Nicki and Codi exchanged a confused look.
“It’s okay, darling.” Tim smiled at Nicki and nodded toward Alex across the table. “His anti-psychotic meds should be kicking in soon.”
Codi gasped.
Alex shot Tim a murderous look.
Tim chuckled. “Joking, ladies.” He took a sip of his beer and kicked Alex under the table. “Chill out.”
Alex turned his attention to Maddie, who was smiling like she’d been crowned Miss Universe. “What does she think she’s doing with that jerk?”
Again, Nicki and Codi exchanged a confused look and both asked at the same time, “Who?”
“She’s having a helluva lot more fun than we are.” Tim shook his head. “What happened to you minding your own damn business?”
Codi looked from Alex then to Tim. “Do you guys need some privacy for this conversation?”
Alex rose and held his hand out to Codi. “Let’s dance.”
Codi followed Alex on to the dance floor. He took her in his arms and glided her toward Maddie and Jerk, who were now giving the dirty dance craze a whole new fuckin’ meaning.
Alex leaned toward the couple. “Hey, Mads, good to see you’re in a better mood.”
Maddie tilted her head back, looked from Codi to Alex with a deadpan stare. “Right back at you.”
“Friend of yours?” Codi asked.
Alex nodded and guided Codi even closer to Maddie, who now had her head resting on Jerk’s shoulder. “Asshole better not grab her ass.”
“Geeze, Alex,” Codi said. “What’s your problem?”
“No problem.”
“You could have fooled me. You’re holding me the way you’d dance with your grandma.” She tilted her head toward Maddie. “You keep trying to get closer to those two. You’re calling that guy an asshole. You sound like a jealous teen, and I bet you haven’t heard a word I said. Right?”
He led Codi even closer to Maddie.
“Alex?” Codi stopped dancing and waved her hand in front of his face. “Did you hear anything I said?”
“Sorry.” He pointed toward the DJ and then to his ear. “Music is too loud.”
Codi blew a strand of hair away from her lips. “Right.” She stepped back into Alex’s embrace, and he inched them closer to Maddie. “Who is that woman?”
“A friend.”
“Hmmm.” She stared at Maddie and back at Alex. “Look, if she’s an ex-girlfriend that you’re trying to make jealous, just tell me.” She giggled and pressed closer to Alex. “Might be fun, actually.”
“What? No.” Alex stepped on Codi’s foot while trying to get even closer to Maddie.
“Ouch.”
“Sorry.” He feigned a smile and shrugged. “I have two left feet.”
“Are you stalking this woman?” Codi practically screamed next to his ear.
“Of course not.”
“You’re acting weird if she’s a friend.”
Alex noticed the jerk’s hands on Maddie’s ass. He let Codi go and tapped the jerk’s shoulder. “Watch where you put your hands.”
“Alex, you’re embarrassing me,” Codi said from behind.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Maddie said.
“Look, you two friends can sort this out on your own.” Codi headed back to their table.
Jerk eased his hold on Maddie. “What did you say?”
“I said. Watch where you put your hands.”
Maddie turned and glared at Alex. “Don’t go getting all puffy-chested here.”
Jerk released Maddie and moved closer to Alex. He was the same height. Okay, the jerk was a few inches taller. He also looked familiar.
Maddie planted herself between the two men and put her hands on the jerk’s chest. “Leslie, please ignore him—”
Alex raised his eyebrows. “Leslie?”
Leslie took a step closer to Alex.
“Les.” Maddie put her hand on his arm. “I’m thirsty. Can you grab us a seat at the bar?”
Alex folded his arms across his chest. “Yeah, Leslie, belly up to the bar and—”
“Alex, shut it.” Maddie smiled at Leslie. “Can you give us a minute here? Please.”
“I’m not leaving you alone with this idiot.”
“Les, please. I’ll be fine.”
Leslie smiled at her. “Sure, honey.” He glared at Alex. “I’ll be close by if you need me.”
Alex rolled his eyes.
Maddie moved away from the other dancers. Alex cupped her elbow and led her to the outside patio. He leaned against the wooden railing.
She jabbed at his chest. “Are you drunk?”
“Sober as a pilot.”
Maddie scowled. “I don’t know what your problem is lately, but I bet it’s hard to pronounce. What the hell was that all about?”
“You can do better than that jerk Leslie.”
“Real mature, Alex.” She rubbed her temple. “And he’s not a jerk. He’s a good listener, interesting, a lot of fun and—”
“Rich, right? I thought he looked familiar.” That was where Alex had seen the jerk—he’d been at Hollister’s cocktail party the other night.
“I’m not even going to ask you what that means. Stay out of my way.” She turned to leave.
He caught her wrist. “Come and sit with us.”
She wiggled out of his grasp. “Why? So I can feel like a third wheel again?”
“Again? What do you mean again?”
“You can’t be serious?” She flicked her hair back. “Is Natalie yesterday’s news already?”
He furrowed his brow. “The woman who owns the jewelry store? What does she have to do with any of this?”
“Figure it out for yourself. I’m going back to the interested and fun guy waiting for me at the bar.” She nodded toward Alex’s table. “Aww, isn’t that adorable? Your mud-flap model is keeping her eye on you.”
“She’s not my anything.”
“Oh that’s right. She’s just another warm body to help you retain your heavyweight One-Night-Stand title, huh, Stud Man?”
“Hey.” Fed up with her attitude, he raised his voice. “I’ve asked you more than once to quit with the stud remarks. I got that you were in a lousy mood today, you needed some space, but now you’re hitting below the belt.”
“Unbelievable.” She shot him a cold look. “You’re parading around with the Helium Boobsie Twins and then have the nerve to invite me to sit with them, and accuse me of hitting below the belt?” She jabbed his chest with each word. “It’s none of my business who you’re dating and vice versa. This conversation is over.” She turned and headed for the bar.
Alex strode to his table and slunk into the chair.
Nicki gave Codi a questioning look.
Codi shrugged her shoulders. “Not a clue.”
Tim shook his head. “Let’s not go there.” He smiled at the girls. “There’s another hot spot a few minutes from here. Let’s say we all head over?”
“Alex?” Codi asked. “Everything okay?”
Alex ignored Codi. He knew he was acting irrational and rude, but he blamed it on Maddie’s behavior, especially toward him.
Codi turned to Tim. “Okay, what’s going on here?”
“Ditto what she asked,” Nicki piped up.
“Nothing a few more beers and some hot salsa dancing won’t cure.” He nudged Alex’s arm. “Right?”
“I’m getting the vibe that Alex isn’t into anything hot tonight.” Codi pouted. “At least not with me.”
“Don’t take it personally.” Tim shot Alex a smarten-the-hell-up look. “He’s not himself tonight. He slipped and fell in the shower a few days ago.” Tim kicked Alex again. Only harder this time. “Remember, Doc’s orders. Relax and have some fun.”
“Poor baby
.” Codi leaned in closer to Alex, rubbed his head and gave him a kiss on his cheek. “That must have hurt.”
“I’m fine,” he answered.
Codi pressed her lips close to his ear. “Jacuzzis are a lot safer. We have one in our room, but it’s only big enough for two.” She winked at Nicki. “You don’t mind?”
Nicki smiled at Tim. “Looks like I’ll need a place to sleep tonight.”
Alex shifted in his chair. “Don’t think that’s gonna happen.”
“Okay. I tried.” Codi threw her hands up in surrender. “But this is not working for me.”
Nicki squinted at Alex. “What’s the deal here?”
He pinned his stare on Maddie who was laughing at something Leslie said at the bar. “I’m selective.”
“Nice.” Codi rose and looked at Nicki. “You can stay, but I’ve had enough.”
Nicki rose and gave Alex a dirty look. “Let’s blow this pop stand.”
Both women left without a goodbye.
So much for the Maddie exorcism.
“Thanks, buddy.” Tim slapped him on the back. “Next time you have the urge to join me for a beer, don’t.”
Alex straightened in his seat. “Great.”
“Tell me about it.” Tim shook his head. “Maybe it’s not too late. You can apologize to Codi and—”
“Not them.” Alex nodded toward the door.
He blew out a frustrated breath, and stared at Maddie and Jerk who were walking out of the bar, holding hands.
Chapter Fourteen
“A lie can be halfway around the world before the truth has got its boots on.”
—James Callaghan
“How was your trip to New York, Max?” Carl gathered the dinner dishes from the dining room table. When they were alone, Carl dropped the formalities and addressed him as Max.
Maxwell finished his coffee and scanned the pages of Forbes magazine. “Informative.”
Carl cleared his throat. “Are you going to appear on a talk show?”
Maxwell slid his glasses down his nose and peered at Carl. “Where would you get an idea like that?”
“Crystal Washington.” Carl refilled Maxwell’s coffee cup. “I do know that she is the hostess on that ghastly talk show, and since you met with her, I assumed.”
“You assumed wrong.” Maxwell returned to reading Forbes.
“Glad to hear.” Carl picked up the tray and headed out.
Maxwell put the magazine down, pinched the bridge of his nose, and thought about the information he’d received in New York. He could have sent Victor or hired another PI, but he’d wanted to take control of the more intimate details himself. It seemed good help was hard to find in the PI business, especially when there was a hard-nosed, suspicious reporter close by who didn’t know how to put his career on hold for a few weeks.
Crystal Washington obviously cared more about the five-digit check Maxwell had given her than she did about the signed contract that stated she was not to talk about certain events from the past. But then again, she was in the media business. It hadn’t taken him long to size her up. Washington had the got-you-by-the-balls mentality. A mentality that went hand in hand with trashy reporters who wanted to satisfy their gossip-hungry public.
He would have never considered meeting with anyone in the news industry. If he had known years ago what he knew now, he never would have let his family or the media bully him into exile. He would have faced the gossip, consequences and lived up to his responsibility. They lived in the United States, for God’s sakes, not some country where women, or men, for that matter, were stoned to death because of an indiscretion.
He sipped his coffee and replaced the cup on the saucer, the china rattling on the table.
How had his life turned into this drama at this late stage? A drama not of his making, but he now starred as the main character. The other players had sat back prettily with their secret for so many years.
He’d always embraced his solitude and never would have thought anything in life could be worth the risk of giving up his privacy. In the near future, he would have to endure questions and public prying. His wealth had been able, for the time being, to call off the tabloid vultures. But he knew that even he could only do so much. In this age of chat rooms, blogs, telescopic cameras and people willing to pay thousands for scandalous stories, it was only a matter of time before his story leaked.
All he needed was a few more weeks. He would handle this situation the way he handled his business transactions.
He’d be armed and prepared. A good defensive strategy had never failed him, and it wouldn’t now.
Loud voices and clanging noises interrupted his thoughts.
He could hear his newly hired chef, Thierry Brunelle, yelling from the kitchen. “Mais non.”
He rose and headed toward the commotion.
“Mr. Hollister requested this menu for tomorrow’s luncheon,” he heard Carl say to Thierry.
“Non. Non. Non,” Thierry shouted.
“What is going on in here?” Maxwell entered the kitchen. Jesus, this was all he needed on top of everything else. Drama from his staff. “Carl?”
“I weel tell you, Monsieur Hollister.” Thierry waved a menu. “I have not attended thee best cooking schools in Paris to make,—” he flapped the menu in front of Carl’s face, “—to make disgusting things you Americans call food.”
Maxwell turned to his valet. “Carl?”
“Thierry doesn’t think that your suggestions for tomorrow’s luncheon are up to his cooking standards.”
“Brunelle?” Maxwell asked. “Are you questioning my instructions?”
“Monsieur,” the chef began, “to me cooking is a blend of thee best ingredients to create a masterpiece. And to create it magnifique, with integrity, and faith in my talents. Plastic cheese melted on top of,” he picked up a cellophane bag, crunching the contents, “nutchews chips—”
“Nachos,” Carl corrected.
“Ce n’est pas important.” Thierry waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Mon Dieu, and the request for beurre d’arachide au chocolat on la pizza? This is not an accomplishment for a man with my talents.”
“Follow the instructions on that menu,” Carl ordered.
Thierry folded his arms across his chest. “I am a chef, not a mere cook.”
Maxwell held up his hand, halting any further discussion. He felt indigestion coming on at the mere thought of eating nachos and chocolate peanut butter pizza. However, if that was what it took to acquire the trust and endearment he craved and become one step closer to the thing he knew money couldn’t buy, then that’s what he would do.
“Brunelle,” Maxwell said. “It would be wise for you to remember that you are a chef who will be a cook if that is what I request.”
Three kitchen staff members now circled the chef, avidly watching the scene.
Maxwell shot Carl a handle this nod and headed out of the kitchen.
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID. “What is it, Victor?”
“Leslie Brigham had dinner with her. Restaurant sources tell me she seemed to be having a good time. Then he took her dancing. Sources at the bar tell me there was a small scene, but Brigham handled it.”
“What kind of scene? Is she okay?”
“She’s fine. Donovan tried to interfere. There were some words. Brigham handled him.”
“And?”
“She left the bar at nine with Brigham.”
Maxwell smiled. “Keep me posted.” He hung up.
Carl returned as Maxwell headed up the stairs. “I’ll make sure the kitchen is under control. Your luncheon tomorrow will go on as scheduled and as per your specifications.”
“I don’t expect anything less.”
He could hear Brunelle barking out orders in French, instructing his assistan
ts that they were to produce the best chocolate peanut butter pizza ever to grace America.
While his staff prepared a gastronomical challenge on this continent, Maxwell headed to his private study to make a phone call to ensure a certain reporter’s residency on another continent.
The British could take him.
Far, far away—from him and Madison Elizabeth.
Chapter Fifteen
“Maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets.”
—Arthur Miller
What a mess.
Alex stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel. No wonder Maddie’s expression had read like a foreign movie subtitle—First you reject me and now you’re acting like a jealous lover.
She had every right to be steamed at him for the bullshit he’d pulled at the bar. “Should have minded my own damned business.” He toweled his hair with vigorous strokes. “She’s right, she can date who she likes.” He bunched up the towel and threw it in the corner.
Wrapping another towel around his hips, he went to the desk and turned on his laptop. He wanted to finish this damned assignment so he could get the hell off the island. He had screwed up their friendship, even without sex.
Why the hell hadn’t he gone with it? Christ, they were both consenting adults and he wasn’t a saint.
He opened a new document and banged the keys on the keyboard, attempting to block out the carnal thoughts he had of Maddie speeding through his mind.
He failed.
He raked his fingers through his damp hair as if in doing that, he could unscramble his thoughts and get them back to where they were before this damn trip. Back to where he was too busy and their friendship too platonic for him to think of sipping rum from her sexy navel.
Now all he could think about was how much he wanted her.
He wanted to lie next to her, kissing, caressing every curve and looking into her eyes until they were ready to do it.
Again and again.
Thoughts of hitting her sweet spot with his tongue and feeling her explode like a fourth-of-July firecracker caused him to twitch, pulsate and swell.
He shut down his computer. No use pretending he was going to get any work done tonight. All was quiet in her suite next door, not that he had his ear to the wall. Okay, so he did. He really was acting like a lunatic.
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