” He straightened his silk tie and said, “If this takes off, the two of you will have office parks all over the country.”
“That was the plan.”
“It could still be the plan.” Grayson studied Max. “Would you like me to tell you a little about my daughter?”
No. He nodded. “Sure.”
“Catherine is brilliant. She ran the investment side for First Capital in Chicago.”
Max tried to pretend interest. “I didn’t know she was from Chicago.”
Grayson’s smile spread as he expounded on his daughter’s attributes. “Magna cum laude from Brown, master’s from Wharton, vice president at twenty-five.”
“A modern-day Einstein.”
“Just about.” The smile faded. “That’s the problem. She’s too damn smart, scares all the men away.”
Oh God, not a female Rhyder. His partner was a genius but he was seriously deficient in the emotions department.
“Does a smart woman intimidate you, Max?”
“Absolutely not.” He’d never been intimidated by an intelligent woman. C.C. had appeared very intelligent…
“Catherine’s joining me at Crowell Limited.” Grayson waited for a reaction and when he got none, continued, “You’d have plenty of opportunity to get acquainted with her should you decide to accept my terms.”
There it was, in simple English. “What does she know about real estate development?”
“She’s a Crowell.”
“This is too important to screw up.”
“She won’t screw it up. You won’t let her, will you?” Grayson gestured to a vacant chair. “Sit down, Max. Catherine will be here soon and I’m sure you don’t want her to see you agitated. She might think she was the cause, and that wouldn’t bode well for you.”
“I haven’t given you my answer yet.” There was still time to escape with his conscience. All he had to do was turn and walk out. One step at a time. He might lose the deal, but he could hold his head high, knowing he’d done the noble thing.
But Grayson had his own opinion.
“You’ve already answered me, don’t you realize that? Why would you bother to come all this way if you planned to turn me down?”
Damn him. Max hated to admit it, but Grayson was right.
The older man smiled from across his massive desk. “I’ll back you and your partner one hundred percent.” He paused. “And find ten investors as well.”
What could Max say to that? In the early morning hours, he’d contemplated the idea of a child. His child. The pain of losing his son would never disappear, but a child could ease it. And a child without the disastrous encumbrance of a wife was even better. For the first time in four years, Max let himself think about being a father. Even if it meant mating with a woman he’d never met, one who most likely had less emotion running through her veins than Rhyder, it would still be worth it to have another chance. And Grayson said she wanted a child, so it wasn’t like Max was taking advantage of her, was it? She’d get a child without the mess of a relationship. Before logic kicked in, he blurted out, “I’d want to be involved in my child’s life.”
“Of course.”
“Holidays, too.” This was wrong! Stop talking!
“That’s reasonable.”
“And his birthday.” Walk out. Now!
“Or her birthday,” Grayson corrected with a quiet smile.
“Right.” He couldn’t do this. Was he crazy? “I won’t marry her.”
“Of course not.” Grayson spoke without a second’s hesitation. “Anything else?”
Max ignored his conscience condemning him to hell. Everything he ever wanted was a mere handshake away. He shoved his hands in his pockets and muttered, “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Think of this as doing a good deed. It might not be as painful as you think. You just never know.”
Grayson was right, Max didn’t know. Especially about Catherine Crowell. Catherine. The name reminded him of nobility, or some stuck up high society woman with too many clothes and not enough purpose. The phone rang and Grayson snatched the receiver from its cradle. “Yes, Helene? Well, show her in.” He turned to Max and lowered his voice. “Catherine isn’t stupid. She’ll sniff out your insincerity a hundred miles away.”
Before Max could respond, the door opened and a tall, slim brunette entered. Long legs. Very long legs. Slim hips. Hmmm. Maybe this task wouldn’t be so painful after all. His gaze followed those legs. Sexy, shapely, tanned.
And they belonged to C.C.
Obviously, she recognized him because her complexion morphed from pale to paste.
“You two are gawking at each other like you know one another,” Grayson commented.
C.C., the Triple Chocolate Macadamia Nut cookies woman, was Catherine Crowell? The woman yesterday exuded sensuality and playfulness. This one dripped ice water.
Grayson’s daughter cleared her throat and continued to stare.
Max recovered first, taking a step toward her. She looked shocked—and nauseated. He didn’t blame her. He wasn’t exactly thrilled with the discovery that the woman who’d stood him up last night was Grayson Crowell’s daughter. He extended a hand and said, “Max Jerrnigan.”
She cleared her throat again. “Catherine Crowell.”
Max clasped her hand, annoyed when a zing shot through him again. He didn’t want this woman to affect him. Period.
“Nice to meet you,” she murmured as she disengaged her hand and brushed it on her skirt.
Max studied her as she approached her father and kissed him on the cheek. “How are you, Dad?”
Grayson hugged her and smacked a kiss straight on her lips, which turned her bright red. “I’m one happy man. I’ve got my daughter, my health, and my future bride.”
“Yes, well, I’m anxious to meet her.”
She sounded as anxious to meet her father’s future wife as a guy lining up for a vasectomy.
“Good,” Grayson said, unaware of his daughter’s discomfort. “We’ll have dinner tonight. You, too, Max. Seven o’clock, my place. Margaret fixes a mean beef tenderloin.” He smiled at Max and said, “She’s my cook, housekeeper and gardener. Hell, she’s my right and left arm. Catherine, why don’t you pick Max up on your way over? And get out of that damn hotel. Whoever heard of a daughter coming home and not staying at her own house?”
C.C. slid a glance at Max. “Dad, can we discuss this later?”
“There shouldn’t be a discussion at all. That house is just as much yours today as when you were a little girl.”
“Actually—”
“No actually about it. Two women should be able to live in the same house. Don’t you think so, Max?”
She caught him watching her and looked away.
“Yes,” Max said. “I agree.” Where was the spunk, the smile, the allure of C.C.? And why had she stood him up last night? That he wanted to know most of all.
“Catherine will pick you up tonight at six-thirty.”
Grayson had been talking but Max hadn’t been paying attention. He couldn’t wait to get C.C. alone so he could pounce on her with questions. Who would she be when she was alone with him? C.C. or Catherine? Damned if he knew, but he was going to find out.
Chapter 3
The minute Max Jerrnigan left the office, C.C. confronted her father. “Dad, what was that man doing here?”
“He’s going to be working with you on the Grayson Office Park project.”
Not if she had anything to say about it. She couldn’t work with him. She’d scratched him from her list of potentials and C.C. didn’t believe in second chances.
But even knowing that, he still made her body hum. A simple handshake in the presenc
e of her father, no less, and the electricity shot through her. Not good. Her father wanted her to escort Max to their home for dinner so the man could witness the public humiliation of a child whose father was marrying a woman his daughter’s age? Horrible.
“I like Max, Catherine. He’s smart, driven and talented.”
Of course. And he was a man. That gave him a leg up on C.C.
“I want him to build the Grayson Office Park.”
His words seared her brain with hurt, rejection and anger. Had she been born a male, Grayson Crowell would not have handed over the development of Grayson Office Park to a stranger. “Please don’t do this. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this to prove myself. You told me if I want to run this company one day, I had to learn the ropes. That’s what I want to do, and now you’ve gone and made some stranger lead on the project.”
“Max worked on the Stanley Hopewell Complex in Arlington and the Westwood Office Park in Fairfax. He and his partner were reviewed in three real estate journals and I received several letters of recommendation from various principals involved with the projects. He may be a stranger to you, but I’ve known him for some time. Max is an excellent choice.” He smiled at her. “You’ll see.”
“I don’t want to work with him.” Anger coiled deep in her gut and choked out any attraction she may have felt for Max Jerrnigan.
Her father smiled again, but this time determination was clear in the smile. “I’m the CEO of this company, Catherine, and Max is going to head up this project. The question is whether you’ll put aside your bruised feelings and be part of it, too.”
He would choose a stranger over his own daughter. The anger and resentment she harbored toward Max might be irrational, but it consumed her. It didn’t matter. She’d already lost hopes of a child. Work was all she had left. She would not lose that, too.
“Are you with us on this?”
She didn’t trust herself to speak, so she merely nodded.
“Good, and Catherine, I want you to show him Crowell hospitality.”
What on earth was he talking about? “Crowell hospitality?”
“It’s simple.” Her father grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Act like you’re crazy about him.”
