What Maxi Needs

by Calista Fox

  She was supposed to have another calling, according to her parents…but their choice of career hadn’t exactly called to her.

  Ben pulled a document from his folder and slid it across the table to Ryan. “She proposed more progressive distribution methods three years ago, when I was director of Shipping. I ran with her ideas, and we were successful in the implementation. I was promoted to VP. I gave full credit to Maxi, but…” He shrugged. Turned his gaze on Maxi. “She didn’t take ownership of the concept. I had to prove to Staci that Maxi was the mastermind behind our streamlined process.”

  Maxi gave a slight shake of her head. “Shipping’s not my forte. I just had a wayward thought and shared it with Ben.”

  Ryan scanned the sheet of paper and nodded encouragingly. Then he glanced up, his eyes locking with Maxi’s. “Another brilliant conjecture. One that apparently panned out in reality.”

  “In spades,” Ben agreed with him. “And I’ve always been grateful for the help. Under the current circumstances, I believe we’ll find some of the progressive tactics useful once again.”

  “I think we should focus on Ryan’s earlier presentation,” she told them, diverting the attention from herself.

  The three launched into a discussion of how Ryan’s projections would positively alter the back-stock depletion. Ben’s director and manager joined the group, both apologizing for their tardiness and explaining that they’d spent all morning and lunch running some new game plans based on Ryan’s data, which had apparently spawned numerous ideas.

  The meeting ran over by half an hour but yielded excellent results. Maxi ushered Ryan off to another of her meetings, this time with Facilities. The rest of her afternoon was filled, and she took Ryan around the building to all of the powwows. She successfully led each one, and her top brass dedicated themselves to action items and forward movement.

  She found it encouraging that rather than acting as though her new director had stepped on everyone’s toes, all of the executives had found something inspirational within his stats and documentation—and Maxi’s new leadership—that motivated them to dig deeper in their respective departments for solutions to the global problem.

  The last meeting was held in Maxi’s office, and when it concluded at six thirty, she was exhausted. Avril had ordered in dinner for the small group before she’d departed for the evening. Ryan had strategically made amends with the execs from Production, and that had lifted a bit of weight from Maxi’s shoulders.

  Ryan’s fingers skated over his keyboard, logging in every bit of information from this last session while Maxi stood and stretched. She cleared away the remnants of Chinese food, then collapsed onto her sofa and slipped off her heels while Ryan mumbled under his breath about conditional probability, random variables, and the need for more up-to-date scatter plots, which didn’t correlate in her mind with what had previously been discussed, but somehow worked out successfully for him. Because he finally sat back in his chair and breathed a sigh of relief.

  Maxi sipped from a bottle of water, then asked, “Shall I break out the celebratory hooch? Sounds as though you just came up with an astounding theory to solve world peace.”

  His gaze slid her way. A smoldering look. “Not exactly. That’s my next project.”

  A smile tickled the corners of her mouth as exhilaration raced through her. “Seriously, does your brain ever slow to normal speed?”

  “Not that I’m aware of. You see, with these new ideas presented—which I was hoping would come forth over the next several days, but everyone jumped on my data and went to work on improvement strategies straight-away—I have a new continuum to focus on that will result in—”

  “Ryan.”

  He closed the cover on his iPad. “Yes, Maxi?”

  “How about a glass of fifty-year-old scotch my grandfather gave me to share on special occasions? Like when I’ve been promoted to vice president and my new director has opened the floodgates to operational tactics with charts and algebraic equations that go so far over my head, they’re dripping off the wall behind me.”

  He grinned. “I thought you were following along quite nicely.”

  “Only when you speak in layman’s terms from time to time. I can piece together a word or two out of each paragraph that is your speech pattern to form an overall concept.”

  His eyes narrowed on her. “How?”

  “My brothers epitomized the dumb-jock stereotype. Unstoppable on the field when growing up and absolutely loveable guys, but literally…rocks inside the head. I’ve spent an entire lifetime sorting through the minutiae to grab one shining, coherent thought. It’s second nature.”

  He stood and crossed to the white sofa where she sat. “You realize you speak in paragraphs, too?”

  “I’m a girl who has a lot to say.”

  “Couldn’t get a word in edgewise with five siblings?”

  “Not a one. So I make up for it now.” She gave him the smile that hadn’t fully materialized moments before—when she was still digesting his algorithms—pleased that he’d recalled how many brothers she had. Kev couldn’t even remember their names after three years together.

  While Ryan made himself comfortable on her couch, Maxi went to the wet bar and collected the Glenlivet and two crystal tumblers. She set out the glasses on the coffee table before retrieving the silver ice bucket, along with a pair of tongs.

  “How many cubes?” she asked, knowing Ryan would be precise about how he took his scotch.

  “Two, please.”

  “Good answer.” She dropped ice and splashed two fingers of whisky into each of their glasses. She handed over his cocktail, clinked her rim against the tumbler he held, and added, “To your very spectacular day. I have to admit, I feared for your life this morning. But it seems you got everyone thinking and moving in the right direction. Maybe even a little excited about turning things around before it’s too late.”

  “It’s not too late,” he assured her, with a piercing gaze that lit her insides. Startling her, because she was trying really hard to get all her riotous emotions under control.

  This was serious business. Maxi owed it to her staff, and to Staci, to remain focused and diligent.

  Not to mention, her insanely immediate and seemingly all-consuming attraction to Ryan was way, way misplaced.

  First of all, he now worked for her. Office romances were never a good idea, in her opinion.

  Second, Einstein was way out of her league intellectually.

  A hint of insecurity swept over her. Regardless of what she’d said about being able to decipher some of his shoptalk, so much of what he said really didn’t resonate in her mind so that she found herself spending an exorbitant amount of time breaking it all down and processing his conjectures.

  Plain and simple: He was too smart for her.

  But goddamn, was he sexy as hell!

  Honestly, Maxi could simply close her eyes and listen to him spew theory after theory—and likely get off on his voice alone.

  Now that was a scary reality.

  God forbid she should get lost in a fantasy when he delivered his next presentation.

  Career. At. Stake.

  Right.

  Eye on the ball, Maxi. Eye. On. The. Ball.

  Ryan was saying, “My computations are accurate enough to make changes on a dime—to our benefit. The fact that we’re collectively coming to terms with the issues and looking for the most sensible and viable opportunities to fix what’s broken will drive our success.”

  Maxi took the seat next to him and crossed her bare legs. Twisted her dangling ankle to work out the kinks and sipped her drink. She said, “It’s amazing how quickly and thoroughly you’ve embraced this situation.”

  His eyes fixated on her foot for a few moments. Possibly on her crimson-painted toenails. He snapped out of his trance and picked back up on the conversation. “That’s what I do. When someone hires me for a job, I—”

  “Ryan.” She gave him a compelling look, her blood hummin
g in her veins at how he seemed to catalog everything about her. “Just accept the compliment.”

  He pulled in a long sip of scotch. Nodded his head. “Sure. Right. Thank you.”

  His accent did wicked things to her libido, no doubt. A resurrection she’d not anticipated.

  Although it was a dangerous scenario for all the reasons Maxi had just considered, she felt a little thrill over how Ryan seemed to juggle whatever academic thoughts consumed his mind with his apparent attraction to her.

  “We all appreciate your help,” she told him, ignoring the hint of sultry she heard in her voice, similar to the tone his erotic kiss had left her with earlier. “Myself included. At the top of the list with Staci, actually. This job is everything to me, for a lot of reasons.”

  “Why?” he implored, his dark eyes boring into her, despite the glasses he wore, which she was damn tempted to strip away. Along with his suit jacket. His tie. His shirt.

  When she’d been in his arms, she’d felt all the muscles concealed behind his clothes. Now she wanted to see them. Touch them. Drag her tongue over all the hard ledges and corrugated grooves.

  Heat flared low in her belly. She tried to concentrate on their conversation, difficult as it was to corral her lascivious thoughts. Even with her mental pep talks.

  She said, “I met Staci in college. She’s two years older than me. We were in the same sorority.”

  His grin was a knowing one. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Staci was very popular.”

  “And you weren’t?”

  She shrugged noncommittally.

  “Oh, please,” he said in a droll tone. “You were probably head cheerleader.”

  “Well, that’s to be expected when you have five football-playing brothers who all went to UB.”

  His brow crooked.

  She amended, “University of Baltimore. You’re probably only familiar with Ivy League schools, right? Anyway, each Shayne of my generation had athletic scholarships, which they managed to land because of the massive amounts of tutoring my parents paid for to substantially improve their grades.”

  Maxi shook her head and let out a small laugh. She’d tutored her brothers as well, and what a chore that had been! But they’d all wanted to go to UB, so they’d put in the necessary effort to maintain respectable GPAs, even if their topics of study never stuck in their heads past whatever tests they had to take.

  Continuing, she said, “Three of them have since gone on to coach college football. The other two—the oldest, Josh, and Troy—played pro for a couple years each, but both suffered injuries. First Josh, who experienced nerve damage from a neck and spinal injury; the doctors feared he might never walk again. But—thank God—he made a full recovery. Then Troy, who suffered a few too many concussions and, after Josh’s scare, decided he’d rather do something else with his life.”

  “So where’d they both end up?”

  “Josh manages my parents’ restaurant; they’re both professional chefs and prefer to be in the kitchen. Troy oversees bar operations. They make an excellent front-house team and, of course, our female customer base has tripled since they started there. Good-looking guys, the whole lot of them.”

  “Seems to run in the family.” His unabashed, heated gaze roved her body, and it might as well have been the fluttering of his tongue against her clit for the fire it sparked.

  “So the restaurant is in Baltimore?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested.

  “In Columbia, not far from here,” she said, suddenly a bit breathless. “Where we grew up.”

  “And what kind of food is the specialty?” he asked.

  “Seafood, of course. We serve the most amazing lobster bisque and she-crab soup. And a seafood tower that would blow your mind.”

  “I’m sure,” he commented, his bold gaze unwavering. “Another family trait.”

  Excitement rippled through her.

  Maxi tucked a plump curl behind her ear. “Are you flirting with me, Einstein?”

  Her voice was low and smoky. It seemed to affect him greatly, because his rich brown irises glowed with a silent, sexy invitation.

  He set aside his scotch. “I’m tempted to seduce you right out of that nickname you’ve given me.”

  “But it fits you so appropriately.”

  “You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption.”

  Maxi reached for the decanter and refreshed their drinks. She took a small sip, the whisky burning down her throat to her belly, warring with the searing inside her that Ryan incited.

  She said, “You were raised in Melbourne, but did your undergrad work at Oxford—starting at the impressive age of sixteen—before completing your graduate studies in technology and economics at MIT.”

  He snickered. “You read my résumé.”

  “And, as the pièce de résistance,” she added, as she lifted her glass in a salute, “you rocked it hard-core with the MIT Sloan PhD Program for ‘complex organizational, financial, and technological issues that characterize an increasingly competitive and challenging business world.’ I memorized that from the website.” She winked.

  Ryan sucked down a long gulp, then returned his tumbler to the table. He leaned toward her and grazed her calf with his fingertips, making her squirm in her seat. His gaze locked with hers again, and he said, “All of that doesn’t tell you a damn thing about me. Does it?”

  Maxi swallowed hard. His hand slid down to her ankle, then over her bare foot.

  “For example,” he continued, “I can easily deduce that spending at least eleven hours in six-inch heels invariably leaves you with pinched toes.”

  “Aching arches,” she corrected.

  His warm hand smoothed over the bottom of her foot as the other hand splayed across the top. “I’d venture to say you’d never believe that someone who’s completed the MIT Sloan PhD Program knows how to give a world-class foot massage.”

  “Not a chance,” Maxi murmured, as wicked delight shimmied down her spine. She didn’t fully accept that Ryan could possess the duality to be both brainiac and skilled Don Juan. Yet…he touched her so assuredly. So intimately.

  His thumb rubbed the sensitive spots of her arch with just the right amount of pressure, so that his touch didn’t tickle, but instead unraveled tension in the most delicious way. His other hand caressed slowly, easing the knots.

  Maxi took a long sip from her glass. Her eyes never left Ryan’s ruggedly handsome face, which had become a mask of hard angles, demonstrating his determination to deliver on his promise.

  And by God, was he doing an excellent job of it!

  His soft skin, which she’d noted when they’d first met—had that only been this morning?—felt heavenly against her naked flesh. She luxuriated over the strength in his hands. Succumbed to his skill, to the glorious gift he gave her.

  No one had ever massaged her feet—no one whom she didn’t pay, of course, during a mani/pedi at the spa. Kev had never once offered, despite his always insisting she wear the skyscraper heels, even when they went dancing. He’d reaped the benefit of admiring how she looked—and had always made snide comments about how other guys could suck it because she was his. But he wouldn’t have dreamed of helping to ease the discomfort at the end of the evening or the next day.

  Whenever Maxi had complained that her feet were sore, he’d simply pinched her cheek in a condescending way and said, “Beauty is pain, babe. Be glad you’re hot.” Then he’d pop the top off a beer, call up the dudes, and plop his butt in front of her big-screen TV to spend the afternoon watching sports and ordering in pizza.

  Einstein clearly wasn’t so singularly minded. He finished with one foot, then prompted her to shift her legs so he could alleviate the pressure in the other—while Maxi practically slid off the sofa, feeling limp and boneless.

  “Wow,” she murmured. “I’m pretty sure this tops any orgasm Harry gave Sally.”

  “Ah, so they gave in to baser instincts in the movie.”

  “Sure,
they fucked.” She speared him with a look over the rim of her tumbler. Desperately curious to see how he’d react to her frank terminology. He didn’t bat an eye. She added, “Then Harry freaked.”

  “Because he feared Sally would misconstrue the act, perhaps believing it meant more than instant sexual gratification?”

  “Yes. And she did.”

  “Not a surprise. For ages, studies have shown that women require emotional intimacy in order to achieve physical satisfaction, and that, in turn, they equate that satisfaction with the intimacy they’ve sought. A bit of a vicious circle.”

  “Another interesting theory that’s debatable,” she said. “Not all women—especially in this day and age—subscribe to that theory. Sometimes a good fuck is just that. No strings attached, no emotions involved. Just really hot sex.”

  Oh, dear God, why are we on this topic again?

  Now all Maxi could think about was Einstein’s hands all over her naked body. Would sex with Ryan be as explosive as their kiss?

  As she contemplated this—and suspected the answer would be a resounding yes!—he stared intently at her. Then he asked, “Is that your personal theory?”

  Maxi swallowed down a lump of tension that had suddenly formed in her throat, because there was a very big part of her dying to find out.

  She admitted, “I never said I subscribed to the concept.”

  “So you do have to be emotionally invested in a man in order to have a physical encounter with him?”

  “I used to think I did,” she further confessed.

  Why she was being so forthright, she wasn’t sure. Except that something about Ryan Donovan—his studious nature, all of his theories, his intensity mixed with caged passion, and the way he’d touched her with assertiveness and respect—had her thinking that perhaps physical attraction on the very animalistic level wasn’t nearly as far-fetched as she’d always thought. As long as mutual admiration was present, perhaps that was all that was necessary.

  Because she’d reacted vehemently to Ryan from the moment he’d blown into the conference room this morning.