an envious sigh at the thought of being wealthy enough to simply go out and buy a piece of New York City.
“Also, I have an invitation to a cocktail party this Friday night at Edwin Biddle’s,” he continued. “I’d like to start my search for a wife there. You are free Friday night, aren’t you?”
Jessie bit back the urge to tell him that just because he didn’t fancy her didn’t mean she didn’t have a social life. This was business, she reminded herself. Potentially very profitable business. Until she managed to get him engaged, her own social life, such as it was, was going to have to be put on hold.
“As long as it’s just a cocktail party, it should be okay.”
“You like cocktail parties?” he asked curiously.
“It’s not that. It’s that I won’t have time to teach you much by Saturday, but you’ve probably had plenty of practice at cocktail parties. It may be trite, but it’s also true that you only get one chance to make a good first impression.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll also pick you up tonight at six.”
Jessie got to her feet, correctly assuming she’d just been dismissed.
“Six will be fine. And please don’t change.”
Max frowned slightly. “Why not?”
“Because I want the kids to see what a real employer looks like. In fact, you can give a couple of practice interviews, if you would,” she said hopefully.
“All right, but be warned that I haven’t interviewed anyone for an entry-level job in fifteen years.
“Until tonight, then.” Max held his office door open for her, and Jessie hurried through, feeling as if she were escaping from a relentless force of nature.
She didn’t begin to relax until she was safely outside the building on the sidewalk. She spent the bus ride home trying to sort out her impressions of Max Sheridan and the job she’d taken on. Having met him, she wasn’t surprised at his unorthodox method of choosing a wife instead of waiting for love to strike as most men would.
Jessie frowned, trying to remember if he’d said anything about love. She was almost positive he hadn’t. Did that mean he didn’t expect to find love in his marriage? Or did it mean that he didn’t think his emotions were any of her business? It could be either. Or neither. She had no way of knowing.
But even if his marriage started out as a cold-blooded bargain, she very much doubted that it would stay that way for long. She swallowed as she remembered the sensual line of his mouth, and the strength in his long fingers as they had gripped hers. Max Sheridan was a compulsively attractive man, and his attraction owed nothing to his net worth.
Jessie got off at her bus stop and walked down the block to her apartment house.
Letting herself into the lobby, she picked up her mail and sorted through it on the elevator ride up to her apartment on the fourth floor. She bypassed the bills and flyers in favor of a pale-pink envelope with her address neatly typed on it. Curiously, Jessie studied the uneven keystrokes. It looked as if it had been typed on a typewriter and not a computer.
Ripping it open, she pulled out a single sheet of pink stationery. When she saw the handwriting, a volatile mix of pain and anger swamped her, making her want to throw up.
She closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, willing her stomach to behave. When she finally felt marginally in control, she forced herself to read the words on the paper. What she really wanted to do was rip it to shreds and then stomp on the pieces.
The elevator doors opened and she got out, automatically heading toward her apartment, her movements feeling stiff and unnatural.
Once she was inside, she went into the kitchen to put on a pot of coffee. She desperately needed a strong shot of caffeine to counteract the shock she’d just had.
Kicking off her heels, she set the letter in the middle of her gray granite countertop and then stood there, staring down at it as if it were a snake about to strike.
“Damn!” she muttered. “How could she write to me? And why now? Why not last year when she first got out of prison?”
Too agitated to sit still, Jessie began to pace as she waited for her coffee to brew. She didn’t want to hear from her mother. They didn’t have any good memories to share. Not a single solitary one. Thanks to her mother’s alcoholism, Jessie had had a childhood straight out of a Kafka nightmare. And now her mother had the nerve to write to her and suggest meeting, as if nothing had ever happened.
Hell would freeze over before she’d ever have anything to do with her mother again, Jessie thought grimly. She had built her own life. It was a good life. A normal life. And there was no place in it for her mother’s destructive presence.
No place at all.
Chapter Two
Jessie tensed, automatically checking the kitchen clock when she heard the entrance buzzer sound. Exactly six o’clock. It had to be Max. Anticipation poured through her, jerking her to her feet.
Hastily she shoved her feet into her black slingbacks, wincing slightly as the fashionable shoes pinched her toes. Someday she was going to have enough money to retire somewhere peaceful and rural where she’d never wear anything but comfortable walking shoes again.
As she grabbed her purse off the counter, the pale-pink letter lying there caught her eye. Why had her mother written? Was she hoping to con Jessie into paying for her liquor? A surge of anger coursed through her as she remembered how her mother used to steal her babysitting money to buy alcohol. She’d been there and done that and she wasn’t going back. Not ever again.
All she had to do was to stand firm, she told herself as she got into the elevator and punched the button for the lobby. Once her mother realized that she wouldn’t allow herself to be used, she’d go away. At least, Jessie sure hoped she would.
The elevator came to its usual jerky stop on the ground floor, and Jessie stepped out. Her breath caught in her lungs as she caught sight of Max standing on the street outside. Even through the thick plate glass of the door she could see the impatient glitter in his blue eyes. As if he had worlds to conquer, and she was delaying him.
Max watched Jessie cross the small lobby toward him. Her face was composed and remote as if her mind was far away, occupied with more important things that having dinner with him. For some reason her preoccupation annoyed him. He wanted to swing her up in his arms, find the nearest bed and make love to her until she lost that infuriating aura of self-control that she radiated.
And the fact that he knew he couldn’t act on his sexual attraction for her only made it worse. Maybe what they said about forbidden fruit really was true, he thought wryly. Maybe it really did taste sweeter.
Hopefully his reaction to Jessie Martinelli would fade as quickly as it had appeared. It was much too intense not to burn itself out relatively quickly. All he had to do was to keep his mind firmly focused on what she could do to help him achieve his goals.
Praying the excitement she felt wasn’t visible in her face, Jessie pushed open the street door and stepped out into the warm summer evening.
“Hi,”
