CHAPTER TEN
BYTHETIMEMax walked Alya back from the shoot, dusk was settling. The wind off the ocean found its way through the tangle of trees, warm and balmy. It was going to be a beautiful night.
Max changed for dinner and put in a quick call to Henning back at the Blackmore Inc. office. According to him, Alya’s ex had eaten dinner in LA that evening, so he wasn’t coming to Green Island anytime soon.
He sank down into one of the lounge chairs beside the pool outside their suite, waiting for Natasha and Alya to get dressed. The pool was empty, the still water sparkling in the evening sun, but a smattering of guests clustered on the deck. The models stood out, taller, shinier than the rest. A couple of them had given him the familiar once-over of women used to more than their fair share of attention. It was a look that said,I’ll take you, like she was buying a bull for breeding. He knew that look because he had taken up the implied challenge more than a few times, just for a little fun. But the idea had lost its appeal, and it wasn’t just because his magic wand had gotten its share of action earlier.
Even from a young age Max had been wary of this world, with its pecking order based on family name, looks and other things people were born with, though he had grown up with so many privileges shoved up his ass that he knew better than to complain. Ironically, it was his years at Princeton, a school that dripped with old money privileges, that got him started on a different path.
He had always excelled at physical sports, so he’d joined the school’s rugby team. Growing up, he’d played on and off, mostly because it was as far from a gentleman’s sport as he could find, just to mess with his father. But it wasn’t until Princeton that he got serious about the game. The team quickly hooked him up with hot tutor Jessica, and for the first time he actually looked forward to a few hours of homework...and what came after. Yeah, he was a slow reader, but it turned out there were plenty of ways around that. He had always been a hard worker, but the results in anything that counted for the Jensen family hadn’t been good enough. Jessica changed that. In fact, by sophomore year, he was making the honor roll. For the first time outside of the arena of sports, his position had been earned, not bought. And finally, finally it dawned on him that he wasn’t as academically inept as everyone assumed—everyone including himself. He just had to find the right path.
Max’s phone rang, bringing him back to the present. He glanced absently at the screen. Shit. Nalini Anderson, administrative assistant to the president of the Jensen Family Foundation. Which meanthisfuture admin, the last person Max wanted to talk to right now.
It was nothing personal. Somehow she had managed to work harmoniously with gruff, abrupt, notoriously difficult Deacon Jensen for years, which was a tribute to her management skills, her people skills and her patience. But Max didn’t want to think about that part of his future right now, not here on Green Island. This woman had a backbone of steel, though, and if she wanted to get in touch with him, she’d keep trying.
Max accepted the call. “Hi, Nalini. What can I do for you?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, Mr. Jensen,” she said. “I understand you’re working this weekend, and I’ll make this quick. Your father felt this was urgent, and I wanted to give you enough time to make your decision about it.”
Okay, this woman was good. She had gotten his attention.
“Thanks. Go ahead.”
“You’re only down for one person at next Saturday’s fundraiser. No date.”
Max scowled. There was a period back in his teens when his father had kept him away from women—all of them. And now Deacon Jensen was complaining that he didn’t have a date? If his father thought Max’s involvement with the foundation meant he could steer Max’s life again...hell no.
“I’m not planning to take a date.”
“I understand, Mr. Jensen,” she said, and she sounded like she truly did. “I just want you to be aware that the partnership with the Martinelli Foundation has stirred up some talk about the connection between you and Francesca Martinelli. If you decide to go alone, the speculations will likely continue.”
Damn. Max ran a hand through his hair. The Australian media already kept tabs on him, but it’d be worse when he stepped back into the Jensen family fold, where attending high-profile events and being in the public eye would be much more frequent. More critical, too, if the focus was no longer the lifestyles-of-the-rich-and-famous slant but, instead, something as serious as the cancer center. Max had thought he had another week before this circus started. Apparently not.
“You can get back to me on this,” said Nalini. “Let me know how you want to handle it.”
“Thanks,” he said, and he meant it.
Max ran his hand through his hair once more, shaking his head. He hadn’t even considered taking a date from the start. The casual nature of his usual list of possibilities made them out of the question for an event honoring his mother.
The only woman he would want there with him was Natasha. He hadn’t considered asking her because of the public scrutiny that came with this kind of event. And he knew how much she hated it. Several months ago, when a photo of Cameron Blackmore coming out of a bar with Alya and Natasha on each arm had appeared on a gossip site, social media made it into something it wasn’t. It was a long time before Natasha attended anything with Alya after that, and Max respected her choice.
However, the alternative Nalini had just presented, Max being publicly paired with Francesca, might hurt Natasha even more than keeping her away.
Could he ask Natasha to go? That would certainly make his night a hell of a lot better. It wasn’t like she’d never attended a high-profile event, so she might consider it...if he could figure out how to keep the press away from her.
The irony of inviting Natasha didn’t escape him. Max had spent a good portion of his adult life avoiding his father’s path, determined not to make the same mistakes. But here he was, facing the similar crossroads: let go of the woman he wanted, risking the hurt she’d face alone, or pursue her, knowing that being with him came at a cost, too.
In his mother’s case, the sacrifice had been her career as a jazz singer. His mother’s refusals of his father’s first two proposals were well-known, since they, like everything else the Jensens did, played out in the public eye. Max had dismissed his father’s relentless pursuit of his mother as selfish, a motivation the opposite of love. But faced with a comparable situation, Max was beginning to understand that his father could have been driven by more than one emotion at the same time.
He looked up at the evening sky, streaked with wispy clouds. He could put this decision off for a little longer.
The door to the cabin opened, and Natasha walked out. Strings of little lights along the canopy of trees glimmered, giving her a hazy glow that stopped his breath. She wore sandals and a green dress that tied behind her neck, and her long, blond hair spilled over her bare shoulders. Her cheeks were flushed, and her lips, red...which, of course, reminded him of where those lips had been just a few hours ago. Her black-rimmed glasses were the final touch. She had been wearing contact lenses for most of the day, but it was nice to see that part of her back in place.
“Alya will be right out,” she said. “Her boyfriend called.”
Max stood up, drinking her in as he walked over. The soft slope of her hips, the low cut of her dress, her full breasts. “You look lovely, Natasha.”
She gave him a wry smile. “This dress covers the hickey on my neck.”
