Born to Be Wild (10 page)

“Yeah. That’s Ryan.”

Those were the last words she’d expected to hear. Max hadn’t even hinted that he had a child, Which made her wonder if there could also be a Mrs. Wilde that he hadn’t told her about. Maybe a pretty blond in tight black leather? But, if he was married, why had he asked Lauren to dance?

“That’s Jamie over there,” she heard Bear say, as he pointed to a girl in baggy jeans, a pink T-shirt, and a Harley-Davidson baseball cap with a curly blond ponytail sticking out the back.

What else had Bear been saying about the girl
while she’d been mulling over the fact that Max had a child and maybe a wife? “Who’s Jamie?” she asked, trying to catch up.

“Ryan’s younger sister.”

Lauren’s eyes narrowed. “Does Max have other children besides Ryan and Jamie?”

“That’s it... as far as I know.” Bear grinned. “Maybe you should ask
Max.”

“Ask me what?”

Lauren turned at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Lauren was wondering if you’ve got kids scattered all around the country—”

“That’s not what I asked,” Lauren stated, wishing she could slap the grins off both their faces. “I’ve met Ryan, Bear pointed Jamie out to me, and since I wasn’t aware that you had
any
children, I just wondered if you had others.”

“Not at the moment.”

“You’re expecting more?”

Max laughed. “Someday, maybe. You never can tell.”

She hated his noncommittal answers. “Then you and your wife aren’t sure you want to have more?” she brazenly asked, determined to end her doubts about Max’s marital status, even though she knew she shouldn’t have any interest in his personal life.

“I’m not married. Never have been.”

She frowned in spite of her relief. “But what about Jamie and Ryan?”

“Foster kids,” he stated, then turned to Bear, bringing the subject to an abrupt end.

“Rico’s got an algebra test tomorrow that he
needs to ace if he wants to get something better than an F on his report card,” Max said. “Algebra’s your specialty, not mine. And Gina’s threatening to run away from home again. I can’t talk any sense into her.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Bear answered.

“I need some help, too,” Max said. “Think you can dust off your tux and play bartender on Saturday?”

“What’s happening on Saturday?”

“A Palm Beach wedding.”

Had she heard the conversation correctly? Had Max really asked Bear to bartend at Betsy Endicott’s society wedding? She put a hand on Max’s arm. “Excuse me, but I need to talk with you a moment. In private.”

“As soon as I finish here,” he said, ignoring her as he turned back to Bear. “Can you do it?”

“I’ve got a rally on Saturday,” Bear said. “A bunch of us are heading down to the Keys for the weekend.” Bear seemed like a genuinely nice man. He did charity work and had a terrific smile, but he wasn’t Lauren’s ideal bartender, and relief flooded through her when he said he had other plans.

Unfortunately, it didn’t seem like Max was going to give up. “You know that Indian you’ve been wanting to buy from me?” he asked, throwing a friendly arm across Bear’s shoulders.

A slow, satisfied smile touched Bear’s face. “The’29 Scout?”

“That’s the one,” Max stated. “Help me out on Saturday and I’ll let you ride it occasionally.”

Bear laughed. “You’ve got to come up with a better offer than that. You know how I hate to miss a rally.” He pulled away from Max and headed across the warehouse.

“All right,” Max called out, “you can have it two weeks out of every month. We’ll make it a joint-custody arrangement, but that’s my final offer.”

Bear grinned at Max over his shoulder. “When and where?”

“I’ll call you tomorrow with all the details.”

“Make sure you have a set of keys for me on Saturday. I plan to take the Scout home after the wedding.”

“Just make sure you brush up on your bartending skills. You screw up and the deal’s off.”

“I’ve never screwed up in my life,” Bear threw back. A moment later he was sitting at one of the tables between a boy with a Mohawk and a girl whose head was shaved except for a waist-length ponytail.

And
now that Max’s business was settled with Bear, it was Lauren’s turn to settle things with Max.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she asked as softly as possible, not wanting anyone to hear her anger. “You can’t have someone like Bear tend bar at Betsy’s wedding?”

“Why not?”

“He looks like Mr. Clean, for heaven’s sake.”

“I’m surprised someone like you even knows what Mr. Clean looks like.”

“I used to watch a lot of television, but that’s
neither here nor there. Bear’s not exactly what I had in mind when we discussed waiters.”

“Should we go ask some of
your
friends to do it? Chip, perhaps?”

“You know we can’t do that.”

“Then we’ll have to go with my friends.” His mustache twitched just the slightest bit when he smiled. “So, what do you think of the Hole in the Wall?”

“I think it’s a lovely place and I imagine you and your biker friends are doing an admirable job trying to point kids in the right direction. But I don’t want to talk about the Hole in the Wall or the fact that you made me think it was a lowlife bar. I don’t even want to talk about you being a foster parent or any of your other good deeds right now. I want to talk about bartenders and waiters, starting with Bear.”

Max angrily folded his arms across his chest. “Bear tends bar on Saturday or you do without. It’s your choice.”

“You’re not giving me very many options.”

“I don’t have time for options and neither do you.”

She gritted her teeth and took a long, hard look at Bear. His smile was infectious. So was his laugh. In fact, he seemed like an intelligent, easy-to-like man. A sigh escaped when she knew she had to give in. “Okay, Bear can bartend, on one condition.”

Max’s eyes narrowed. “What condition?”

“That he not tell anyone he goes by the name Bear.”

“That’s reasonable.”

“I’m glad you’re finally seeing my point of view. Now, how does he look in a tuxedo?”

Lauren could easily see Max’s jaw tighten in frustration.

“All right,” she said, before he could hit her with a lecture, “how he looks in a tux isn’t all that important, given the circumstances. So, now that we have the bartender issue straightened out, what do you plan to do about waiters?”

His brown eyes grew cold. He looked like a man who didn’t want to hear another argument, but she had the feeling there would be plenty more before Saturday ended.

“The other waiters are already taken care of.” She followed his gaze to the basketball court. “That’s Gabe,” he said, pointing to a short, balding man with a long curly gray ponytail. He had a pot belly and wore a black T-shirt that said “Gabe” on the front. The back proclaimed, “I’m the guy your mother warned you about!” “He’s free on Saturday, and doesn’t mind helping out.”

“I’m afraid Gabe won’t do,” Lauren stated. He couldn’t possibly work!

Max ignored her, pointing instead to a platinum-blond woman in a red tank top and skin-tight jeans. Her arms and even her chest were laden with tattoos. “That’s Jazz. She and Gabe have worked for me before when I needed last-minute substitutes.”

“I need more than last-minute substitutes for Betsy’s wedding. I need
qualified
waiters.
Classy
waiters. And we’ll definitely need more than two.”

“Jamie and Ryan make four.”

For one long moment she stared at him, speechless. She needed experienced waiters, not children, and definitely not Gabe and Jazz, who were just a little too nonconformist for a Palm Beach affair.

“I’m sure your friends
—and
your children— are lovely people. I’m sure they could wait tables at a barbecue without any trouble at all. But you seem to forget that I’m not having a barbecue on Saturday.”

“You’re the one who seems to have forgotten a thing or two.”

“Such as?”

“I believe you told me you’re not a snob. Well, maybe you aren’t, but you sure have one hell of an elitist attitude.”

“And you seem to have forgotten who’s the employer and who’s the employee around here.”

Max hit her with an infuriated scowl. “I don’t recall ever signing a contract, and I don’t remember any money being exchanged. The way I see it,
Miss Remington
, you’re once again in desperate need of a caterer, and
I
no longer have to figure out how to juggle two events at the same time.”

“Very well, if that’s the way you want it,” she said, flatly, succinctly, making sure he knew that everything between them was over, because she refused to give in, especially after he called her a snob. She wanted to cry, of course, but she
couldn’t let him see her desperation. No doubt, he’d enjoy watching her suffer.

She threw back her shoulders. “Do you have a
cell phone I could use?”

“Why?”

“I need to call a taxi.”

“Don’t bother. I brought you here. I’ll take you home.” He started to march across the warehouse.

Lauren wasn’t about to get on that motorcycle again—especially with Max Wilde. “I’d prefer a taxi.”

Max stopped dead in his tracks, and she watched his shoulders tense. Slowly he turned around, a very nasty frown on his face. “In my entire life,” he growled, through nearly clenched teeth, “I’ve never met such an obstinate, impossible, spoiled—”

“Three adjectives is enough, thank you,” she interrupted, before he could call her a brat. “Now, if you don’t mind, could you please let me borrow your cell.”

“
It’s reserved for business calls!” He stormed across the warehouse, and it was all Lauren could do to keep up with his long-legged, angry pace. “Here,” he snapped, shoving the receiver for a pay phone toward her.

“Would you mind holding it for a moment?”

If looks could kill, the one Max hit her with just then could have pulverized her instantaneously. Fortunately he took a deep breath, and relaxed against the dingy wall. In spite of his calmer stance, he continued to glare at her as she dug
around in her purse for something smaller than a twenty.

Of all the times to be without change or her cell phone, this should not have been one of them.

“Here.” Max sounded a tad disgruntled as he held a quarter out to her.

“Thank you.” She offered him a small smile as she took the coin from his hand, shocked by the sudden jolt of electricity that zapped her when they touched. With shaky fingers, she dropped the coin into the slot, then tilted her head and smiled again.

“Do you have a phone book?”

“No.”

“You don’t by any chance know the phone number for the local taxi service?”

“No.”

She looked at the cracked concrete floor rather than his icy brown eyes and wished she’d taken him up on his offer to drive her home. Now she was going to have to ask, and she could just imagine the satisfied smile he was going to hit her with.

Slowly her gaze drifted up. “Then I believe I’ll accept your offer of a ride home.”

It wasn’t a smile he hit her with, but an irritatingly smug grin. “Yeah, I thought you would.”

Max stomped across the warehouse, his boots echoing through the silence as her heels clicked rapidly behind. When had the music stopped blaring? she wondered. When had every eye in the place turned toward them? Goodness, they
must have put on an interesting show for everyone to see.

Slamming through the door, Max mounted his motorcycle, barely giving her a chance to hop on behind, and a few moments later the Harley streaked out of the alley.

Lauren didn’t touch him this time, resting her hands nervously on her thighs instead, even when they leaned into the turns. She wasn’t worried about falling off or getting hurt. The only thing bothering her now was the fact that Betsy Endicott’s wedding was going to go down in the record books as the biggest disaster in Palm Beach history.

Maybe she’d overreacted on the waiter issue. Maybe she shouldn’t have been so upset over him calling her a snob, since she had been called worse things.

Right now, however, none of that mattered. She had to think of a way to make Max cater Betsy’s wedding, and she had to think of something fast.

But what?

When Max jerked to a halt in front of her pink marble mansion, she slid slowly off the motorcycle and took her time removing the helmet before Max extricated it from her hands.

“I realize we don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things,” she said, stepping in front of the motorcycle to keep Max from driving away without at least hearing her out.

“We don’t see eye to eye on
anything.”

“Be that as it may, since we’ve already discussed the menu,
and
since I graciously gave in to you and your conditions, would you reconsider catering Betsy’s wedding... if I could find the waiters?”