скачать книгу бесплатно
Seb blinked.
“I know we’d talked about you taking it over,” Max went on. “But you’ve been in Reno a lot. And you’ve still got a finger or two in Fogerty’s project and the Hayes Building. Right?”
“Right.” But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be willing to work even harder to do Carmody-Blake.
Max nodded happily. “Exactly. And you’ll have more time to run the bid on the school in Kent this way,” he went on. “They were really impressed with your ideas.”
Seb made an inarticulate sound at that point, hoping it sounded as if he was pleased with the compliment. It was a compliment. It was just—he’d really wanted the Blake-Carmody project.
He had no right to be disappointed, really. Logically he knew that. Yes, he’d been invited to share his ideas for the project, and yes, Max had taken them seriously. They’d even discussed the possibility of him taking over as head architect on the job. But while it had been unspoken, it had never been official.
And he could understand why Max would enjoy overseeing a plum job like this one. It was just that over the past couple of months Max had been talking about “stepping back” and “taking it easy.”
And hell, he’d just come in from sailing, hadn’t he?
“I knew you’d understand. Rodriguez is going to boss the office space side of it. Chang’s doing the shops,” Max went on.
That made sense. Frank Rodriguez and Danny Chang had also contributed to the portfolio with ideas that reflected their specialities. Seb nodded.
“And I’ve asked Neely to take charge of the living spaces.”
“What!” Seb sat up straight. “Neely Robson?”
All of a sudden it didn’t sound simply like Max keeping the plum job for himself. It sounded like—
Seb shook his head as if he were hearing things. “You can’t be serious.”
At his tone, Max stiffened abruptly. “I’m perfectly serious.”
“But she’s not experienced enough! She’s been here, what? Six months? She’s green.”
“She’s won awards. She got the Balthus Grant.”
“She draws pretty pictures.” All warm cozy stuff. She might as well be an interior decorator, Seb thought.
He’d only worked with Neely Robson one time—and that had been merely at the discussion stage in the first month she was there. It hadn’t gone well. He’d thought her ideas were fluff and had said so. She had been of the opinion that he only wanted to build skyscrapers that were phallic symbols and had said that.
To say they hadn’t hit it off was an understatement.
“The clients like her.”
You like her, Seb wanted to say. You like her curve body andher long honey colored hair and her luscious lips that curved intodimpled smiles. But fortunately he clamped his teeth together before any of those words got past his lips.
“She’s good at what she does,” Max said mildly. He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth, a smile playing on his lips as if he were thinking about something very different than designing buildings.
And what exactly has she been doing with you? Seb wondered acidly. But he had the brains not to say that, either.
Still he had to say something. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t noticed Neely Robson’s appeal to his boss over the past couple of months. She was an attractive woman. No question about it. A man would have to be dead not to notice.
But the firm was big enough that she hadn’t really come to Max’s notice until she’d won that damned award in February. Then he’d invited her to work on the hospital addition.
Since then Max had paid more and more attention to her.
Seb couldn’t count the number of times he had noticed her coming out of Max’s office or the multitude of times in the last couple of months he’d heard her name on Max’s lips. And he’d certainly seen Max’s gaze linger on her in staff meetings.
He hadn’t worried. Max wasn’t Philip Savas, he’d told himself. Max was single-minded, determined, professional. If anyone was the poster boy for workaholics, it was Max.
There was no way Max Grosvenor was going to let himself be seduced by a pretty face. He was fifty-two years old, and no woman had trapped him into matrimony yet, had she?
Seb supposed there was always a first time. And Max could be ripe for a midlife crisis. He’d gone sailing, for crying out loud!
“I just mean she doesn’t have a lot of expertise with condos as a part of multi-use buildings and—”
“You don’t have to worry about her expertise. I’ll be working closely with her,” Max said now. “And if she’s green, well, she’ll learn. I think I can help her out.” He raised a brow. “Don’t you agree?”
Seb gritted his teeth so hard his jaw ached. “Of course,” he said stiffly.
Max grinned cheerfully. “She’s got a lot on the ball, Seb. Very creative. You should get to know her.”
“I know her,” Seb said shortly.
Max laughed. “Not the way I do. Come sailing with us next time, why don’t you?”
“Next—You went sailing with—” He didn’t finish the sentence so appalled—and disbelieving—was he at the prospect. Max and Neely Robson had spent the afternoon sailing? Dear God, yes, he must be having a midlife crisis. That was the sort of thing Philip Savas would do, but not Max Grosvenor.
“She’s not a bad little sailor.” Max grinned.
“Isn’t she?” Seb hauled himself to his feet and picked up his portfolio. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said flatly. “But I still think you’re making a mistake.”
Max’s smile faded. He stared out the window at Mount Rainier for a long moment, though whether he saw it Seb had no idea. Finally he brought his eyes back to meet Seb’s.
“It wouldn’t be the first mistake I’ve ever made,” he said quietly. “I appreciate your concern.” He met Seb’s gaze squarely. “But I don’t think I’m making a mistake this time.”
Their gazes locked. Seb wanted to tell him how wrong he was, how he’d seen it over and over and over from his own father.
He gave his head a little shake but then just nodded. “I’ll just be getting back to work then, if you don’t have anything else to discuss.”
Max gave a wave of his hand. “No, nothing else. I just wanted to let you know about Blake-Carmody in person. Seemed tactless to leave it on your phone. And it’s no disrespect to you, Seb, my taking this on. It’s just—this is one I want to do.”
With Neely Robson.
He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.
“Of course,” Seb said tightly.
He had the door open when Max’s voice came from behind him. “You should take a little time off yourself, Seb. All work and no play—you know the saying.”
Seb did. But he didn’t want to hear it from Max Grosvenor. He shut the door wordlessly as he went out.
“There now, isn’t it lovely?” Gladys looked up and sighed happily.
Seb frowned. “Sorry?”
“Max,” she said with a sappy maternal smile. “It’s lovely he’s finally getting a life.”
* * *
If Max was finally getting a life, Seb didn’t envy him.
Life—the “relationship” sort—as Seb knew from a lifetime of experience, was messy, unpredictable and fraught with chaos. That Max, the most focused of men, should be tempted by it, simply meant he was deep in a midlife crisis.
And with Neely Robson—a woman half his age, for God’s sake! It was a disaster waiting to happen.
Max had always had what Seb thought was an ideal life. Satisfaction through work, through creating magnificent buildings, a life of order, clear and controllable. Not messy, unpredictable and tangled.
If Max was getting a life, Seb pitied him. He was doomed to disappointment.
Seb shook his head, then shoved away the thought of Max’s idiocy and tried to concentrate on the Kent school project.
It was after six. He could have quit. But why? There was work to do here and certainly no reason to go home.
Talking about messy and uncontrollable, by now he was sure his penthouse condo would be teeming with half sisters. There would be panty hose in all the bathrooms, cell phones ringing at every minute, toast crumbs and marmalade on the countertops, half-eaten yogurts in the refrigerator and bridal magazines littering every horizontal surface.
Even worse they would all be talking at once—about the wedding, about Evangeline and Garrett, about how perfect it all was, about how they were going to live happily ever after, about how everyone should live happily ever after. And then they would begin comparing their own love lives.
And speculating about his.
Ever since they’d been in junior high school his sisters had been pestering him about the women in his life. Who was he dating? Was it serious? Did he love her?
Love! Titter, titter. Giggle, giggle.
It made Seb’s jaw muscles twitch every time he thought about it.
He didn’t have a love life. Didn’t intend to have one. Not one like they meant, anyway—not that he could get it through their romantic fluffy-brained heads.
He had needs, of course. Hormones. Testosterone, for God’s sake. He was a red-blooded male with all the right instincts. But that didn’t mean marriage or happily ever after.
And it certainly didn’t mean he believed in fairy tales.
On the contrary, he believed in giving his hormones exactly what they wanted in a sane, sensible fashion. And he had done so over the years through a series of discreet liaisons with women who wanted exactly what he did. No more, no less.
And if his last discreet liaison had ended a few months ago because the pretty blonde software engineer with whom he’d been satisfying those hormones had taken a job in Philly just after the first of the year, that simply meant he needed to find another woman to take her place.
It didn’t mean he had to get a love life or get serious.
But his sisters thought he should. And they were never hesitant to say so.
And since Evangeline had foisted them on him for the next month—and he knew he wasn’t going to be able to turf them out—they would feel entitled to express their opinions. At length.
God help him.
He needed a bolt hole, a bachelor pad. A tiny hideaway of his own—just for the month—where none of them could find him. He could appear and be big brotherly when the mood suited him, but generally he could play “least in sight.”
He toyed with the idea of moving into the empty studio apartment in the building he’d bought two years ago. It was tempting. But it was only three blocks from where he lived. And Vangie knew about it. They’d all know about it if he went there.
It wouldn’t be a bolt hole for long.
He’d like to stick them there, but that would never work. One room plus one bathroom and the four of them? It didn’t bear thinking about.
Maybe he could buy a futon for his office and sleep here. A few months ago Max would have applauded the idea. Now, in his new “isn’t playing hooky wonderful?” mode, he would have a fit.
But damn it, Seb wasn’t having a midlife crisis. And if he wanted to work 24-7 why shouldn’t he? At least here at the office, he could still focus.
Deliberately Seb shoved the thought away and focused once more on the Kent school designs. Almost everyone else had gone home now. It was close to six-thirty. Max had breezed out half an hour ago.
He’d stuck his head in on his way to the elevator. “Still here? It’s Friday night. No hot date?”
Seb just looked at him.
Max grinned and shook his head. “Learn from me, man. There’s more to life than work.”
Like hot dates with a woman half his age? Seb sucked in his cheeks. “I have some work to do for Reno, then I want to think a bit about the Kent project.”
Max gave him a wry look that said he recognized the guilt being offered him, but then, pure Max, he shrugged it off. “Up to you.” He started away, then returned to stick his head round the door again. “We’re going sailing on Sunday. Come along?”
Oh, yes. That was exactly how Seb wanted to spend his Sunday—watching Max make a fool of himself over Neely Robson—and watching Neely Robson gloat. Seb gritted his teeth. “Thanks, but I’m busy. My sisters are in town.”
If he was stuck with them, the least they could do was be useful.
Max nodded. “Right. You have a big family. I always forget that.”
Seb wished he could.
“Lucky you. I’m glad you’ll have some distraction,” Max said. “You won’t make the same mistake I did.”
No, he wouldn’t! There was no way on earth Seb was going to go all ga-ga over an unsuitable conniving woman. “Have fun,” Seb said drily.
Max flashed him a grin. “I intend to.”
And he sauntered away. Whistling, for God’s sake!
Seb thrust his fingers through his hair and kneaded his scalp and tried to focus again.
He tried for another half an hour after Max left. But his stomach began growling, and he needed to get something to eat. At least he didn’t have to go home for that. He could get takeaway, bring it back here, stay and work until it was time to go to bed.
Like the triplets ever went to bed.
He shoved back his chair and grabbed his suit jacket off the back of his chair, then stepped out into the common room.
