Always a Bridesmaid Page 2

  It was a shame really. She did make the best cup of coffee in Southern California—and he was hopelessly addicted to those little fancy pastries she was always slipping him on the sly. She would always be Sidney’s BFF first and foremost, but she’d also become part of his life, part of his morning routine, like his day didn’t begin until Parv shoved an éclair on him, insisting she was trying out a new recipe and needed his critique.

  He would miss seeing her every day if her shop closed—almost as much as he would miss her astronomically expensive premium blend coffees.

  His phone rang a mile south of Malibu, distracting him from his musings on how he could keep Common Grounds afloat. His father’s name popped up on the car’s central computer console, all in caps, just like he’d entered it into his phone. Titus Dewitt didn’t do anything in a small way.

  Max considered ignoring his father’s call—he could shoot him a text saying he was working and Titus would respect that, but he’d pay for it later. No one said no to Titus Dewitt.

  Max hit the button on his steering wheel to connect the call, taking a deep breath—telling himself he was just waiting for the Bluetooth connection to complete—before speaking. “Hello, sir.”

  “Maximus.” His father’s gruff voice was as harsh and businesslike as it had been since Max was old enough to remember. Neither of his parents had been what could be considered nurturing. They were breeding success and they’d made sure their children had known it from the cradle. It was a minor miracle Sidney was as well adjusted as she was. God knew Max hadn’t come away unscathed.

  “I don’t have long to talk. I’m on my way to a business meeting.”

  “I won’t keep you,” Titus replied quickly, not seeming to notice anything odd about the fact that Max was working on a Saturday morning. But then he wouldn’t. “I wanted to confirm you were going to be present on Monday.”

  The slight Swiss accent his father had recently adopted colored the words, but other than that there was no inflection, no emotion to indicate that Monday was the preliminary meeting to hammer out the legal details for the dissolution of his parents’ thirty-four year marriage.

  The lawyers seemed more passionate about the proceedings than any of the parties involved. But that made sense, considering the parties involved were his parents and neither of them wanted sloppy divorce proceedings to threaten investor confidence in the pharmaceutical company his mother represented as CEO or the trillion-dollar multinational conglomerate his father had founded. They were trying to keep the entire thing under wraps for as long as possible, but after Monday the papers would be filed and the separation of one of America’s premier power couples would go public.

  “I’ll be there.”

  He didn’t know why his father had insisted on his presence—watching his parents’ marriage be dismantled was hardly his idea of a good time—but when Titus Dewitt insisted, even world leaders listened.

  “Good. I look forward to seeing you, son.”

  “You too, sir,” Max replied, the words automatic. He wasn’t sure he was looking forward to clapping eyes on his father for the first time in six months.

  They’d never been the kind of family that spent much time together or indulged in public displays of affection, but in the last few months their mother had been making an effort with both Sidney and Max to have more of a relationship with them. She’d started having weekly lunches with them whenever their schedules allowed—which wasn’t often, but it was downright maternal for the Dewitt family.

  Titus, on the other hand, still seemed most devoted to his favorite child—Titacorp.

  He didn’t blame either of his parents for their divorce—it wasn’t like he’d ever had any romantic notions about marriage. The only thing that surprised him about the situation was that either of them cared enough about their marital state to go the trouble of legally extricating themselves from the alliance. His mother still lived at the Eden estate, but his father had spent most of his time over the last decade in Bern, Switzerland where he’d relocated the Titacorp headquarters to facilitate doing business in Europe. Though born in New York with a silver spoon in his mouth, Titus Dewitt had gone to boarding school in Switzerland and bonded with the future finance ministers of several European countries before he inherited his father’s modest millions and turned them into the thriving multi-national corporation that was his only pride and joy.

  Max pulled up to the gatehouse at the entrance to Hank “the Hammer” Hudson’s Pacific Palisades neighborhood, rolling down his window to greet the guard, grateful for the distraction from thoughts of his father. “Hey, James.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Dewitt,” James answered crisply, tapping his name into the computer in front of him. Max had installed security systems for three other residents in the gated community, but he was pleased to see James still checked his name against the approved visitors list for the day and logged him into the system. Some gated communities had security that was laughable at best, but this was a decent starting point to the security network Elite Protection would be setting up for Hudson’s family.

  Decent, but not failsafe.

  The kids who had ripped off Paris Hilton a few years back had just climbed a hill to bypass the gatehouse. A guard kept out the amateurs and tourists, but stars had people after them who were motivated and determined. They couldn’t afford to assume a gate guard was all it took to keep them safe.

  Max waved to James as he rolled through the gate, following his GPS’s instructions through the complex.

  The house itself was massive—a sprawling showplace—and Max immediately began cataloguing the security upgrades they would need to make as he parked behind his electronics specialist on the street in front of the mansion. Candy leaned against the bumper of her new car—the one she’d no doubt purchased as soon as she sold him her old Tesla because she wanted to drive the absolute latest technology. Max didn’t recognize the manufacturer’s sigil, but knowing Candy it was probably a one-of-a-kind prototype of some kind.

  His tech specialist changed her appearance even more frequently than she changed cars and today she’d gone for spy chic—tight-fitting black-on-black with her hair blonde and slicked back and a pair of sunglasses wrapping around the front of her face and completely hiding her eyes.

  “He doesn’t even have exterior lights,” she said, disgust plain in her voice as he joined her at her car.

  He studied her for a moment until he identified the look. “Leverage?”

  “Parker’s my girl,” she confirmed. “I would have made a kickass thief if I hadn’t decided to give Elite Protection the benefit of my genius.”

  “And Elite Protection thanks you for choosing us over a life of crime.” He turned his attention back to the job. “We’ll need to install security cameras, motion sensors, lights, perimeter beams—he wants the full treatment.”

  Candy arched one platinum brow. “Don’t tell me someone’s threatening the Hammer?”

  “He was very interested in telling me that none of the security is for him. The Hammer fears no man. But apparently his ex is in rehab for the foreseeable future and he suddenly has full custody of a teenage daughter and he wants to make sure she’s safe.”

  “He thinks someone is going to be dumb enough to come after the baby girl of a three-hundred pound mass of muscle with neck tattoos and a reputation for putting grown men into traction?”

  Max shrugged. “Ours is not to question why—”

  “Ours is but to install the freaking security,” Candy finished for him and they started up the driveway.

  Max took an instant dislike to Hank “Call me the Hammer” Hudson as soon as the pro-wrestler-turned-action-star opened his front door and began leering down at Candy—but he didn’t have to like his clients to protect their sorry asses.

  Candy could have taken the asshole apart, even if she was half his size, but Max made sure he kept himself between his tech guru and their client as they did a walk-through of the house, discuss
ing the security options Elite Protection could provide.

  “It’s all for Cherish,” the Hammer insisted for the third time as they wrapped up the tour by inspecting the access points to the house from the back yard and pool deck. “Do you think we could get one of those biometric locks? I want to know every time someone enters or exits the house, whether I’m here or not. You can’t be too careful.”

  “Cameras would be much cheaper to install and give you the same ability to see everyone who entered and exited the property,” Candy commented.

  “I’m not worried about the money.” The Hammer puffed up to his full six and half feet. “I keep my women safe.”

  “We can install biometrics later if you feel the cameras aren’t doing the job, but why don’t we start there,” Max intervened before Candy could react to Hudson’s commentary on his women.

  “That sounds good. But what about one of those tracking bracelets? Something could happen to Cherish when she isn’t at the house.”

  “There are apps you can use to track her phone and we can get you set up with one of those,” Max explained, having met enough overprotective celebrity parents that he didn’t even blink at those requests anymore.

  “In our experience, trying to put a teenager in a house-arrest ankle bracelet doesn’t usually work out very well,” Candy added helpfully.

  “And will you be responding personally to any security calls?” Hudson asked her with a leer.

  Max’s calm, easy demeanor didn’t falter for a second even as he smothered the urge to see if the Hammer had a glass jaw. “Any calls will go to police dispatch as well as a local emergency response firm we have an agreement with. That way we can guarantee a rapid response for each of our clients regardless of their distance from our main offices.”

  He kept his relaxed smile in place until he and Candy were on their way back down the driveway with a signed contract in hand and a plan for her to return on Monday for installation.

  “Bring Tank when you come back,” Max instructed, his shoulders rigid and hands tight in his pockets. The former NFL lineman was the one man on his payroll who would dwarf the Hammer.

  “I was thinking I’d bring Pretty Boy.” Candy swung along at his side, every muscle loose.

  Half Tank’s size, which still made him a reasonably big guy, Pretty Boy was one of his most requested bodyguards. He moonlighted as a male model, picked up new martial arts styles as a hobby, and had an amazing ability to never lose his lazy smile, no matter the provocation—except where Candy was concerned.

  “You think he won’t kill the Hammer if he comes on to you again?”

  Candy’s expression turned thoughtful for a moment. “Tank’s probably a better choice.”

  Max had no idea what was or wasn’t going on between Candy and Pretty Boy, and he didn’t particularly want to know. He didn’t interfere in the personal lives of his employees. But he’d just as soon Pretty Boy didn’t get arraigned for assaulting a potential client who couldn’t keep his mouth shut around Candy.

  Tank—a wall of former-NFL muscle with a teddy bear’s heart—would be just as protective of Candy and even more of a deterrent since he looked like the biggest badass on the Elite Protection payroll. He was actually among the least trained when it came to hand-to-hand combat and martial arts, but sometimes just looking like a scary motherfucker was enough.

  Which was part of why Candy so rarely went into the field. She might be able to take out all the boys on the Elite Protection team with one arm tied behind her back, but she looked like a pixie, even when she was at her most badass, and that was only desirable in close protection soft work where the security team needed to blend in as a friend or family member.

  Most of the Elite Protection jobs were about a show of possible force, rather than the more covert techniques involved in government protection. Celebrities wanted people to be able to see their bodyguards were the biggest, strongest—and sexiest.

  Which was why Elite Protection was such a success.

  Pretty Boy wasn’t the only one on the payroll who could have been on the cover of a magazine. EP was about giving celebrities bodyguards everyone else would envy. They had become personal protection status symbols.

  If Max knew one thing, it was how to turn anything into a luxury item—even a bodyguard. It was part of why Forbes magazine had done a feature on him after he’d sold his first company for millions at twenty-three. Prince Maximus, they’d called him, claiming he’d inherited King Titus’s Midas touch.

  He’d never wanted to be his father—there was a reason he’d turned down his father’s every offer to come work at Titacorp—but no one in the business world ever looked at him without seeing Titus Dewitt’s son first and what he’d built second.

  “Take it easy, Boss,” Candy called cheerfully as she hopped into her car and sped off to enjoy the rest of her Saturday.

  Max climbed into the Tesla and pushed the button to start it. It was still early—he could take the rest of the day off, try to remember what it felt like to relax, but instead he pointed the car toward the Elite Protection offices in Beverly Hills. There was work to be done. And he was his father’s son.

  Chapter Three

  Parvati’s parents’ place in Monterey was even bigger than the showplace where she’d grown up in Eden, easily accommodating the one-hundred-and-twenty guests that mingled on the back lawn. They’d moved up here to be closer to their grandchildren, since three of Parv’s four sisters lived between Palo Alto and San Francisco, and they’d wanted to have plenty of room for the whole family to visit without feeling crowded.

  The driveway was long and wide enough to accommodate half a dozen cars, but Parv still had to park halfway down the street, wedge her feet into the heels she’d kicked off during the drive, and trot half a mile balancing the oversized handbag she never went anywhere without, her parents’ present, and the his-and-hers Godiva cupcakes she’d made specially for them.

  The stupid heels were already pinching by the time she reached the front step and began carefully rearranging the items in her arms so she could open the door. It swung open before she could get a hand free, revealing her sister Angie and Angie’s familiar frown.

  “You’re late.”

  “The invitation said twelve-thirty.” Parv awkwardly caught the cupcakes when Angie plucked the present out of her hands, upsetting her balancing act.

  Angie looked pointedly at the grandfather clock to one side of the foyer as she set the gift on top of a pastel-wrapped mountain of them, her lips pursed in disapproval. “It’s twelve-forty. And the rest of us arrived early to help direct the caterers so Mom and Dad wouldn’t have to worry about setting up.”

  “If you wanted me here earlier, you should have said earlier.” Though she wasn’t surprised the others had come. Angie would probably show up at dawn if it meant she got to dictate hors d’oeuvres placement. Her oldest sister had always had a hard-on for bossing people around.

  Parv was saved from whatever Angie would have said next as one of her aunts rushed into the foyer, her sari rustling. “Parvati, Angira, there you are. Come now. Your father is going to say a few words.”

  “Coming, auntie,” they replied in unison, hurrying in her wake out to the back terrace where the guests were gathered.

  It was an eclectic group, three generations of the Jai family mingled with a Who’s Who of Northern California in a broad mix of ages and ethnicities. Her parents stood near the gazebo on the most elevated part of the terrace, their arms linked around one another’s waists as they smiled out over their assembled loved ones.

  Parv’s heart double-clutched a little at the sight. They looked so happy.

  Forty years and they still woke up every morning wanting to see the same face looking back at them. Her parents were partners in the truest sense of the world. Since they were both nineteen years old, they’d never had to deal with a success or a failure alone.

  She wanted that.

  She wanted it with an ache in he
r chest that never seemed to go away, even when she managed to ignore it for days or weeks or even months at a time. But how did you get that when you weren’t nineteen anymore? When every man you met seemed to either be taken or have made the decision not to want that kind of a partnership?

  Her father raised his glass and quiet spread over the terrace, distracting Parvati from her morose musings.

  “Thank you all for being here today to celebrate with us,” he began, his voice ringing clearly over the crowd and carrying to every corner of the yard. Dr. Arjun Jai had always been good at making speeches. It was part of what had made him not just one of the premiere researchers at the pharmaceutical company run by Sidney and Max’s mother, but also one of its primary spokespeople—though he mainly worked from home since his semi-retirement, cutting back his hours and guiding research studies from his personal computer so he could spend more time with his family.

  “We are so honored and so fortunate to be able to share this day with so many people we love. Sunny and I have always considered ourselves lucky to have each other, and especially blessed by our five beautiful, intelligent, successful daughters—of whom we couldn’t be more proud and who have given us nine brilliant, talented grandchildren to dote on. We could not ask for more than we have been given in this life, but you have spoiled us with one additional thing—the opportunity to celebrate our blessings with you.” He lifted his glass higher. “To you, our friends and family.”

  On the steps leading up to the gazebo another of her aunts lifted her own glass, calling out, “To Arjun and Sunny!” which the rest of the guests echoed en masse.

  Her parents descended and the jazz band began a light familiar melody—something that tickled at the edge of Parvati’s memory with lyrics she couldn’t quite remember about fairy tales coming true. Parv wove through the crowd, holding the cupcake case protectively so it didn’t get jostled and ruin the icing she’d redone five times to get it just right. She smiled at her parents’ friends, avoiding getting waylaid by relatives by nodding toward her parents and murmuring, “Just on my way to say hello,” but she didn’t make it all the way to her parents before the crowd of well-wishers around them stopped her progress.