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I laugh. I have to. “No,” I tell him ruefully. “I don’t have time for special.”
“You should make time for special.” The sadness in his voice has me looking at him with concern. “Looking back, I wasted so much time working, thinking the business and making money were the most important thing. It wasn’t,” he adds. “The people in your life are what’s important. Experiences that make you money. You are in the enviable position, my dear, of having more money than you know what to do with. Enjoy it. Travel, see the world. Do things that make you happy. Find someone to make you happy. I had Eileen, but I found her too late. I wasted so much time when I could have been happy with her.”
This is a road I never expected Noam to go down. We discuss his latest acquisitions and I complain when the community groups start complaining about the noise and “unsavory aspects” of the clubs. He doesn’t give me relationship advice.
Still, I know he’s lonely, so I reach for his liver-spotted hand across the table. “But you had time with her.”
“Not enough,” he says mulishly.
He gets this way sometimes. Sad that he lost his wife, angry that he’s getting older.
It’s usually when he’s tired, and the best thing to do is to agree with what he’s saying. “Well, you’re special to me and I’m glad to have you.”
“I’m not going to be around forever,” he warns.
He’s been saying that for a while, too. “I don’t believe that,” I tell him with a smile. “You’re immortal.”
“I’m afraid not, my dear,” he says sadly. “Now, what will we have to eat? I think you’d really enjoy the salmon again, don’t you?”
4
Maximus
“Stop staring.”
I don’t even hear Marcus. He could have gotten up and left for all the attention I’ve given him tonight.
Which isn’t fair because he’s one of my best friends and he’s getting married in two days.
“I’m not staring,” I tell him apologetically. “I just can’t seem to look away from her.”
Her is the vision who walked into the restaurant forty-five minutes ago. A face men would go to war for, a body crafted by the gods. Killer legs, and red hair.
I’ve always had a thing for redheads.
She sits at a table with a man old enough to be her grandfather. Vaguely familiar, but I can’t pull away my gaze to figure out where I might know him from.
I hope she’s his granddaughter or has some familial connection, because if she’s interested in old guys like that, I haven’t got a chance.
“Dude. You’re not paying attention.” Marcus waves a hand in front of my face, almost knocking over the glass of Barolo that I’ve been sipping without tasting. “If Callie was here, she’d be pissed that you’re not falling all over yourself telling me how lucky I am to find her.”
“Find her again,” I correct. Despite knowing each other since college, Marcus and I run in the same circles—the circles where we can afford most anything and have most females and many males ready to drop their panties for an hour alone with us.
I will admit I have taken advantage of many of the panty removals that come with my name many times, to the constant disapproval of my father.
That’s probably why I do it.
Not that my name is much without the company behind it. Or my father.
Maximus Steele, third son of Dalton Steele. My father came from nothing to buy the world. While I do my fair share to increase the wealth of the Sandflower company and the Steele family, at thirty-six, I still can’t begin to compete with my father.
Marcus comes from money as well, but he works harder than I do to keep it. Despite this, he recently took a leave of absence when he fell in love.
So he could plan his wedding.
Which is why I’m here.
“I’m listening,” I tell Marcus, setting my glass down. Almost immediately, the waiter swoops over to refill it. “But I still don’t get why you’re here with me tonight when you’ve got all this wedding stuff to do. It’s on Saturday, you know.”
