Loving the Bastard (4 page)

The whole day had been exhausting for Zeta. God! Could the man be any more intimidating? It seemed like she’d used all her energy just keeping her head above water, and she was still overwhelmed. Fortunately, it had been worth it. She’d managed to push his own comfort zone, giving her the satisfaction of knowing the king in his castle was nearly as uncomfortable as she was.

She insisted she make dinner for him, and demanded he actually help her in the kitchen. What followed started out innocently enough, with him being his normal arrogant self, leaning against the island while she prepared a quick meal. By the time she set the meal on the table, he was jumping to do her bidding, looking as shell-shocked as she had after her father had told her about this stupid agreement. Probably because she’d learned how to be in command of the kitchen from her mother. While Max might be king of the castle, Zeta was most definitely queen of the kitchen. Something Max hadn’t had the chance to get used to yet.

“Well,” he said, wiping his mouth after their meal. “I never would have thought something put together on the spur of the moment would be so delicious. My compliments.” Instead of a regular dinner, she’d made a breakfast of bacon, biscuits, eggs, and gravy, mostly because she figured the uptight Maximilian would turn his nose up at such a meal. Surprisingly, he’d torn into it with gusto.

“There’s Southern cooking and country cooking. I never was much on fancy things, so country cooking is what I do. Basically, you make due with what you have and fry everything.”

He’d barked a laugh. “I have no doubt you’d do well in some backwoods town.”

“I do well in the city, but I remember where I came from. Were you born here?” She’d slipped the question in easily while his guard was down, trying desperately to connect with him on some level.

“No. I was raised in New York City, then moved to Los Angeles. I could have stayed in L.A. when my father moved us to Louisville, but with him opening up another branch of our bank, I wanted to be where the action was.”

“Does it always come back to the bank, then?”

He’d held her gaze for a moment. “Always.”

“Up until my father made it big in the real estate business, we lived modestly. Comfortably, but there were times we had to watch the finances. Before my mom died, she taught me how to use what I had to make a tasty, filling meal.”

“You know you don’t have to do that now.” He hesitated before adding, “Though, I’m willing to admit I enjoyed this one very much.”

He had, in fact, devoured his meal, going for seconds before he’d realized it. When he did, he’d stopped, going completely still, looking at his plate then back up at Zeta. She hadn’t been able to suppress her smug grin.

“Well, get used to it. This is one of those things I want you to do if I’m going through with this ridiculous plan.”

“What? Eat grease and flour every night?” He tried a snort, but Zeta caught him glancing at the gravy bowl next to the bacon.

“No, eating dinner together.”

“Easy enough. We can go out.” That irritating arrogance was firmly back in place.

“Maybe on the weekends, but through the week, we eat here. I’ll cook. You’ll help. We’ll talk. You know, pretend to be all domestic and shit. Like a real family.”

“My parents never did any of that.”

“If they had, maybe they’d still be together and your view of life wouldn’t be so warped.” She’d raised an eyebrow, daring him to refute her observation.

“Perhaps. But I doubt I’ll be doing this much.”

“Yes, you will,” she’d fired back without hesitation. “If for no other reason than to see what I’ll come up with next.”

After that, she got him to sit on the couch with her. He didn’t opened up much, but Maximilian obviously had no idea how he’d gotten there or why he stayed. Zeta talked about her kids at the Y, anticipating the next day. Telling him what to expect. He had tried to scoff, but she saw him swallow nervously. He tried several times to steer the conversation away from the subject of her going to the Y the next day, but she was persistent. Apparently, Maximilian was a bit wary of teenagers. Good. Another shove outside his comfort zone.

That night, her dreams had been filled of images of the sexy, exasperating Maximilian. Zeta still wasn’t sure there was anything redeemable about him but she was resolved to try. There was pain inside him. Pain buried so deep, she wasn’t even certain he realized it. He covered it with the whole facade of the merciless bastard, but the more she was around him, the more little pieces of himself he let escape, the less she was convinced he really felt the way he said he did. About women. About marriage. About love. Did she want to be the focus of his attention if he ever let down his guard long enough to try getting to know a woman? No. He might be attractive and devastatingly sexy, but he had no place in her life.

Now, she sat on the edge of the bed, trying to rub the sleep from her eyes. Teenagers on little to no sleep? Yeah, not the best of ideas. But, like she’d told Maximilian the day before, she never missed a session at the Y, and she wasn’t about to start now.

Hastily, she showered and dressed, still feeling strung out. A quick breakfast of a scrambled egg sandwich and a glass of orange juice helped. A cup of coffee was even better.

There was a knock at the door before it opened. Maximilian stepped in wearing his usual tailored suit. Zeta suppressed a smile, ducking her head to take another sip of coffee. The little bastards were going to eat him alive.

He looked her up and down, no doubt taking note of her faded jeans and cable-knit sweater. “Seems you’re a bit underdressed.”

“Naturally,” she said, leaning a hip against the island counter, “since you obviously know exactly what we’re doing and where we’re going. Of course
I’m
the one dressed inappropriately.” Did his face flush slightly?

“If I’m to teach these hoodlums how to function in the corporate world, perhaps they should learn how to dress.”

“Kids need to learn multiplication and division first, Mr. GQ,” she said with a shrug. “Just don’t take anything valuable with you. I guarantee you you’d lose it before the day’s out.”

“Look, if these kids are only there to pick my pockets then there’s no reason for anyone to be there. They need to learn self-control,” he said sternly.

“You have no idea what they need,” she fired back. “Right now, they’re just trying to survive. I’m there to help them acquire the knowledge they need to get out of the ghetto and off the streets. Do I occasionally come up missing something I went in there with? Yes. But I make damned sure I don’t go in with anything I don’t care to part with.” She looked him up and down with the same insulting air he’d given her the day before when they’d met. “And I don’t go in looking like I believe myself better than all of them. Now go back and change. If you don’t have anything appropriate we can stop at a discount mart and get you some jeans and a shirt.”

The look on Maximilian’s face was priceless. “Discount mart?”

“Yeah. You know. The place where you can get everything for a small amount.”

“Fine. I’ll be right back,” he said, looking as horrified and disgruntled as a man could. He did come back with jeans on. They might have been some fancy designer jeans, but they
were
jeans.

Getting him to agree to have his driver take them to her house to take her car proved more difficult. He’d wanted a quick getaway in case something went wrong.

“Nothing will go wrong, Max,” she insisted. “I do this every week. Nothing has ever happened that drastic.”

“It only takes once,” he said. In the long-sleeved shirt that looked at least one size too small, stretching over his broad chest, powerful shoulders, and defined arms like a second skin, he looked more than capable of taking anything the little punks could dish out if need be.

“I have faith in my bodyguard,” she said with a smile.

“You think
I’m
your bodyguard?”

Shrugging, Zeta said, “Well, you
are
my boyfriend. At least for the next six months. If you’re not into that kind of thing—you know, the sticking up for your woman kind of thing—tell me know. Because it’s a deal breaker.” Then she stopped, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Well, it’s one of many deal breakers but I’m leaving the others be for now. One thing at a time.”

“Of course I’d defend you! I may be a bastard, but I’m not a total brute. I just can’t promise I won’t use excessive force. I’m all about the path of least resistance, especially when it’s the quickest route.”

“Really?” She rolled her eyes. “I never would have known.”

He glared at her. “Are we going or not?”

Maximilian tried not to be impressed as he sat patiently waiting for Zeta to be finished with the group of ruffians she was currently drilling on multiplication tables. He wanted to feel the need to roll his eyes or to be angry that he’d had to spend the better part of his Saturday watching Zeta baby teenagers who should have mastered multiplication several years before. The whole thing was absurd.

“Hey, mister. You got a dollar?”

Whipping his head around at the sound, Maximilian found a black child around six or seven looking up at him, hand held out as if he fully expected Max to hand over his money. The boy wore clean but ragged jeans and a T-shirt that looked at least two sizes too big. His shoes, again, were clean but had seen better days. He thought he saw the boy’s socks peeking out from the sides of both shoes but wasn’t sure and had no intention of looking too closely.

“I might,” Max answered not moving or taking his eyes from the boy. “Why do you want to know?”

“I was wanting a hot dog,” the kid said, jerking his head toward the vendor across the room. “I can get a hot dog and a Coke for a dollar.”

“Why didn’t you bring money with you if you wanted something to eat?” The second the words left his mouth, he knew the child probably didn’t have even that. The boy dropped his hand, looking back at the concession stand with regret but resignation.

“Ain’t got none,” he said with a sigh and started to walk away. Something inside Max twisted, and he actually put his hand to his chest.

“Wait,” Max said, feeling an uncharacteristic need to remedy his SNAFU. “Are you here with Zeta?”

“Ms. Z? Na. My sister is though. I’m just hanging.”

“Why aren’t you in Ms. Z’s class?” Why Max was even bothering with the question, he had no idea. All he knew was that something inside him needed to know this kid’s story.

“I don’t need no learnin’.” The kid gave him a pinched-faced look, like Max had done went and lost his mind.”

“Oh, really.” Max raised an eyebrow. “If you had ‘learning’”—he made air quotes—“you might be able to buy yourself a hot dog and a drink.”

The kid sat down beside Max, a grudgingly interested look on his face. “You think so?” He nodded at Max. “You got learnin’?”

“I do. What’s your name, kid?”

“Trevor. What’s yours?”

“Max.” He stuck out his hand to shake the boy’s hand. “I tell you what, Trevor. You go to Ms. Z. Have her teach you multiplication to the twos. If you can say them to me before you leave, you’ll have earned your dollar. Think you can do that?”

“You’ll really give me a dollar if I learn my numbers?” Little Trevor sounded doubtful, but Max saw the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I won’t give you anything,” Max said, quickly adding, “you’ll have earned it.”

Trevor looked at him a long moment as if sizing him up. Then he nodded once and scampered over to Zeta’s group. She welcomed him with open arms as the child told her what he wanted. Without looking at Max, Zeta urged him to sit at the table next to her.

For the next couple of hours, Max watched Zeta as she taught the small group of children ranging from Trevor’s age to what had to be late teens. She was patient, laughing with them from time to time, showing them what she thought they needed to know. It was all reading and math at various stages. Max noticed some of the children were advanced for their grade while others were severely behind. Zeta took her time with each child, encouraging them, praising them in turn. Not one of them gave her trouble. Not one complained. And every single one of them looked at her as if she hung the moon.

Maximilian watched little Trevor as he studied and recited his multiplication tables to Zeta. She quizzed him repeatedly, thoroughly, until Trevor rattled them off to her satisfaction. Then she nodded her head, ruffling Trevor’s hair for good measure as the little boy turned and sprinted toward Maximilian.

“Well?” Max asked with a raised brow.

With his little chest puffed out, Trevor recited the multiplication tables not just through two, but through five. Seems the little brat had been holding out. Max had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.

“Looks like you’ve exceed my expectation,” he said to the boy. “For that, I think you deserve a bonus.” Maximilian pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the child. Trevor’s eyes grew wide, and he grinned widely at Max.

“Wow! Thanks, Mister!”

Not giving Max time to say anything, the kid sprinted to the concession stand and bought two hot dogs, a bag of chips, and soda. Another uncomfortable twang hit Max as he watched Trevor devour the food. How long had it been since the child had eaten?

“It’s probably his first meal of the day,” Zeta said softly from his side. Maximilian hadn’t even heard her approach.

“Are all of them like that?”

“Not all,” she said. Max glanced at her. Zeta had crossed her arms as she watched Trevor as well.

The boy’s sister sat next to him, and Trevor handed her some of his money. She appeared to question him, and Trevor pointed toward Max, explaining excitedly. The kid’s sister scowled at him, obviously not buying something Trevor was telling her. The boy looked over at Max, resignation on his face as if he expected Max to accuse him of stealing the money. Max found himself nodding to the girl in conformation, needing her to know he had indeed parted with the money of his own free will.

“Will they be all right?” Why he asked, Maximilian couldn’t say. He didn’t really care how the little scrap fared. Not really. He’d either make it or not. If he didn’t learn to use that mind of his, he didn’t deserve to fare well.

Zeta shrugged nonchalantly, but Max could see the calculating gaze she leveled on him. “Who knows? If he keeps coming here for volunteers to help him out, he might do okay. He’s far more likely to end up in a gang or worse before he graduates high school. Assuming he makes it that far.” She paused, no doubt wanting to see something from Max, some show of emotion he didn’t feel. “He has a far better chance here than he would have in a place like Chicago or Los Angeles. Louisville has gangs, but not on that sort of scale. With a little luck and a few caring people to push him in the right direction, he has the brains to make something of himself.”

That little twinge of pain was back. Absently, Max again rubbed his chest, not realizing he’d done so until Zeta looked at his hand pointedly. With a scowl, he took her arm, guiding her toward the door. “Come on. We’re going.”