Becky’s eyes widened. “AppleTree—oh my God! Max Loden. That Max Loden?” Her expression changed to awe. “I can’t believe I’m in Max Loden’s house. And that he looks like that.”

Kelly laughed. “What did you expect him to look like?”

“Well, I expected he was like, sixty at least.” Becky leaned against the counter. “I had no idea he was such a—well—such a stud. My kid sisters love those dolls.”

Chip laughed. “So do the rest of the girls in America. That’s how we ended up working in digs like this. Who knew a guy could make billions selling dolls.”

Becky warmed to the topic. “I remember when the Real Men collection came out. I was so jealous of my sisters. When I played with Barbie dolls, all we had were Ken and Alan to date Barbie and all her friends.”

“That was a man’s kind of world,” Chip countered.

Becky glared at him. “Then along came AppleTree Toys with the Real Men collection. How many are there? Six?”

“Eight,” Sidney supplied. “Max got the idea from watching his friend’s daughters play with their dolls. There were never enough males to go around.”

Kelly snorted. “Very insightful.”

Becky nodded. “Lucratively insightful. I remember reading that. So he conceived this entire line of male dolls. Each one has his own personality. There’s a stockbroker, a park ranger, a football player, a doctor—I can’t remember the rest. Anyway, the Max doll is the central figure. Supposedly, his staff named the doll after him.”

“They did it without his knowledge,” Sidney said quietly. “By the time he found out, the ad slicks had already gone out. At the time, AppleTree toys was operating on a shoestring, and Max didn’t feel like he could justify the expense of pulling the ads.” She paused. “He doesn’t like it.”

“Yeah, well,” Becky continued, “like it or not, the Max doll, and all his friends, are phenomenally popular. My sisters have a zillion of them, and all their accessories.”

Chip raised his eyebrows. “They have accessories? No guy I know would be caught dead with anything that could be called an accessory.”

Becky laughed. “Not even if the accessory is a twin-engine airplane?”

“Well—”

Kelly came to his rescue. “What she means, Chip, is that the Real Men dolls have an entire line of fashions and play sets that suit their individual personalities. I have it on very good authority that when the Max doll pulls up in his Jag roadster, it sends any self-respecting Barbie doll into a swoon.”

Chip flexed his biceps beneath his white chef’s jacket. “I’ll bet he doesn’t have Chip the super chef.”

Becky swatted him with the dishtowel. “Those dolls are so popular, the advertising slogan for the line is Who Gets To Marry Max? When little girls drag their dolls out to play, that’s the first question they ask.”

“They’re not the only ones,” Kelly quipped. “Every society reporter and fortune hunter in the country keeps asking the same question about who’ll marry the real Max Loden.”

Chip shook his head. “So that’s how ‘Mad Max’ made his millions.”

Sidney lost what was left of her indulgence. “Don’t call him that,” she said firmly.

The three looked at her, wide-eyed. Kelly placed a hand on her arm. “He didn’t mean—”

“I know,” Sidney assured her, and managed a slight smile at Chip. “I know you didn’t. But I don’t want to hear that name again while we’re here.” She paused. “For that matter, I don’t want to hear it after we leave, either. Max Loden inherited his father’s company on the verge of bankruptcy. Thanks to the success of the Real Men dolls, he earned enough capital to bail out some of Loden Enterprises’ less successful public ventures. He took an ailing company, put his mind and effort behind it, and made it grow. Just because his methods are a little unorthodox, and just because some of his adversaries think he’s a little—eccentric—doesn’t mean we’re going to disrespect him. I trust I’ve made that clear.”

Chip looked sheepish. “I’m sorry, Sidney. I didn’t know you—”

“It’s all right. He’s heard the name before, I’m certain. But I don’t want him to hear it from us. Mr. Loden is paying every member of this staff extraordinarily well for their service.”

Becky nodded. “I’m getting twice what I did for the last house party I worked.”

Sidney tugged at the points of her jacket. “Most of you are. So in addition to your service, he’s going to get your respect, too. I’d like you to alert the rest of the staff to that. If I hear anything that even hints at disrespect, I won’t hesitate to let someone go.”

Becky and Chip stared at her, astonished. Kelly alone seemed to sense the volatile nature of her mood. “Chip,” she said, with the soft authority Sidney had always admired. “I think now would be a good time for you to find Mr. Loden’s chef and decide how the two of you want to divvy up the kitchen responsibilities. Do you have the punch list I gave you?”

He nodded. Kelly waved him away with a sweep of her hand. “Good. Becky, I’d like you to gather the rest of our staff in about ten minutes so we can brief them.” She scanned the kitchen, then tucked her clipboard under her arm. “We’ve got two hours,” she continued, “and I’m going to make sure the guest rooms are up to spec.”

As Kelly picked up a tray of chocolates, Sidney gave the confections a final, assessing glance. The shaped candies were Sidney’s personal trademark. Individually made, each candy represented a guest’s personal interests. Before a major event, she interviewed her clients to determine how best to serve their guests. The chocolates, which her staff placed on the pillows of the guest room beds or at each place setting for meals, were a special touch her clients usually raved about.

Kelly paused on her way to the door. “Sidney, would you like to instruct the rest of the staff, or shall I?”

Sidney gave her a grateful look. “I’ll do it.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.” At her friend’s dubious look, Sidney laughed. “Don’t worry, I’ve delivered my last avenging angel speech for the day.”

“All right,” Kelly agreed. “I’m going to deliver the chocolates, then.” She inspected the tray. “You know, these look really good, Sid,” she said. “Even if you did make them at three this morning. No one makes them as well as you do.”

Sidney shrugged, unwilling to discuss why she’d been unable to sleep the night before, and had decided to personally make the chocolates—a duty she generally would have delegated. “I enjoy doing it. I hadn’t done them in a while, and I wanted to make sure I hadn’t lost my touch.”

Kelly gave her a shrewd look, but silently hoisted the tray of chocolates to her shoulder. As she strolled past Sidney, she whispered, “Sure you don’t want me to put the Cupid on Max’s pillow, Sid?”

Sidney frowned at her. “Did you listen to a word I just said?”

“Every one of them. That’s why I asked.”

“Kel—”

“Okay, okay. He sure is cute, though.” She sailed out of the kitchen without a backward glance.

Sidney almost laughed out loud. Max Loden was many things. Daunting. Charming. Elegant. Ruthless. Brilliant. Maybe even handsome. But never, ever had anyone described him as cute. Sidney sometimes doubted that Max had even entered the world as a baby. Instead, he seemed to have walked onto the stage of his life full-grown and ready for battle.

When his parents died, leaving a twenty-five-year-old Max full responsibility for his brother, his two sisters and his father’s struggling corporation, Max had taken the reins like a man born to lead. He’d made a lot of money, and a lot of enemies along the way. Sidney’s uncle, Philip Grant, had seen him through all of it. And while the world found Max’s eccentricities, razor-sharp business acumen and incomprehensible ability to take the wildest risk possible and make astounding profits from the venture both infuriating and intimidating, Philip adored him. His adversaries and even his colleagues claimed he had no heart, that he placed profits above people and that he’d step on anyone who got in his way. “Mad Max,” they called him. And as far as everyone could tell, he liked it.