Philip lifted an eyebrow—an affectation he’d passed on to his employer. “There’s nothing unusual about that. Max is very fond of his niece.”

Gertie asked Mary Beth a few more questions, then hung up. “Nothing unusual,” she told the small group, satisfaction evident in her tone, “except that Sidney is watching, and Max is watching her watch him.”

SIDNEY WAS still questioning her sanity as she methodically made her way around Max’s pool, discreetly checking on his guests. Drinks were filled, towels replaced. At a waved command to one of her staff, an ashtray materialized near the elbow of Raymond Lort. Momentarily satisfied, she continued to scan the scene, looking for flaws and, more consciously, trying to ignore the way Max looked sitting on the edge of the pool, patiently teaching one of his nieces how to dive.

She still wasn’t sure what had possessed her to agree to stay at the estate for the weekend. She should have known what prolonged exposure to the man was going to do to her. She’d slept poorly last night, and, as much as she’d like to believe her restless slumber owed itself to the strange bed, she knew better. She’d been consumed with thoughts of the way Max had looked at her when he’d delivered that final announcement in his office. “I’m counting on it,” he’d said, and her stomach had started dancing the Macarena.

The odd feeling had continued through the evening’s festivities, and left her feeling unsettled when Greg Loden had cornered her near a secluded area of the terrace.

“Sidney,” he’d said, his voice a little too controlled. “How are you?”

She had searched his expression for signs of inebriation, but other than unnaturally bright eyes, he seemed in control. “I’m fine, Mr. Loden. How are you?”

With his elegantly casual shrug, the one she’d long ago summed up as his philosophy on life, he’d explained that Max was annoyed that he’d continued to drag his feet on his engagement to Lauren Fitzwater. “You know Max,” Greg had told her, “he thinks what’s good for business is good for the family.”

Sidney frowned. “You don’t think your brother is pushing you simply because he wants the business merger with Fitzwater, do you?”

“No. He’s pushing me because he thinks Lauren can have a positive influence on my more, er, autarkic tendencies.”

“Is that a nice way of saying libertine?”

To her relief, he had laughed, and the strange tension shattered. “No, it’s a Harvard economics major’s way of saying I enjoy the benefits of being a Loden without bearing much of the responsibility.” He shrugged again. “Max likes running the business. He wouldn’t consider relinquishing control to any of us.”

Thoughtfully, Sidney studied Greg’s handsome features. “Have you asked him?”

Greg shook his head as he finished his glass of champagne. “No need. What Max wants is to see all of us safely settled in nice, stable marriages. Natalie and Colleen succumbed without a fight. I like to give Max a challenge every now and then.” He leaned closer to her and dropped his voice several decibels. “It builds character, you know?” He’d raised his hand, then, to cup her shoulder. “And speaking of characters, why have you been hiding from us, Sidney? I miss having you around here.”

His fingers slid over the fabric of her jacket. Sidney took a careful step away. “I work for a living, Greg.”

His amused laugh carried on the night breeze. “Unlike me, you mean?”

She shook her head. “No. I just mean that I have a lot of responsibilities with my business. I don’t have as much time to visit with Uncle Philip as I used to.”

Greg’s hazel eyes searched her face. “Do you have time for other things?”

She sensed the suggestive undertone in the question, and carefully headed it off. “Not really.” She set her water glass down with a decisive clink. “It’s been nice talking with you, Greg, but I think I should call it a night. The party’s winding down, and Max seems to think I might be needed early tomorrow morning. He’s probably right.”

“Ah, Max,” Greg said. “He’s always right, isn’t he?”

Sidney chose not to answer. “Good night, Greg.”

He had hesitated, then gave her a brief nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Now, as Sidney glanced around the pool deck, she carefully considered the note she’d received from Max that morning requesting her presence. How much, she had to wonder, did he know about her conversation with his brother, and how much would he want to know? She pushed aside the unsettling thought and told herself, for the umpteenth time that morning, to get a grip. It wasn’t working. When she’d spoken to her uncle, he’d assured her that he was much better—so much better that he’d encouraged her not to make the trip out to see him that morning. Reluctantly, if not gracefully, Sidney had agreed.

Fool, fool, fool, she now thought as she looked at Max. She could have used the break, and the chance to think things over. Clad in black swim trunks, he looked—she searched for the word Kelly had used the night before—dishy. That was it. Kelly had informed her that Max’s advertising gurus used the word to describe the Max doll and his supposed effect on the female doll population. At the time, Sidney had thought the word a corny advertising gimmick. Now, she merely found it inadequate.

Max Loden wasn’t merely dishy, he was devastating. Well, he was devastating her, anyway. Except for the barely veiled looks of Constance Barlow, the same woman Sidney had observed clinging to Max’s arm during last night’s party, no one else at poolside seemed to realize they were in the presence of Adonis.

Suddenly, as if he sensed her scrutiny, Max turned to meet her gaze. Embarrassed that he’d caught her watching him, she struggled not to look away. He watched her for long seconds, then tilted his head in an invitation to join him.

Sidney glanced around the deck once more, before she threaded her way through the clutter of lounge chairs to stand near Max’s shoulder. “Did you need something?” she asked him.

“Watch me, Uncle Max,” his seven-year-old niece urged.

“I’m watching, Bailey,” he assured her. He remained steadily focused as the child bent nearly in two, then tumbled into the water. She surfaced with a broad grin. “Did I get it right?”

Max nodded. “Absolutely. You can work on keeping your feet pointed if you want to go in with less splash. Otherwise, it’s perfect.”

“Does splash count?”

“Only in the Olympics.”

“Good divers don’t splash?”

Max shook his head. “Nope.”

“Okay. I’ll try.” Bailey swam toward him. “But can I try the diving board even if I splash?”

“You have to ask your mother.”

Bailey frowned. “She won’t let me.”

Max plucked her from the pool and seated her on the deck next to him. “I’ll tell her I taught you how to dive. Then you can ask her.”

He earned a toothless grin. “Thanks, Uncle Max.” The child turned inquisitive eyes to Sidney. “Who is that lady?”

Max still didn’t look at her. “A friend of mine.”

“A good friend?”

He paused. “Yes.”

Bailey studied her. “I’m Bailey.”

Sidney smiled. “I’m Sidney.”

Bailey watched her with open curiosity. “How come you aren’t wearing a swimsuit?”

“Because I’m not here to swim. I’m here to work.”

“Oh. Like Uncle Max.”

“He’s swimming,” Sidney pointed out.

Bailey jumped up and reached for a towel. “Only for me. He promised to teach me how to dive so I could use the diving board. He woulda worked instead if he hadn’t promised.”

As Bailey vigorously dried her mop of red curls, Max finally turned to look at Sidney. His eyes gleamed in the morning light—like a predator’s, she thought. “Good morning,” he said quietly.

“Good morning.” She plucked a piece of paper from her trouser pocket. “I got your note. You wanted to see me about something?”

“It wasn’t a summons.”

“It sounded like it.”