Second to None Read online

  After that, Max had always cast a surreptitious glance in the direction of the kitchen before he entered their house. But he’d also gotten down on the floor and played with Izzy. Emily had noticed he wasn’t good with the make-believe games Izzy liked best, but he had other entertainment skills.

  “You liked him a lot. He used to build huge towers of blocks for you to knock down. You would shriek with joy.”

  “Cool. What time will you be home?”

  “After you’re in bed, I imagine, but I’ll come in and kiss you good night. Hugs, cutie.”

  When Emily walked back into the office, Max was lounging in the chair, his dark brows drawn down as he focused on his cell phone. He’d loosened his tie, and his thick hair looked as though he’d run his fingers through it. She looked at his mouth with the full bottom lip and again felt that powerful tug of desire. The scruffy grad student had matured into an intimidatingly attractive man.

  She cleared her throat, and he looked up, saying, “Ready?”

  Chapter 5

  On the limousine ride to dinner, Emily had appeared nervous, her gaze skittering toward Max and then away again. So he’d kept the conversation to trivial topics. But he’d watched her, cataloging the differences and similarities to the woman he’d wanted so desperately seven years ago. Her face was thinner, revealing the perfect oval of her bone structure. Although the corners of her mouth still had their fascinating upward tilt, she didn’t smile as often as in the old days. Her brown eyes were still warm, but shadows came and went in them as they chatted.

  Now that they were in the candlelit quiet of his favorite restaurant, Laurent, he simply enjoyed the way the light flickered over the waves of her brown hair and highlighted the tantalizing curves in the V of her blouse’s neckline.

  He decided to get the business at hand out of the way and leaned back in the comfortable armchair. “I’ve made the decision to fund your garden–slash–doggy playground. After looking at your facilities and the population you serve, I believe you should have more than the half a million you requested, so I’m doubling the amount of the grant.”

  Emily’s knuckles went white as she clenched her hand around the fork she’d been fiddling with. “Wait, what? You’re giving the center a million dollars?”

  He’d made his decision right after he had walked into the scene with Diego and the dog. He’d watched as Emily weighed the immediate needs of one child against inconveniencing the rich donor who might solve many problems for all the kids. And she had chosen the one child.

  He supposed that rationally Emily had made the wrong decision, but it had socked him right in the gut when she not only put his visit on the back burner but commandeered his limo to take Diego and his mutt to the veterinarian.

  He caught the glisten of tears in her eyes as she said with a faint quaver in her voice, “Thank you. Oh my God, thank you! I didn’t expect . . .”

  He wondered what she’d say if he told her it was coming out of his personal bank account. Catalyst had already distributed all of its budgeted funding for the year. That was the problem with requests made in the fourth quarter. But he had no qualms about handing Emily’s project a million dollars. He trusted her in a bone-deep way that he trusted very few people. The feeling had taken root after he had worked with Jake for a couple of months, and it had grown to encompass Emily.

  The waiter interrupted to perform the ritual of tasting the wine. By the time that was done, Emily had blinked back the tears, but her smile blazed like the July sun. “I swear your money will be put to good use, all of it. As soon as the weather starts to warm up, we can install the raised beds and the play equipment and the fence to separate the dog area. We’ll be able to hit the ground running this spring. The children are going to be so excited. Heck, the staff is going to be so excited.”

  Her gaze turned inward, and he could tell that she was picturing the children and dogs frolicking across a field of green grass.

  “I want to be very clear about one thing,” he said. Her attention snapped back to him, and he caught a fleeting look of wariness in her eyes. “The money is to be used for whatever you feel your K-9 Angelz program requires. No conditions. No strings attached. All I need is the routing information for the center’s bank account, and the money will be transferred tomorrow.”

  He heard her let out her breath in a rush. “Tomorrow!” She shook her head as she smiled. “You were like this back at Lejeune. Once a decision was made, you made it happen. No second thoughts.”

  “The sooner you start, the sooner you get results.”

  She nodded. “I hope you’ll feel free to visit anytime to see how things are progressing. You will be invited as our guest of honor to the ribbon cutting.”

  Except he would be in Chicago. Which didn’t preclude flying to New York, but he hoped to be deep into his next research project by then. He decided not to mention that. “I look forward to the transformation. Now, let’s forget about grants and construction for the rest of the dinner.”

  The wariness came back, but her smile didn’t waver. “Of course.”

  “What’s the status of Diego’s rescued dog?”

  “Oh!” Her relief at his choice of topic was clear. “I got a text message from Dr. Quillen, but I didn’t have a chance to read it,” she said, leaning down to rummage in her bag for her cell phone.

  She hadn’t read it because he’d monopolized her attention. Guilt pinged at his chest.

  She skimmed through the message. He waited, trying to guess the prognosis based on her expression. By the end, her frown had eased, so he wasn’t surprised when she said, “The dog’s stable. His worst injury is the broken leg, and he has a few cracked ribs. Nothing immediately life threatening, thank goodness. Let me just text Diego.”

  “That’s good news,” Max said. Relief loosened a tension in his shoulders that he hadn’t realized he was carrying. There was something about the kid that had gotten to him. He hoped the veterinarian’s receptionist had understood that he wanted the entirety of the dog’s continuing care charged to his credit card.

  “Diego’s life is not easy.” Emily dropped her phone back in her purse before she folded her hands on the tabletop. “It’s incredible that he is the person he is. I couldn’t bear to have him feel that his compassion for a stray dog was a bad thing.”

  “Do you take on all their personal problems?” he asked.

  *

  Emily shook her head, still stunned by Max’s generosity. It was hard to focus on his questions. “I shouldn’t admit this, but sometimes a kid works his way into your heart. Diego is just . . .” She shook her head again. She couldn’t reveal Diego’s secrets to Max, especially not the fact that the child lived at the center.

  “How did you become director of the Carver Center?” Max asked.

  She looked across the array of sparkling crystal to see the flame of the candle reflected in his dark eyes. “My aunt Ruthie got me the job.”

  His sensual lips curved into a smile that made it even harder to concentrate. “I asked the wrong question,” he said. “Tell me how you came to live in South Harlem.”

  She looked down at her hands, flexing the fingers wide on the immaculately pressed linen. She’d come because she’d needed to leave Camp Lejeune and all its bittersweet memories. She’d come because she’d never been alone before in her entire life, and it terrified her. She’d come because Aunt Ruthie had offered her not just a roof over her head but a warm embrace.

  “I’m sorry.” Max’s deep cello of a voice pulled her back to the present. “That was the wrong question, too.”

  “No. I just got tangled up in some of the dark parts of the past. It still happens, but not as often.” She tried to make a wry face and hoped she pulled it off. “After Jake died, Aunt Ruthie called me up and invited Izzy and me to come live with her. She’s not really my aunt, but we always called her that because she was my mother’s best friend. She used to visit us, bringing a whiff of big-city glamour and the coolest gifts w
ith her. I adored her. Her health had declined, so she needed some help, and I wanted to—” She looked at the man across from her who had just handed her $1 million and decided to go with honesty. “I wanted to get away from a place that reminded me of what I’d lost.”

  Max nodded. “Understandable.”

  “Aunt Ruthie thought I’d be perfect for the Carver Center job. She was a singer and had moved to South Harlem when she fell in love with a saxophonist who lived there. They broke up, but she stayed for the rest of her life. She knows . . . knew everyone, so she pulled a few strings.”

  She was surprised to see the angles of Max’s face ease into a look of sympathy. “Knew, past tense?”

  She nodded. “About a year after Izzy and I arrived, she passed away. It was quick, which is what she wanted.” But it had left her alone once again. Emily swallowed the tears that threatened to clog her throat. “She had no blood relatives, so she left me her house in her will, which is why I can afford to continue to work at the center.”

  Ruthie had left her a small amount of money, too, which combined with Jake’s insurance policy had become Izzy’s college fund. Another reason she could stay at the center.

  “The center is not just your job. It’s your passion,” Max said.

  “It’s my family, my community,” Emily said. Her safety net. Without all the connections she had made through the center, Aunt Ruthie’s death would have toppled her back into that chasm of lonely terror Jake’s death had plunged her into.

  Two waiters set down huge plates decorated with gray-and-white geometric patterns. In the center of each plate was a depression that held small oysters in a creamy sauce garnished with black caviar. When Max had ordered for both of them, he’d said this was the restaurant’s signature dish. Their food’s arrival reminded Emily that she should pay attention to her surroundings, since she would never be able to afford to eat here on her own. As Max assured the waiter that all was well, she scanned the restaurant with interest.

  The room they sat in was understated in its decor, all taupes and grays and creams and soft surfaces, but the considerable space between the tables indicated just how expensive the food was. No packing in the guests for maximum volume. The fork she’d been toying with when Max hit her with his bombshell announcement was substantial in weight, with sleek modern lines that screamed “exclusive.”

  Turning her focus back to the food, Emily picked up the mother-of-pearl spoon they’d brought with the appetizer and scooped up an oyster, lifting it to her mouth. The beads of caviar exploded with brine, contrasting with the rich sauce and the slide of the mollusk. “Mmm,” she hummed as she let the flavors and textures delight her palate. Now she understood why Max said he was a regular patron.

  “I’ve considered ordering a dinner-size portion of this dish,” Max said with a quirk of his lips. “But I think it’s better to leave yourself always wanting more.”

  “As long as you feel satisfied with what you had.” She felt a blush creep up her cheeks at the sense that they could be talking about something other than food. “It’s your turn. How did you end up in New York?”

  He took a bite of oysters and caviar and chewed meditatively before putting his fancy little spoon down. “The work I did with Jake got a lot of attention from the top brass in the military, which led to the offer of significant contracts. I looked around for a company that could produce the polymers I was developing, but couldn’t find one that suited my requirements. So I started my own. The chemist I wanted to head up production lived in New Jersey.” Max shrugged. “I’d always wanted to try out living in New York, so it was a good match.”

  “I hear you’ve sold V-Chem Industries. Why?” She almost forgot to eat the delicious appetizer as she watched some emotion she couldn’t interpret flicker across Max’s face.

  “I have some new ideas I want to pursue.” He met her gaze. “Being a CEO doesn’t leave a lot of time for research.”

  “So you prefer research to management?”

  That flicker again. “I hope so.”

  She couldn’t believe he was having second thoughts about a sale that would make him wildly rich and give him the freedom to pursue what he did best. “Do you regret selling the company?”

  Some of her incredulity must have crept into her voice, because he smiled and shook his head. “Not at all. It was time. There are just certain aspects of the deal that I’m rethinking.”

  That level of deal making was over her head, so she nodded and went back to her oysters, which were nearly gone. She sighed as she took the last bite.

  The servers whisked away their empty plates and placed new ones in front of them, along with clean flatware, explaining that this was lamb with various gourmet sides and sauces. The food looked like a beautiful still life, but the warm, lightly spiced aroma made her pick up the clean fork in order to ruin the exquisite arrangement.

  The waiter also removed the glass of white wine that she’d only sipped and poured red wine into a huge balloon glass after Max had sampled it.

  “You’re wasting all this wine on me,” she said, taking a taste of the red. “It’s delicious, but I just can’t drink that much.”

  “It’s a long way from a six-pack of Heineken,” Max said, reminding her of what the three of them usually drank with their dinners at Camp Lejeune. “However, the chef would refuse to serve me ever again if we drank white wine with lamb.”

  “You live a very different life from mine,” she said.

  He frowned.

  “I didn’t mean that as a criticism. I knew you when, so I understand that you’ve earned every bit of your success.” She reached across the table to touch the back of his hand in an effort to undo whatever offense she might have given.

  She’d forgotten how electric any contact with him was, but she forced herself not to jerk away when she felt the current of desire sizzle over her skin.

  He dropped his gaze to where their hands lay before he slowly rotated his hand under hers so that their palms grazed. Then he wrapped his fingers around hers before he raised his head again. “Emily, I want to make something very clear. Nothing you say or do for the rest of this evening will affect my donation to the Carver Center. The money will be in your account by the end of the business day tomorrow.”

  His fingers flexed, and the movement sent a dart of heat zinging through her. His dark eyes trapped her gaze, while her nerves twisted into knots of anticipation. He leaned forward, and she braced herself to resist the resonance of his deep voice.

  “Will you have dinner with me on Saturday?”

  “Dinner? Saturday?” She’d been expecting a different question. And she hadn’t honestly known what her response would be.

  “I have late meetings for the rest of this week.” He stroked the back of her hand ever so gently, the motion making the tiny hairs on her arm stand up and tingle.

  “I . . .” She felt herself swaying toward him, ready to say yes. Then it penetrated her brain that he was asking her out for Saturday. “No, I can’t. I’m sorry. That’s my day with Izzy. I promised her. Every Saturday.” She was babbling, so she stopped. An idea slithered into her brain. “Why don’t you come to dinner at my house? You could see how Izzy has grown up.”

  “I’d really enjoy that. Having dinner at your new home.” He nodded, but it seemed meant for himself, not her. “Things are different now.”

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, Emily sat down in her office and jiggled the mouse to wake up her computer. First, she sent out an e-mail to the board of directors, inviting them to a special meeting at her home at seven o’clock. She wanted to serve champagne to celebrate, but alcohol was forbidden at the center, so the meeting had to be off the premises.

  Next, she called the branch manager at the center’s bank to alert her to the incoming influx of cash. The manager—the same one who had regretfully relayed the news about the cancellation of their mortgage—congratulated her on the center’s good fortune.

  Emily p
ushed her chair back from the desk and stared out the window at the cold, gray street.

  After he’d accepted her invitation to dinner on Saturday, Max had released her hand. The only other times he’d touched her were to help her in and out of the limousine.

  The truth was that she’d wanted him to kiss her. Just a brush of his lips on hers, to see what it would feel like. Because she’d been imagining it through the whole dinner. She had thought he was imagining it, too, because his gaze would occasionally drift to her mouth.

  “Maybe he just liked watching me eat the food he was paying for,” she muttered.

  He unbalanced her. She was happy with the life she had built, but when he touched her, she wanted more.

  “It’s just sex,” she muttered again. “I’m having a normal reaction to a good-looking man.”

  Except she’d met other good-looking men without fantasizing about them kissing her. Even after she’d gone home and gotten into bed, the fantasy of Max touching his lips to hers had been vivid in her mind.

  He was interested in her personally. He had made that clear when he’d taken the donation out of the equation.

  “But he didn’t kiss me.” She rubbed her forehead. “I’m so confused.” She was also exhilarated, her blood fizzing in her veins every time she thought of Max.

  Her cell phone pinged with an incoming text message.

  I’ll bring wine on Saturday.

  She gasped. Had he somehow felt her thinking about him? She pulled herself together and typed back, Don’t you need to know what I’m making? I’m just as picky as the chef at Laurent, you know.

  I’ll cover all bases. Thanks again for inviting me.

  He still sounded surprised that she’d asked him to her home for dinner. Just don’t expect oysters and caviar.

  May I make a request?

  Now she was surprised. He hadn’t been the demanding sort in the past. Sure, but I can’t guarantee I can make it.

  You told me it was your specialty: macaroni and cheese deluxe.