Trust Me (7 page)

“Carly.”

She looked up. Richard stood in the doorway. “Your friend is here,” he said flatly.

Carly blinked. “What friend?”

“You have more than one rich guy driving you around?”

“Max?” Now it was Carly’s turn to be stunned. “Max is here? Where?”

“In the waiting room. You’d think he would send a car service to get you, but no, he comes personally, in the brand-new black
Jag.”

His hands were jammed into the pockets of his lab coat, and Carly realized that it was envy glazing his eyes. Envy of Max:
of the car, the
Fortune
article, and the golden glow of wealth.

Carly quickly tossed her dirty lab coat into the hamper and scrubbed her hands under the tap, surprised that Max had come
back. What did he want? Was it about Henry? It had to be. There was no other reason for him to seek her out.

She instinctively smoothed her hair, checking it in the shiny metal surface of the paper towel dispenser. Richard watched
her, and she knew that he had attributed her haste and confusion to romantic excitement.

“Hurry,” he said sarcastically, as she stepped past him and out the door of the lab, blotting her still-damp hands on her
jeans. “You don’t want to keep
him
waiting.”

M
ax looked at his watch and saw that it was six-fifteen, two minutes later than it had been the last time he checked. The clinic
waiting room was quiet, but he was restless, filled with the same sense of humming anticipation that preceded an important
business meeting. He had spent most of the day at Syscom headquarters in Santa Clara, then returned to the city in time for
a run along the Marina. The steady, pounding rhythms of his feet and heart had been exactly what he needed to clear his head,
and by the time he reached the base of the Golden Gate Bridge, he knew what to do about the Carly Martin problem.

It was now painfully clear to Max that he had handled things in exactly the wrong way. He had expected a fight, and had immediately
taken the offensive, believing that Carly would back down when she saw what she was up against. But she hadn’t backed down.
And the more time he spent with her, the less he understood her. He had always had a sixth sense about what made people tick,
but he could not figure out what motivated this woman. That was the trouble, he thought. It was very difficult to plot a winning
strategy unless you knew what your opponent wanted.

Making an overt enemy out of Carly Martin had been a tactical mistake, but not one that couldn’t be fixed. He needed to win
her over, to charm her until she relaxed her defenses. Only then would he be able to read her accurately enough to plan his
next move.

Six-seventeen. Max drummed his fingers against his thigh. He had a seven-thirty dinner reservation for two at Mistral, the
best French restaurant in the city, which had been no small coup for a last-minute call on Friday night. His assistant had
spoken with the manager, after which a table had miraculously become available. It still gave Max a certain conqueror’s pleasure
to watch his own name open doors. Now the only hurdle—and it could be a tall one—would be in getting Carly to accompany him.

He heard her light footsteps hurrying down the hall, then she appeared in the waiting room, looking more worried than wary.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he said.

Her expression turned to confusion. “Then it’s not Henry?”

“The last time I checked, which was an hour ago, my grandfather’s condition hadn’t changed.”

“Oh,” she said. “So why are you here?”

Max affected surprise. “Because you need a ride,” he said, as if it should be obvious. “Did you think I was going to leave
you stranded?”

Carly stared at him. “I didn’t think about it. I never assumed that you would… I mean, I was just going to take the bus back
to pick up my car.”

“No need. I took care of it.”

“You took care of what?”

“I had a mechanic replace your battery, then move the car to Henry’s house. It’s waiting for you there.”

Carly held up one hand, as if stopping traffic. “Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. While I was at work, unaware that
anything unusual was happening, you had my car fixed and moved?”

“Right.”

“But… you don’t have a key!”

Max shrugged. “Your VW is not what I’d call high-security.”

“I don’t believe this,” she said. “This is crazy. You can’t just take someone’s car out of a public parking lot.”

“For the right price, you can.”

“That’s illegal,” Carly protested, then stopped herself. “Which isn’t to say that I’m not grateful.”

“You’re welcome,” Max said.

Just then Carly’s partner, Richard, strolled into the room. “You kids still here?” he said coolly.

Kids? Wexler appeared to be in his late thirties, which made them roughly the same age, Max thought. Carly said nothing, and
Max ignored the intentional belittlement. He had already written Wexler off as a self-important fool, and he didn’t intend
to waste his time on the man now.

“As a matter of fact, we were just leaving,” Carly said, taking her coat from the rack. “Ready, Max?”

Max nodded and stepped forward to hold the door for her. Carly tossed a brief good-bye over her shoulder and sailed through
the open door with a sudden queenly bearing that surprised him. He caught a whiff of her fragrance as she passed; the subtle,
seductive scent of shampoo, body lotion, and warm skin, mixed together into a delicate feminine perfume. It was instinct,
not choice, that made him turn his head to look after her.

And when he turned back, it was instinct that sent a chill to his gut when he saw Richard Wexler staring at him with a dark
resentment that seemed to strip away everything else around them.

Richard composed himself as soon as he realized that Max had read his expression. Confronted, he ducked his head and made
a show of shuffling through chart folders.

“Don’t know where I put that damned file,” he muttered. Max waited silently, watching the other man.

It didn’t take long for Richard to realize that Max wasn’t going to go away. He looked up. “You’re still here?” he exclaimed
too loudly. “Why? Is there a problem?”

“You tell me,” Max said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Richard said. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I thought we might have something to discuss. Do we?”

“No.”

“Fine,” Max said. “Good night.”

He shut the clinic door quietly behind him, and walked out into the cool evening air, putting Richard Wexler out of his mind.
He had more important things to focus on. Once he had established some sort of truce with Carly, he intended to ask her a
few casual questions about her relationship with Henry. He would give the impression that he was grudgingly willing to listen
to her side of the story. And then, he thought, he would slowly, slowly allow her to believe that she was winning him over.
As she relaxed and became more confident, she would also become less cautious. If he handled things correctly, she would tell
him everything he wanted to know and never realize that she was playing right into his hands.

As she waited for Max, Carly examined the petunias that she had planted around the Japanese maple tree in front of the clinic.
They had been trampled again, their bright flower heads crushed and muddied, and their green leaves turning a sad crispy brown
in spite of her diligent care. It was no wonder. The maple was a favorite marking spot for their canine clients, and no normal
flower could withstand the daily chemical attack.

Carly frowned down at the plants, wondering if there was such a thing as a dog-resistant flower. It was a shame, she thought,
that she couldn’t plant a patch of those plastic ones that the old-time pranksters wore on their lapels, the kind that squirted
you when you got too close.

She was giggling as Max approached.

“What’s the joke?” he asked, opening the passenger door for her.

“Nothing important,” she said. “What kept you? Don’t tell me Richard is trying to solicit you as a client.”

Max shook his head. “Just a brief discussion.”

“About what?” Carly felt a flicker of alarm. Could Richard have said something about their old relationship?

“Small talk,” Max said. He closed her door and came around to the driver’s seat. Carly scrutinized him as he slid behind the
wheel and started the engine, but she could read nothing from his face. Fretfully, she gnawed her lower lip. It would be just
like Richard to drop some reference to their affair, trying to make himself look important by insinuating that Max was getting
secondhand goods. And if he had done that, Max might realize that she had led Richard to believe that they were dating.

Damn. She had never been a good schemer; she suffered from an overly active guilty conscience.

“Are you hungry?” Max asked suddenly.

Hope warmed Carly. This was a good sign. Questions about her appetite were not what she would expect from a man who had just
discovered that she was masquerading as his girlfriend.

“A little,” she said cautiously. “Maybe. Why?”

“I want to take you to dinner. There’s a French place, Mistral. Do you know it?”

Carly sat up straighter in the soft leather seat. First, Max Giordano had spontaneously fixed her car, and now he was asking
her to dinner? What was going on? This was getting stranger by the minute.

“I know about Mistral. But I’ve never been there. It’s way out of my… neighborhood.” She cleared her throat. She had been
about to say “price range.” Not to mention that lowly veterinarians had to make reservations about five years in advance.

Max looked amused. “You don’t eat out of your neighborhood?”

“With a car like mine,” Carly said, “it’s smarter to stay close to home.”

“I see. Well, tonight you don’t have to worry about that.”

Maybe not, Carly thought, but the idea of having dinner with Max Giordano gave her plenty of other things to worry about.
“Well,” she said, “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t think it would be a good idea.”

“No? Why not?”

She blinked, unaccustomed to such forthrightness. “Because I don’t… I… uh…”

“Afraid that you might be on the menu?”

A reluctant smile cracked her face. “Actually, yes. You’re being very friendly today. It’s making me nervous.”

“How about if I tell you that I’ve declared a cease-fire? I behaved badly yesterday, Carly, and I owe you an apology. I spent
last night thinking about the situation with you, Henry, and the house, and I realized that I’ve been overlooking the issue
at the center of all of this.”

“And that would be…”

“That my grandfather wants to leave you his pets and his house because you’re important to him. Because he trusts you. His
wishes should matter more to me than my own… personal feelings. I think it’s time that I conceded.”

“What a sudden change of heart,” Carly said slowly. Max had his sunglasses on, obscuring his face, and as she stared at his
strong profile, she wasn’t quite convinced. His sudden thaw seemed a little too abrupt.

“You don’t believe me,” he said, and the corners of his mouth curved up as if he were amused by some private joke.

“Not entirely. This new Max seems out of character. Did you ever see the movie
Sybil
?”

He laughed suddenly, the chuckle erupting out of him with a surprising openness. “If I promise that I don’t have a split personality,”
he said, “will you come to dinner?”

Carly hesitated. Yesterday had made it obvious that she shouldn’t get involved with this man. But today, common sense didn’t
carry its usual weight. She knew that she was going to agree to have dinner with him, and she knew that it was a bad idea,
but strangely, she didn’t care. In fact, she was enjoying the odd, breathless edginess that he sparked in her.

“They make a fantastic
boeuf bourguignon
,” Max said.

“I’m sure they do,” Carly said. “But I’m a vegetarian.”

His eyebrows rose. “Really. How admirable. I like the concept, but I don’t think I could live without an occasional rare steak.
Don’t you ever get the urge to sink your teeth into something bloody?”

Carly blanched. “No.”

Max grinned. “It hits me right after I close a big deal.”

“Sounds symbolic.”

“I’m sure it is. The primal hunt and kill, disguised as modern business. When did you stop eating meat?”

“In vet school. I realized that it was sort of hypocritical to spend all day healing certain animals, then to go home and
make dinner out of others.” She shrugged. “It’s a personal thing. But you don’t have to worry, I don’t moralize, and I won’t
make faces at your steak.”

“Then you’re accepting my invitation.”

His voice was even, but Carly thought she heard a note of satisfaction. He was definitely up to something, and while she didn’t
know what it was, the shiver of curious excitement inside her promised that it could be a very interesting evening indeed.