by Mary Campisi
“Hah! And what intentions would those be?”
Rhyder was a numbers guy and he’d been following the indications long enough to develop a few hypotheses. He hated to admit it, but indicators didn’t lie. “Max is in love with C.C.,” he said matter-of-factly. “My guess is he’ll buy the ring in the next month if he hasn’t already done so.”
That shut her up. She opened her mouth but nothing came out. Then her eyes narrowed and she sneered. “Is this another lie, Rhyder Remmington? Because if it is, so help me, I will make you suffer.”
He sighed. “Unfortunately, it’s not a lie. I’m ninety-nine percent certain it will happen. Soon.”
She eased back into the couch cushions and pulled her legs under her chin. Her whole body didn’t cover one cushion. “How can you be so certain?”
“I’ve known Max a lot of years. When he talks about her, he gets this sickening comical look on his face like he actually misses her. Max never missed his women. He used to have me call so he could get out of commitments. He hasn’t called me once since he’s met C.C.”
“Woo-hoo, give him a Man of the Year award.”
“That’s a big deal for a guy who’s sworn off commitment.”
“I’m sure.”
“And he’s stayed over at her place. Several times. Max was always the kind of guy who left before morning.”
Roxie tapped her finger against her pointy chin. “So, he liked sex with her better.”
“You don’t get it, do you? Max is in love with the woman.”
Pause. Then, “Uh-oh.”
“What now?” He tried to keep the frustration from creeping into his voice but dammit, she had him on the edge.
“You really think he loves her?”
“Yes.” Was he speaking Chinese?
Roxie dragged her hands over her face and groaned. “Max loves C.C.”
“That’s what I just said.” She had the reasoning ability of a pea.
“That’s a problem.”
“You’re really trying my patience, Roxie. Tell me why it’s a problem.”
She pulled little tufts of hair and said, “Because C.C. told Max she’s involved with her ex-boyfriend, the guy who burned her. She’s not, you know, but she told Max to save face; made up this big story. And he believes it.”
“So, now he can tell her the truth and they can live happily ever after. And I can go back to bed.”
“It won’t work that way, Rhyder. We have to play matchmaker and you have to promise not to tell Max that C.C. knows about the deal.”
“He’s my best friend. I’m not going to lie to him.”
“I’m not asking you to lie, I’m only asking you to withhold information that could be detrimental to both of them. C.C. has to figure this out on her own. If Max tells her he loves her now, she’ll always wonder if he’s only saying it because she found out. Women are funny that way. They don’t take everything at face value like men do.”
“Just because men don’t pull out the microscope for every conversation, doesn’t mean we don’t think things through.” Women really thought men were idiots.
“If you tell Max now, they won’t stand a chance. Let C.C. work through this little charade pretending interest in her ex. It’ll never hold up and then maybe Max will get the male parts to tell her the truth and tell her he loves her. Now that will win her back.”
Roxie’s idea was about as linear as a circle. “I’ve got a better plan. Why don’t we just tell them both the truth and let them figure it out?”
“I told you, we can’t.” She tossed one of his pillows in the air, caught it. “They’ve got to work this out, with a little help from us, of course.”
“Of course.” He smelled disaster.
“I’ll make a deal with you.” She slid him a sideways glance. “If you keep your mouth shut and help me, I’ll introduce you to Roberta.”
Roberta. His dream woman.
“Rhyder? Do we have a deal?”
He wondered what Roberta looked like. He pictured a tall, slender woman with dark hair and deep, soulful eyes. A woman who looked nothing like her meddling cousin. Rhyder’s lips curved in anticipation. “We have a deal.”
“Good. So, we’re in this together. Max finds out C.C. knows, your chances with Roberta are done. Got it?”
He nodded. The woman packed a threatening punch even when she wasn’t using her fists.
“One more thing.”
He sighed. “How could there possibly be one more thing?”
“Guess how C.C. found out about Max’s little deal?”
“Let me guess? The Chicago Tribune was running a front-page cover story.”
She wrinkled her nose and made a face. “Max’s ex.”
“Candace?” Now there was a woman he couldn’t tolerate, not even in conversation. “Candace told her?”
A smile split Roxie Revito’s small face. “She did. So, you see, I know he made the deal, even if you want to play stupid, and if I were a numbers girl, I’d bet you knew about it, too.” She stretched out on the couch and crossed her legs.
Damn, but the woman could wear a man down. “Okay. Okay, I knew. Max didn’t want to agree, but I told him it wasn’t a big deal, everybody was getting something and he’d get a kid out of it, without a wife.”
She scratched her head, pulled at a spike of hair. “Only now he wants the child and the wife. You’re sure?”
Rhyder sighed. “I’m absolutely sure.”
***
C.C. rolled over. If she could just sleep a little longer… Maybe two years would be enough. Or two centuries. Thoughts of last night trampled her brain, tore at the shreds of heart she had left, and killed the last hope she held for decent men.
Max had used her to get a deal. And her father knew all about it—in fact, it was his idea. That’s why he hadn’t been pushing her so much lately. He’d thought he’d found a clever way to accomplish his mission, which apparently was to get her a baby.
If Candace hadn’t shown up, C.C. would have continued in mindless oblivion forever, or until she became pregnant and Max disappeared. That would be the plan, wouldn’t it? Business for baby?
C.C. opened her eyes, which still burned from last night’s tears. She’d never cried this much before, not even when she’d found out about David’s pregnant wife. Maybe because she’d believed Max really was a decent man. Or maybe because she’d believed he really cared about her, not her name or money. And she’d let herself start believing they had a future together. Maybe even, yes, a baby.
It didn’t matter now. Roxie was right; screw all men. Thank God Roxie had come over with raspberry sorbet and an extra box of tissues. C.C. would call her in a little while and tell her she was okay, even though she wasn’t, and Roxie would say something bizarre to force a smile.
C.C. inched into a sitting position, trying to keep her head still so it wouldn’t throb so much. She needed coffee. And a shower. Then she’d call her father. Her gaze shot to the hall and the cluster of red roses wilting in silver foil. Next to the roses was the bottle of Dom Perignon. And there, tucked behind the other two, was her salvation. C.C. wobbled to her feet and made her way to the hall entrance. She snatched the bag of cookies and plopped down in the nearest chair, too exhausted and in need of a fix to make it back to the couch. She tore the bag open and reached inside.
And stopped.
She closed the bag and tossed it aside. Time to take control of her life, and she could start with swearing off Triple Chocolate Macadamia Nut cookies. It was a small step but she’d be swearing off other things she loved as well. And people. Correction: person.
C.C. scrambled to her feet and ran into the kitchen where she stuffed the bag in the back of the freezer and slammed the door shut. There. One small step toward controlling her life.
She called her father next.
“Catherine? It’s only six-thirty. Is everything all right?”
Her father’s concern filtered through the line. “Did you make a dea
l 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.”
Chapter 13
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.
