won’t be.”
“How do you know?” Her gaze locked with his.
“I’ll just keep you in bed as much as I can. We’ve already proven we get along just fine there.”
“There’s more to a marriage than sex.”
“Sure,” he quipped. “There’s children, too. And we’ve already got that taken care of.”
“Max—”
“Stop trying to make this harder than it has to be,” Max said firmly. He wasn’t going to let her change her mind. Wasn’t going to allow her nerves to stretch to the point where she simply snapped and called everything off.
He’d gone into this with his eyes open, knowing he could help her and himself. And now that they’d reached an agreement, Max could admit that he wanted this marriage. He wanted her in his house. In his bed. There was no way he would let her wriggle out of their bargain.
“I’m not,” she argued. “I guess I just need to know that we’re doing the right thing.”
“Do you have the money for the blackmailer?” he asked flatly.
“No.”
“Do you want to tell your parents that the wedding’s off, but the baby’s still on?”
“No,” she said and slumped back into her seat.
“Then we’re doing the right thing.”
“I wonder,” she said, “is the only thing necessarily the right thing?”
“You’re thinking too much,” he said. “Decision’s been made. Let it go.”
Her gaze locked on his and her expression was even easier to read than usual. Stubborn resignation. Good. At least she was accepting that this wedding was going to happen.
“Look,” Max said abruptly. “I was on my way to a meeting when I walked past the café and saw you sitting in here with Amanda. I only came in to tell you something.” He wasn’t going to let her know that it had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. That seeing her had hit him so hard he hadn’t been able to resist coming in to talk to her.
“Fine, then. What is it?”
“My lawyer says he’ll have the papers ready for us to sign tomorrow morning.”
“So soon?” She looked a little nervous, and a part of Max was glad to see it. Those few nerves told him that she wasn’t a cold, calculating woman—as if he needed to be convinced. She might be lying to him, but he was willing to bet she hadn’t set any of this in motion on purpose.
Max checked his watch again, then met her gaze. “I’ll pick you up at nine. We can take care of the paperwork and be finished before the movers show up at your place.”
“Oh, I didn’t hire movers yet.”
“It’s already arranged,” Max said. “They’ll be at your place to pack by eleven tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Julia stared at him. “That’s too soon.
I’m not ready, and besides, don’t you think I can handle this myself? I don’t need you to step in and—”
He leaned in and kissed her hard and quick, instantly cutting off her arguments. “No need to thank me,” he said, giving her a grin that let her know he was completely aware of her frustration.
“Max …”
“I’ve got that meeting. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then he stood up and walked out, never looking back. Not that he had to. He felt her gaze boring a hole in his back.
Impatient, Julia tapped the toe of her shoe against the cold, marble floor of her lobby while she waited for the ancient elevator to arrive. Irritation with Max’s highhandedness still stung.
“I can take care of myself,” she muttered darkly. “Been doing it for years without any help, thanks very much.”
Then she winced and glanced over her shoulder to make sure the doorman hadn’t heard her. But Henry was oblivious to her presence, chatting away on the telephone at his desk. Good. She didn’t need one more male sticking his nose into her business.
Honestly, did Max really think he could simply arrange her life to suit him? If he did, this temporary marriage was going to get off to a rocky start. She glanced up at the old-fashioned dial on the elevator and saw that it was going up, not coming down. Apparently someone in one of the penthouses had called for it.
Sighing, Julia turned, crossed the lobby and headed for the residents’ mailboxes. Might as well pick up the mail now since she had a few minutes.
“Ms. Prentice!” Henry called.
Inserting the key into her box, Julia opened it, took out the stack of envelopes and mailers, then closed and relocked it before answering. “Yes?”
Sunlight slanted through the glass door and lay in a wide swath on the marble. Henry walked right through the light and stopped a couple of feet from her. “I wanted to tell you, like I told your fiancé …”
Fiancé, she thought, and wondered if she would be used to the sound of that word before she had to become accustomed to the word husband.
“Max? You talked to Max?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Henry said, and bobbed his head nervously. But then, Henry always looked nervous and a little too cowed by the residents of the building. “He asked if I’d seen anyone hanging around the mailboxes and I told him I hadn’t.”
Julia glanced at the mailboxes and tightened her grip on the envelopes she held. Max had thought to question Henry. She hadn’t and she should have, darn it. But in her own defense, she’d been a little too upset by the whole blackmail thing to sit down and rationally investigate it. Still, now that the thought was in her mind …
“Are you sure, Henry?” she asked, staring directly into his eyes until he shifted his gaze from hers. “It wouldn’t have taken long for someone to drop a letter into one of the boxes.”
He shrugged and when the phone at his desk rang, he jumped as if he’d been shot. “I’m sure. It’s my job to watch over this lobby.”
“Yes,” she was saying, but Henry had already turned away, headed back for the phone like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver. “But—”
“721 Park Avenue,” Henry said, cutting her off neatly and devoting himself entirely to whoever was calling.
He kept his back to her and it was obvious to Julia that he had no intention of getting off the phone until she was on the elevator. For whatever reason, Henry didn’t want to talk anymore about what had happened. That didn’t necessarily make him guilty of anything, though, she reminded herself. All it did was underscore just what a nervous type the poor guy really was, and increase the tiny seed of suspicion about him that Max had planted.
Shaking
