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
