Authors: Carol Rose
The sexy, sarcastic, millionaire author was actually good with kids. And yet he had no children of his own and, more disturbing, had nothing to do with his own nephew.
It made no sense. He was, in his cold, biting way, a lonely man who didn’t interact with his own family, but he could be really considerate with others. He’d had nothing to gain from helping Jake with his homework. There could be no ulterior or selfish motive for him in this.
If Max truly had a kinder side, why didn’t he share that with his own family?
Frowning, Nicole knew she couldn’t leave this alone.
* * *
“Yes, I swear,” Claire insisted. “They go out every Wednesday and Saturday night. Bingo or the movies. They talk on the phone. Your dad seems very happy.”
“That’s wonderful,” Nicole said into the phone, frowning. Naturally, her dad had dated after her mother died. Unfortunately, a number of the women he’d gone out with over the years had been poor risks. Her dad was too inclined to see only the best in people. While she was grateful he wasn’t worrying himself to death about her or the lawsuit, she still couldn’t help but be concerned about this woman he was seeing.
“Or your dad
would
be happy, if you’d come home,” Claire mentioned in a dry voice.
“You’re the one who thinks I need to come home. He’s fine with me doing this. He knows it’s our best option,” Nicole insisted. “So who exactly is this woman he’s seeing? Do you know anything about her? Is she nice?”
“Very nice. She’s in her late fifties. A secretary. She grew up here and moved back several years ago, I think.”
“So she’s nothing like that skanky woman who tried to latch on to dad when we were in high school?”
“No,” Claire mocked gently. “You’ve got to quit worrying about your father and let him go out on his own. He is beyond retirement age, you know.”
“Hey,” Nicole said, “I’m the one who has to pick up the pieces every time one of those bimbos would clean him out and disappear.”
“Have you heard of the term ‘enmeshed’?” her friend asked kindly. “It means ‘over-involvement in a loved one’s life.’ You need to read up on the subject.”
Nicole grinned into the phone. “I’ll do that just as soon as I get home.”
“Hopeless,” Claire moaned. “You’re hopeless.”
* * *
“This is really great Egyptian food,” Nicole declared, biting into the pocket bread while visibly struggling to keep a grasp on the overstuffed sandwich. “Gosh, I’m going to miss the ethnic food when I go home. Don’t get me wrong. We have good food, but this sandwich is terrific.”
“I’m glad you’re enjoying your lunch,” Max said dryly. If she did everything with the same gusto with which she approached food, sex with Nicole would be mind-blowing. Every day he had more difficulty keeping his physical response to her under control. It wasn’t just her body that stirred his torrid thoughts, she had other qualities that drew him…and made him crazy, at the same time.
He really needed to get the book finished and convince Nicole to spend a week in bed with him. Could they be friends after sleeping together, he wondered, startling himself. Did he consider her his friend?
“So good,” she moaned, scooping up a stray chunk of cucumber that had fallen onto the plate in front of her.
She sat at his little-used dining room table, one foot propped in her chair, the corner of her beautiful mouth decorated with a smear of hummus that had escaped her pita falafel. The ash blonde hair he now believed to be natural was piled in a haphazard manner on top of her head, wild wisps escaping every which way.
“Did you ever think about writing young adult fiction?” she asked, “or a children’s book?”
Lifting a disbelieving brow, he responded, “You think my style would be accessible to children?”
“Yes,” she said, tilting her head to one side as she considered him. “You might have to tone down your vocabulary a little, but I think you have tremendous potential to relate to kids.”
Looking at him with a clear gaze, Nicole took another bite of her pita sandwich.
“Thank you,” he said, both startled and touched. The feeling surprised him even more than the compliment. He was flattered by her seeing an untapped potential in him? It left him feeling strangely odd that he cared what she thought.
“They interviewed an educator on
Johnna!
last week and he said kids need to read more emotionally complicated fiction. It improves their vocabulary and helps them come to terms with the real world.”
“And you think I could write complicated stories teens and pre-teens could appreciate.” Flattered more than he would have expected, Max watched her take another bit of her sandwich.
“Yes, of course,” she said, having swallowed. “So what was it like growing up a boy genius in the big city?”
“A boy genius growing up in Gotham,” he murmured, the dramatic image amusing him.
“Did you always actually live in Manhattan like Ruth?”
“No,” he responded, feeling strangely awkward answering her. In his tenure, he’d been interviewed by the best, before he’d stopped allowing the media any access.
Learning to handle impertinent questions was a requirement for anyone with a measure of fame. Nicole, however, could have no intent to profit from the details of his life. He didn’t think she’d betray anyone in that way. Besides, he had her signature on a legally binding instrument requiring her silence. If she thought the lawsuit against her father was bad, she wasn’t likely to risk one even more clearly damaging.
“We lived on Long Island until I was ten. Then my parents thought the opportunities would be better in the city.”
“Your mom and dad got better jobs living here?” Nicole rescued a thin, dangling strip of lettuce from her sandwich.
“No,” he responded evenly. “Better educational opportunities for me.”
“Oh.” She cast him a sideways look. “Tell me about your parents.”
“Edwin and Phyllis Tucker. Married in nineteen sixty-eight. Resided on Long Island, then Manhattan. Killed in a car wreck in nineteen ninety-eight.” Max smiled blandly at her. Off the top of his head, there wasn’t much else to say about his parents. He hadn’t felt he’d known them well.
As if she sensed the under-currents he himself worked to ignore, Nicole studied him across the table. “They must have been very proud of you.”
“Very proud of my achievements, anyway. My father purchased one of those ‘My child is an Honor Student’ bumper stickers when I was four years old.”
“Wow.” She returned her sandwich to her plate, fishing out a falafel and biting into it. “Pete is younger or older than you?”
Why he was answering her, he didn’t know. Immediately, he knew he was lying to himself. He actually felt comfortable talking with her this way. “Older by four years.”
“Your dad didn’t buy that bumper sticker when Pete was four,” Nicole concluded, still studying his face.
“No,” Max admitted. “Pete has always been solidly normal.”
Twisting a crumpled paper napkin between her damp fingers, she asked, “You envied him? Why?”
How did she guess that? Here he was fabulously wealthy and successful in contrast to his brother’s merely adequate accomplishments. Why the hell should he envy Pete? It wasn’t as if his brother was hugely successful in any definition of the word.
In the silence that descended between them, Max grappled with how to explain the complexities of his relationship with his brother. Pete was such a simple guy. Any weirdness had to be Max’s fault.
“Envy him?” Max said, the word tasting strange in his mouth. “Only sometimes and then, only briefly.”
He waited for her to ask for an explanation, but she didn’t.
“Did you have lots of friends or did you mostly play with each other when you were kids?” Nicole tucked her foot under her seat, propping an arm on the table in a manner he was coming to realize was characteristic of her.
“Neither Pete nor I ever had crowds of friends,” Max responded, crumpling up the paper his meal had come wrapped in. “I suppose we could both be categorized loners, if you’re into categorizing people, which I can see you are. Pete sometimes played team sports. I mostly pursued solitary sports like running and I read and wrote.”
An expression of sadness skimmed across her expressive face. “Were your parents very involved in your life?”
Max stared across the table at her, the compassion in her face striking him hard. He hadn’t said
anything
to make her pity him. He didn’t want pity, dammit, but he couldn’t help the sensation of warmth in his chest, despite that. Nicole looked at him as if she understood, which was impossible, of course. She was really a very straightforward person. What was visible on the surface was everything that comprised her. The same could never be said of him.
“Let us say they were very involved in my success,” he said, the precision in his words automatic. There was no pain in thinking about his parents. In truth, he was startled by his reaction to her reaction. Her sympathy troubled him and made him want to reject any hint of concern for him on her part.
What he wanted from her was a neatly typed book…and several weeks of steamy, erotic coupling, if he could get them. He wanted at this moment to reach across the table and angle his mouth across hers. Ached to taste her, to draw her skin against his, to plunge himself into her body. Pity from her, however, he didn’t need. Sex was safer than emotion. He found himself fighting his liking for her, knowing there could be no good outcome from it.
“Some parents,” Nicole said slowly, “are so excited by their children’s’ achievements, they forget to prize the child for just being a child.”
Max looked at her, mentally clicking through all the things he could say. Of course, she’d have a different perspective than most people. She was a teacher, a woman who dealt with kids all the time. For a flash of a second, he wanted to lean forward and impart some wisdom where it might do some good. But he didn’t. What was there, after all, to say? Bright kids gained rewards for being bright. Rewards that generally out-weighed the social complications, if not the loneliness. Teachers were just as much a part of the problem as were parents.
“I was never ‘just a child’,” he told her calmly. “When I went before the civil court judge to request emancipation at the age of sixteen, she commended me on my maturity.”
“Sixteen?” Nicole echoed in disbelief. “Were you earning your own living at that age?”
He nodded, mildly amused by her shock. Writing was who he’d always been. Most people knew him only for this gift that encompassed everything him.
“My God,” she said, shaking her head. “How sad.”
“It wasn’t sad, at all,” he disagreed. “I no longer needed my parents’ protection, nor was I interested in them continuing to bask in the reflected glory my work engendered for them.”
“But, Max,” she said, “it’s not just about your work. You are more than your work.”
He frowned at her, making a gesture as if to push her comment aside. “What else matters besides one’s mind?”
“Character,” she said, “for one thing. And kindness and humor. Those things are part of you, too.”
“Don’t trivialize the mind. The things you list are a product of the mind.”
She shook her head. “Not kindness.”
Max made a scoffing sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t be an idiot. I’m not a particularly kind man or haven’t you noticed?”
“I noticed you helping Jake with his homework the other night,” she said tartly as she gathered all her lunch trash together. “That has nothing to do with your work, unless you’re planning on incorporating a mentor character into your book.”
“No,” he admitted, laughing. He helped Jake because he liked the kid, that was all. Still, could she be right? Was there more to him than the work? The idea that he possessed any personal aspect as valid as his talent…intrigued him. It was a new idea.
He was a decent friend to the select few people he chose to allow into his private world, but he knew better than anyone that Cynthia and Nadine, as well as Ruth’s family, gave way more than they got from him.
Watching Nicole take the trash into the kitchen, Max let the surfaced memories of his childhood sift through his mind. He and Pete had always been awkward with each other, never sure how to feel or demonstrate affection. It certainly hadn’t been demonstrated by their parents. But they hadn’t hated each other either, not until he’d stupidly, insanely, made everything go to shit.
Max sat thinking about his brother.
Pete would be getting his award this next Saturday. He deserved it. Most non-fiction work was pedantic and dry, but Pete wrote in a smooth, clear voice.
Smiling as he tilted back in his chair, Max imagined his big brother standing at the podium, looking awkward and self-conscious as he accepted his award. He wouldn’t make much of a speech. Pete’s skill with words didn’t extend beyond the written page. Damn, Max thought, he’d like to see it. Pete in a rumpled tuxedo, the bright lights shining on his slightly-embarrassed, overly-serious face.
Smiling, Max let the chair settle forward on all legs. He could actually go to the awards dinner. It couldn’t hurt anything. If Pete wanted to ignore him, he could. He didn’t have to talk to him. Down deep in his gut, Max hated the rift. He’d never been buddies with his brother, but he’d always respected him. He wanted to get beyond the anger.
He’d never been good at admitting when he was wrong, but going to the awards dinner didn’t mean he had to grovel.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Come on,” Cynthia wheedled, her sweating mug on the table in front of her, “you’ve got a major jones for Nicole, don’t you?”