Trust Me (4 page)

When was the last time you called him? Just to say hello?
Her words had been haunting him all afternoon. He had been waiting for just the right time, and he had waited too long. But
Henry was still alive, and there was still hope.

Let him live,
Max thought.
Let me know him. Let me say the things I meant to say. Give me another chance, and I’ll do it right this time.

He had intended to follow Charlotte into the house, but he found himself hesitating. The castlelike doorway would have been
forbidding even without the two reclining stone gargoyles that flanked the path. They seemed to be eyeing him suspiciously,
and he had the same cold, anxious feeling in his stomach that he’d had a year ago, when he made his first trip to see the
house where his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all lived.

From the public sidewalk, Max had stared up at the mansion on the hill. It was larger and more imposing than he had ever imagined,
and every one of its Gothic arches seemed to rise skyward with the grand and solid security of old money.

That was just after his thirty-eighth birthday. His company had gone public the year before, and his stock holdings had made
him a millionaire many times over. By any account, he was a success story, and he knew that he had every right to march up
to the front door of the mansion and announce himself. But he didn’t. He got back into his car and sat there, silently watching
as the sun went down. He had achieved more than he had ever believed possible, but this was another league entirely, and as
he stood in the shadow of his own father’s home, Max Giordano felt like an impostor. He had a new car and a custom-made suit,
but he was still nothing more than the unwanted bastard kid from Brooklyn.

That was when he swore to himself that the mansion would belong to him one day. No matter that it was dark, depressing, and
completely opposite to his own modern, clean-lined taste. To him, it was beautiful. It bore his rightful name and his rightful
history. It was the legacy of the family he had been imagining since he was a child, and someday he would step forward and
claim it.

Max jammed his hands into the pockets of his pants, turned his back on the open front door, and walked toward his car. When
he entered the Tremayne mansion, he thought, it would be at Henry’s invitation. He would step through that door as a member
of the Tremayne family, acknowledged by his grandfather’s own voice. Until then, he would wait.

It was not long before Charlotte Martin returned, somewhat the worse for wear. Her shirtsleeves were rolled up, and a lock
of hair had been pulled partly out of her braid. It flopped sideways on her head, like a strange alien antenna.

Max had been leaning against the side of his car, contemplating the house. Now he straightened up and frowned at her.

She sighed. “What now?”

“Your hair.”

She reached up to check. “Oh,” she said. “Elvis.”

“Elvis is dead.”

“Not the singer. The cat. Big black tom—he hides in high places and jumps onto people’s shoulders when they aren’t looking.
He got me from off the top of the refrigerator while I was feeding the dogs. I’m surprised that you didn’t hear me yell.”

She pulled off the elastic band that held her braid together and shook her head, letting loose a mass of wavy auburn hair.
Max eyed her as it tumbled around her shoulders. She was pretty, he thought, in an artless kind of way. Her lips were full
and expressive, and her eyes were an indeterminate blue, a stormy-sea shade. They widened, slightly, quizzically, and he realized
that he was staring.

She looked coolly back at him. “Ready to search me?”

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary,” he muttered, unsettled by the idea. He imagined running his hands over her body, feeling
her curves through the faded, snug-fitting jeans and blue cotton shirt. It was an unexpectedly erotic thought. She had a kind
of healthy softness, like a fifties pinup, that made her seem very touchable.

He caught himself. Was she being deliberately provocative? It would benefit him to remember that this was a female who knew
exactly what she was doing. He preferred elegant, immaculately dressed women, and if Charlotte Martin had managed to engage
his imagination while wearing dog-hair-covered Levi’s, then he was clearly dealing with an expert.

“Well,” she said sweetly, “how nice to hear that we’ve built such a sense of trust together, Max. Now that we’ve gotten that
out of the way, I have a few questions for you. First of all, where’s the kitten?”

“What kitten?”

“The baby! He’s only three weeks old, and he needs to be fed every four hours.” She looked suspiciously at him, as if he were
some kind of monster who ate very tiny cats. “He’s gone, and so is the basket he sleeps in.”

Ah, that kitten. Max nodded. He knew that kitten. It had caused a stir in the hospital at 7
A.M.
when it arrived, in a basket, under the arm of a very short and very determined woman named Pauline. “The kitten is with
the housekeeper,” he said.

“Good,” Charlotte said. “Which brings me to my next question. Where is the housekeeper? If you sent Pauline away, let me just
warn you—”

“Pauline is asleep in my hotel suite. And so is the kitten, I assume.”

Her mouth dropped open. “What?”

“She was the one who found Henry at the bottom of the stairs yesterday evening. She called the paramedics and gave him CPR.”

“Pauline knows CPR?”

“Apparently so,” Max said. It didn’t surprise him, judging from what he had seen of the woman that morning. Only five feet
tall but built like a tank, Henry’s housekeeper had marched into the Intensive Care Unit and all but mowed down the nurse
who stood between her and the ward itself.

“Don’t you talk to me about immediate family, missy,” she huffed at the startled woman. “I’ve lived with that man for twenty
years, and that makes me as immediate as they get. I want to see my poor Henry right now.”

But the nurse was resolute, and just then, Pauline caught sight of Max. She stopped short, staring at him as if he were a
ghost.

“You,” she said. “They called you, then. I never thought you’d come.”

“I came,” Max said.

“You have the Tremayne eyes,” she declared, reaching out to clasp his hands. He stood stiffly as she looked him over, his
mind teeming with the questions he had been saving for so long. But it was not the right time for questions. The housekeeper
was exhausted, running on nervous energy, unable to let herself stop and recover from the events of the night. Max had guessed
that sending her back to the mansion would only send her into a greater frenzy of anxiety, so he had put her in a cab, handed
her his room key, and all but ordered her off to sleep at the Ritz-Carlton.

Charlotte Martin gave him an odd, curious look. “Well,” she said, finally, “that was a kind thing to do, sending her to your
hotel. A day of rest will be good for her, although if I know Pauline, by now she’ll have reorganized the Ritz’s housekeeping
department and presented her new, improved plan to the manager in charge.”

“I believe that,” Max said.

“She’ll probably be back here before dark. I guess I’ll leave her a note before I go.”

“You aren’t staying?”

“There’s no reason to stay. The pets are all settled, and they’ll be fine until tomorrow morning. I’ll be back then, of course.”
She hesitated. “If you think I should stay, I’d be glad to, but…”

“That’s your decision, Charlotte. Not mine.”

She winced. “Please don’t call me that. Nobody calls me that, not even my parents, and they named me in the first place. I’m
Carly.”

Max shrugged. “The key is yours,” he said. “I’m sure that you’ll want to move in at some point.”

She looked troubled. “Right now, I really don’t think… I mean, Pauline and I can make sure that everything runs smoothly
until Henry comes home, but I can’t even consider the idea that he might… not recover.”

“I hope you’re not going to try to tell me that you don’t want the house.”

Carly dropped her gaze, reddening. “No, I… I’d be a liar if I told you that. Henry’s gift would help me in… a lot of ways.
But I can’t think about that. I don’t want to. I want Henry to get well, and that’s the only thing I can focus on right now.”

Her face was clouded with distress, and Max wondered if any of it was genuine. “It’s not easy, is it,” he said softly.

She looked up, startled, and he saw a flash of hope in her eyes. She had interpreted his tone as sympathetic.

He continued. “I don’t like games. I think it would be simpler if we were honest with each other.”

He enjoyed the warm rush of anticipation that coursed through him. The sooner they had the conflict out in the open, the sooner
she would see that she was totally out-gunned. If they were enemies, he thought, then let it be known to them both. He had
already felt the insidious allure of this woman, and it was time to clarify the terms of this encounter.

“I think it’s time we talked business,” he said.

Carly glared at him. “Oh?”

“My great-grandfather built this house in 1890. Henry was born here, and so was my father. This house has always belonged
to the Tremayne family. I want it back, and I’m prepared to make you an offer right now.”

“Don’t you think you’re being a little premature?” Carly asked icily. “I can’t sell you a house that doesn’t belong to me.”

“I want you to sign an agreement stating that when—
if
—you become the legal owner of the mansion, you will sell it to me.”

“You’re forgetting that your grandfather has a plan for his house.”

“To turn it into an animal shelter?” Max narrowed his eyes. She was playing with him. That wasn’t Henry’s plan, it was hers.
It had to be. “For God’s sake…”

“The Tremayne Center for Animal Rehabilitation,” she said. “Nonprofit, supported by Henry’s foundation. It would be a structured
version of what he’s been doing all along. It’s his dream. How could that happen if I sold his house to you?”

“Look,” Max said, “an animal shelter in the middle of Pacific Heights is not a feasible idea. Maybe my grandfather didn’t
know about zoning laws, or the city health code, but let me assure you that I—”

“I wonder about that,” Carly interrupted. “You might want to have a talk with Henry’s lawyers before you decide that you know
more than he does. He has a slew of special permits from the city, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s already arranged the
whole thing.”

Max could not read a thing on her face. It almost sounded as if she actually wanted to go ahead with Henry’s crackpot notion.
He had assumed that it had been just a ploy to gain his grandfather’s sympathy, but what if Carly Martin was serious? No,
he thought. It wasn’t possible. She was just trying to strengthen her own bargaining position.

“It seems to me,” Carly continued, “that if Henry had wanted you to have his house, he would have arranged it that way.”

“It seems to
me
,” Max replied, gritting his teeth, “that his judgment was clouded. Mine is not. Here’s my offer, Carly. I will give you two
hundred thousand dollars, just for signing an agreement giving me an option on the house. If my grandfather recovers, and
changes his trust, the money is still yours to keep. And if he dies, I will buy the house from you. For five million dollars.
Cash.”

“You said that the house is worth twenty million.”

Max smiled. Now they were back on track, he thought. “Yes,” he said. “It is worth twenty. But five is a lot more than nothing,
which is what you’ll end up with if this goes to court.”

“Court!”

“My lawyers will prove that Henry Tremayne was under your undue influence when he set the terms of this trust. It could take
years of litigation, and it will cost you hundreds of thousands of dollars. The press will love it, believe me. You’ll be
front-page news. Your whole life will become public entertainment.”

“Why would you do that to me?”

“I’d rather not,” Max said honestly. “I would much rather make it easy for both of us. Think about it. You would have no pets,
no crumbling old mansion to worry about. I’ll take it all off your hands and give you a fair cash settlement. You’ll be rich,
with no strings attached.”

“I see,” she said, and blinked hard. Her lips were pressed tightly together, and Max was startled to see tears glimmering
in her eyes. Her reaction made no sense to him. He had expected her to jump at his offer of quick-and-easy money. Was she
crying over the fifteen million she had just lost?

“Carly,” he said. “Be smart. You know that you can’t afford to fight me in court.”

“I could find a lawyer to take the case.”

“No doubt. And you might even win. It isn’t very likely though. Would you risk everything just to keep this old house?”

“Maybe,” she said.

“Then you’re a fool,” Max exclaimed. He wanted to shake her. Why would she want the Tremayne house? She had no reason to care
about it, and the idea of a nonprofit animal foundation was too absurd to be believed. “Listen to me. I am not bluffing. I
have a team of world-class lawyers, and I will use them to ruin you if you force my hand. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” she said a low voice. “I understand perfectly.”

“Good. Then we have a deal.”

She stood, staring at the ground, silent for so long that he began to feel restless.

“Carly? We have a deal?”

Slowly, she looked up at him, her face pale but for two red spots burning high on her cheekbones. “No,” she said. “We don’t.
Not now, not ever. Come at me with your world-class lawyers if you want to, Max Giordano, but in the meantime, you can take
your suspicious mind and your fair cash settlement and go straight to hell!”