by Brandi Evans
Panic rose in my gut and I prayed against hope he’d be back soon. He’d be back eventually. Obviously. This was his house. I managed his store. But to me personally?
Like hell I’d wait to find out. I grabbed the cordless phone from the nightstand and plugged in Max’s cell phone number—I’d had those digits memorized since I got the job.
The call went straight to voicemail. After his greeting and the standard beep, I said, “Damn it, Max. Call me.
Sooner rather than later.”
I disconnected then tried the office phone, not that I really expected him to be there, but I was desperate.
Again, I got his machine and left a message. After I was finished, I placed the phone back on its base before I ended up heaving it across the room.
I collapsed onto the mattress and hugged his pillow to my chest. God, it still smelled like him. Like us.
“Bastard. Bastard!”
Tears began flowing down my cheeks. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to happen, not after last night. Max and I had connected, really connected. No way I’d imagined that. But then why’d he run?
The site of Max’s pain-filled eyes filled my mind.
When he’d spoken of Gina’s death he’d looked haunted.
Too bad I hadn’t pushed him harder to open up. I hugged his pillow tighter. Did he feel guilty he was moving on with his life, survivor’s guilt they called it?
And more importantly, why did he feel as if he couldn’t tell me?
I squashed the line of questions and pushed away from the bed. Lying naked in Max’s bed wasn’t the place for these kinds of questions. I needed to get out of here, back to my place, anywhere I could think without constant reminders of the connection I thought I’d made with Max.
I tugged on the sexy ensemble I’d planned to wear on my date with the coffee-shop guy, tucked Max’s note into my back pocket, grabbed the keys and headed out the door. To say I was feeling downright shitty was the understatement of the—
“Holy shit!”
The words leapt from my throat as I came face-to-face with a heavyset woman wearing a pink apron over a black button-down shirt and a pair of matching black pants. She stood just outside the bedroom, hand raised high as if she’d been about to knock.
Her fisted hand flew to her heart. “Good heavens, child! You scared the bejesus out of me.”
“Likewise.” She didn’t look like a threat. On the contrary, she reminded me of my grandmother. Still I took a step back and looked for something to use as a weapon. Just in case. “Who are you?”
“Patricia Higgins. Mr. Penn’s housekeeper.” She motioned to the vacuum cleaner behind her. “I was about to start sweeping the hallway when I heard a voice from the bedroom. I wanted to see if Mr. Penn wanted me to bring him breakfast first. I hadn’t noticed his car in the garage when I’d come in but—”
“Mr. Penn isn’t with me.” And with those five words, sadness replaced the panic floating through my veins.
“Oh.” She looked me up and down the way my mother used to when she knew I was up to no good.
“Where is he?”
“I wish I knew.”
Her suspicious eyes turned soft. “I see.”
I liked her other look better. Suspicion was always better than pity.
I tried to look as if I weren’t affected. I held my hand toward her. “My name’s Breanne Jennings. I work for Max, er, Mr. Penn as his—”
“Child, if you’re sleeping with the man, I think you’ve earned the right to call him Max.” She motioned me down the hall. “Come on, girl. Let’s get some breakfast in your belly and we can talk.”
“You don’t have to go to any trouble, Ms. Higgins. I
—”
“Call me Tricia.”
“Okay… Tricia. But like I was saying, you don’t have to go to any trouble—”
“It’s no trouble, child. Besides, the company would be nice. Always alone in this damn house.”
I smiled then fell into step beside her. Saying no to Patricia was apparently like telling a severe thunderstorm to do an about-face and head back the way it came.
The hallway consisted of a long corridor made mostly of glass. To the left the rolling hills went on and on. To the right…
“Wow.” My feet rooted to the spot. Level with where we stood on the second floor, a manmade “river” cut through the courtyard, maybe a foot or so wide. Water tumbled onto a rock-faced waterfall that reminded me of the decorative tranquility fountain in my living room, only much, much bigger.
Trish laughed. “Mr. Penn wanted a home that felt like a part of nature. Said it reminded him of the countryside back home.”
“It’s beautiful. I don’t know how I could have missed it last night.”
She stifled a laugh. “I imagine you were a bit, um, preoccupied the last time you came through here.”
My cheeks heated.
Tricia quickly pushed the conversation ahead. “You should see the fall at night when it’s lit up. It’s spectacular. The multicolored lights just seem to dance against the water.”
“If I get invited back, I’ll make sure to ask him.”
“You’ll be back, child. I’d bet my paycheck on it.”
Her words made me smile and I prayed she was right. “I’m sure Max brings home scores of women,” I said, downplaying my hope.
“No. He doesn’t.” She gave my shoulder a kind pat.
“Mr. Penn values his privacy. I can count on two fingers the number of women he’s brought home—and he married the other one.”
I didn’t know what to say. I’d worked for the man for two years, and I’d learned more about him in the past two days. I knew, beyond a doubt, Max had been with more than two women, but knowing he’d only brought two home—including me—I didn’t know what to think.
The rest of the house was as beautiful as the bedroom, decorated in the same ultra-modern fashion.
The living room furniture sported sleek lines and earth-tone fabrics. I really loved the square, oversized leopard-print ottoman, which fit perfectly with the sofa.
The kitchen butted up to the living area, completing the house’s wide-open feel. Stainless steel appliances complemented the deep stain of the open-faced cabinets.
White granite countertops completed the look. I loved every aspect of Max’s house, but despite my awe, something was missing.
Not a single picture of Gina sat on display anywhere.
I tucked the little detail aside. Maybe I’d be able to work the tidbit into conversation at some point. “I don’t think I’d ever get used to living in a place like this,” I said. “It’s so gorgeous and very, very open.”
“Trust me, girl, it’s very possible to get sick of the place. Cleaning windows here is a bitch.” She winked, motioned me to one of the four curved, cushioned barstools. “Have a seat. In the mood for anything specific?”
“Not really,” I said as I slid into one of the chairs. “I normally just eat a whole-wheat English muffin with whipped peanut butter on my way to work.”
The older woman looked as if I’d stabbed her in the heart. “That is not food, girl. No wonder you’re so blasted skinny. Just hold tight and let ol’ Tricia make you an old-fashioned Southern breakfast.”
* * * * *
It was official. My stomach hated me.
Tricia had stuffed me with pancakes, bacon, grits and biscuits with homemade peach jelly. I didn’t think I’d be able to eat again for a week, but aside from that, I actually felt a tad bit better. Tricia had a way of taking my bad mood and telling it to take a hike, and god I’d needed her kind of distraction right now.
I rubbed a hand over my distended stomach. “That was delicious. Thank you.”
She waved me off. “Think nothing of it, dear. I enjoyed the company.”
“I’m a lousy cook—and a lazy one at that,” I said with a laugh. “Hence my breakfasts of whipped peanut butter and English muffins.”
“I don’t get t
he chance to cook for guests that often, and Mr. Penn… well, he’s been gone so much recently.
It’s not worth the effort to cook for just little ol’ me.” She gave my hand a gentle pat. “But if you liked this, wait until you taste my chicken alfredo lasagna.”
“Sounds yummy.” I pounced on the conversation opener. “You seem so confident I’ll be back. You must know Max very well.”
She shrugged. “I’ve worked for the man for almost fifteen years now, and he’s still a bit of an enigma.”
“Tell me about it. I think I’ve learned more about the man in the past twelve hours than I have in the entire time I’ve worked for him.” Time to push a little deeper.
“What’s it like for you to work for him? Is he as much of a hard-ass in his own house as he is at the office?”
“Oh, worse I’m sure,” she said with a wink.
I laughed. “I bet you know things about him that would floor me.”
“Unfortunately for him.”
I leaned closer and flashed a conspirator’s smile, as if we were two girlfriends hanging out and gossiping ’bout boys. “Like what?”
She shook her head and laughed. “Child, are you trying to land me in the unemployment line?”
“Of course not. It’s just… ” I looked at my hands.
Truth time. “I think I’m falling in love with him, Tricia, but obviously there’s something really bothering him, something to do with Gina. I think he was going to tell me, but… ” I locked gazes with her again. “Bottom line is that I want to help him, but I can’t until I figure out what he’s hiding.”
Her gaze sharpened, as if she were comparing pros to cons. Then finally, she said, “Normally, I wouldn’t dare talk about Mr. Penn’s personal life, but he brought you home. And I know what kind of gesture that is to him, so I know he cares for you. Still, I’m not sure what information I can give you. Like I said, he’s very private.”
An earlier observation popped into my mind. “Why are there no photos of Gina in the house? Is it because she wasn’t faithful? I’ve never been married myself, but when my dad died, my mom kept photos of him in the house, even after she remarried.”
“Mr. Penn asked me to remove every reminder of Mrs. Penn the day he showed her the door.”
I felt my eyes go wide.
“I take it he didn’t tell you they’d separated,” Tricia said.
“No.” I shook my head, thinking, trying to remember what all Max had told me. “He said Gina had been bipolar, that she’d cheated on him repeatedly, but no, I had no idea they’d actually separated.”
“Not many people did. It only happened a few days before her death.”
I nodded. Was that what he was holding back from me? But even as I thought it, I knew it couldn’t be the reason. A gut feeling, I guess. “But why would he feel so strongly about keeping something that small from me?
Unless… ” I sighed. “Do you think maybe he feels like she died because he kicked her out? Like if she’d been here she might not have died?”
“Actually… ” Tricia closed her eyes, as if remembering something tragic. “Mrs. Penn, Gina, died here, in the master bathroom. Slit her wrist in the tub after drinking almost two bottles of Max’s favorite wine.”
“Oh fuck.” I clamped my hands over my mouth, but the words had already burst free. Gina had killed herself?
“The poor dear.” Tricia crossed herself at the memory. “She must have snuck into the house after I’d gone to bed and Max blames himself for not being here to stop her.”
I closed my eyes and fought back the tears suddenly fighting to escape. Max hadn’t been here to keep Gina from killing herself because he’d been working late at the office.
With me.
Chapter Six
Damn it, Max. Where are you?
I hadn’t seen or heard from the man in close to a week. He wasn’t answering his phone, and I’d fielded call after call from furious business associates saying he’d missed meetings and production deadlines. I’d done my best to fill in in his absence, but I managed things on a local level.
I’d also been calling Tricia three and four times a day, but as of an hour ago, he still hadn’t been home.
Hell, I’d even resorted to phoning Garrett and Karen in Britain—I’d found their number in Max’s computer while trying to do his job—but they hadn’t heard from him either. And now they were on their way here. As Karen had said, Max missing business meetings was surely a sign of the forthcoming apocalypse. If he didn’t check in with someone by the end of the day, I would start calling hospitals and morgues.
His disappearance had me so ruffled I could hardly focus on what I’d learned from Tricia. Not only had Gina killed herself, but she’d done it while Max had been with me, while I’d been harboring erotic thoughts of him. No me, while I’d been harboring erotic thoughts of him. No wonder he’d run. He’d spent the night fucking the woman who’d kept him from saving his wife’s life.
And okay, maybe I was being overdramatic. After all, I hadn’t kept Max late. He’d kept me late—and for no real reason. The work we’d been doing was so mundane, I could hardly believe Max had bothered with such minute details. It was almost as if he’d been trying to keep me late so he could—
A light went off.
What if Max had been trying to keep me there, to act on the attraction he’d told me about? I’d asked Max why he hadn’t acted on his feelings for me. Instant guilt had seized his face and he hadn’t answered. What if he’d been thinking about that night?
We’d been alone in the office, sharing Chinese takeout and half a bottle of wine. Laughing and working way too slowly—
“Ex- cuse me.” A shrill voice cut into my thoughts the way a shock wave might rush through a small town in the dead of night. “I asked if you had this in red.”
I bit down on the sudden surge of anger spiking my temper and focused on the owner of the sharp voice.
Blonde, tall and hips a tad too big for her body, the woman held a silver sleek-and-sexy lace babydoll that would go great with her frame.
“Yes ma’am,” I said. “But it’s currently out of stock.
We’re supposed to get a shipment today, but the truck’s running late. I could put one on hold for you if—”
“Tomorrow will be too late.”
Put down the lingerie and walk away slowly, lady. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve got a couple of other babydoll pieces in red that would look great on you. I could show them to you, and if we find something you like, I can give you a ten percent discount for—”
“No! I need this one. Tonight!”
“I’m sorry.” I chewed on each syllable. If she didn’t back off, I might become the first person in history to be arrested for assault with a deadly teddy. “You can try our Fort Worth store and see if they have one in your—”
“No, no, no, you don’t understand. I need it tonight.
My husband’s been gone on a business trip for two weeks, and he’s gonna be home in two hours. Two!”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Look. What do you want me to do? Magically pull it out of my ass?”
Fuck. I knew I’d screwed up even before the look of shock registered on her face. I bit my bottom lip. Luckily Chad and his silver tongue were right there to clean my verbal puke.
“Forget that one, hon,” my ostentatious coworker said to Mrs. Disgruntled. Chad had a way of speaking that made even the cosmos stop and hang on his every word. “This is the one you need. The wrap-front skirt will slim your hips and show off a hint of the matching thong.
And the bodice will give your breasts a come-play-with-me lure. It will look fabulous on you. Trust me.”
He drew out the “fa” in fabulous for what seemed like three seconds, completely captivating Mrs.
Disgruntled and allowing me to slip away unnoticed and hide behind a shelf of handcuffs and other light bedroom bondage gear. Which, of course, made me think about Max…
The front door
swished open with a ding—I cringed.
Was it closing time yet?
A portly man in tan cargoes and a blue polo walked in carrying a vase of pink roses. I rolled my eyes.
Wonder who was sending Aimee flowers today? My Cuban compadre had a new suitor just about every week, but since she was engaged with a customer, it fell upon me to step in for her. Damn her and her Latino good looks. I loved her like a sister, but sometimes…
I met the delivery guy next to a rack of lubricants.
“May I help you, sir?”
“Yes.” He looked at the clipboard in his hand. “I’m looking for a Breanne Jennings.”
“No shit?”
Laughter rumbled his chest. “Yes. Unless the name changed on the form since I looked at it four seconds ago.”
A sarcastic man after my own heart. “I’m Bree. I just wasn’t expecting anything. Who’s it from?”
“On the card.” He handed me the vase. “Have a good day.” He tipped his hat—literally—then made an exit.
Aimee finished her sale and hurried to my side.
“Magníficas. Are they for me?”
“Not this time, my friend.” Max’s handwriting on the outside of the card abducted my attention. “They’re for me.”
“Really?” Her grin grew. “Who are they from, muchacha? Señor Sexy from the coffee shop?”
“I don’t think so.” I hadn’t told Aimee about my night with Max and Garrett. I especially didn’t tell her what I’d learned about Max and Gina.
“Then who?”
“Not here,” I whispered then raised my voice. “Hey, Chad! Aimee and I are going to my office for a second. Be right back.”
He waved an acknowledgement.
Amy grabbed my arm and tugged. “Vámonos.”
The click of my stilettos accompanied Aimee’s as we practically sprinted down the tiled corridor to my office.
Max sending me flowers? I was afraid of what it meant.
When we reached our destination, I placed the arrangement on my desk, plucked the card from its hiding spot. Taking one calming breath, I dug into the envelope and pulled out the tiny card.
