But it was now midmorning and Russell still hadn’t shown up. At that thought, Travis had to smile. The small town mind-set was getting to him. In New York he often didn’t get up until this time. But then he’d usually been out late the night before. Clients loved to be entertained and shown New York nightlife.
When the doorbell rang, Travis put down the paper and went to the door in a few long strides. He was curious to see this man Kim had described as “gorgeous,” and he wanted to meet the son of the woman who his father had described as his “most trusted employee.” She’d worked for Randall Maxwell since she was young, and when Travis had been coerced into working for him, Randall had released Penny to Travis to “take care of him.”
Travis opened the door to find himself staring into the angriest eyes he’d ever looked into. Considering all the things his father had had him do, that was a lot.
The two men were almost exactly the same height, appeared to be the same age, and they were both handsome. But Travis’s face showed a lifetime of struggle, a life of loneliness. Every time he’d faced death in his extreme sports was in his eyes, and the war between his parents showed on him.
Russell’s eyes were angry. He’d grown up in the shadow of the powerful Maxwell family, and he’d come to hate the name because whatever that family wanted came first. This week he hadn’t been surprised when his mother asked him to help Travis Maxwell. It was a name he’d known before his own. He hadn’t even been shocked to be told that Travis had never heard of Russell, didn’t know he existed. The anger he’d felt was on his face, in the way he stood, as though he’d just love for Travis to say something that would allow him to fight.
“You’re Penny’s son,” Travis said as they stood at the door. “I didn’t know she . . .” He trailed off at the look in the man’s angry eyes. “Please come in,” he said formally, then stepped back as Russell entered the house and went into Kim’s blue and white living room.
“A bit of a downsize for you, isn’t it?”
Behind him, Travis let out his breath. The Maxwell name! Being in Edilean and especially being around Joe, had nearly made him forget the preconceived ideas people had about him. All his life he’d heard, “He’s Randall Maxwell’s son so he is—” Fill in the blank.
It seemed that Penny’s son had already decided that Travis was a clone of his father.
Travis’s face went from the friendly one he’d adopted in the last week to the one he wore in New York. No one could get to him, so no one could hurt him.
Russell took the big chair and Travis saw it for what it was: establishing that he was in charge.
Travis sat on the couch. “What did you find out?” he asked, his voice cool.
“David Borman wants control of Kimberly Aldredge’s business.”
Travis grimaced. “I was afraid of that. Damn! I was hoping—” He looked back at Russell and thought, the hell with it! This was Penny’s son, and this was about Kim. It had nothing to do with the Maxwell name. “You want some coffee? Tea? A shot of tequila?”
Russell stared at Travis as though he were trying to figure him out—and whether or not to take him up on his offer. “Coffee would be fine.”
Travis started toward the kitchen but Russell didn’t follow. “I need to make it. You want to come in here and talk while I do?”
The ordinariness of the invitation seemed to take some of the anger out of Russell’s eyes as he got up and went to the kitchen. He sat down on a stool and watched Travis get a bag of beans out of the refrigerator and pour some into an electric grinder.
“I guess I was hoping,” Travis said loudly over the noise, “that I was going to have to fight him over Kim. A duel, I guess.” He lifted his hand off the top of the machine and the noise stopped. “It’s going to hurt Kim to find this out.”
Russell’s eyes were wide as he watched Travis put the grounds into a filter and drop it into a machine. He didn’t seem to be able to grasp the concept that a Maxwell could do something so mundane as make coffee. Where were the servants? The butler? “He’s the third one.”
“Third one what?”
“He’s the third man who was more concerned with her success than with her.”
“What does that mean?”
“According to Carla . . .” Russell paused as he ran his hand over the back of his neck.
“Was the date bad?” Travis asked.
“She’s an aggressive young woman.”
Travis snorted. “Seemed to be. Keep you out late?”
“Till three,” Russell said. “I barely escaped with . . .”
“Your honor intact?” Travis gave a half smile.
“Exactly,” Russell said.
“Have you had breakfast? I make a mean omelet.”