Born to Be Wild Read Free

Sexy.
    With his luck she was probably ninety-two years old!
    “I have a definite emergency, Mr. Wilde,” she said. “I have a wedding planned for Saturday and my caterer died.”
    “Henri?”
    “Please don’t tell me you’re going to his funeral.”
    She sounded frantic... and a lot younger than ninety-two. “No, that day I’ll be catering Luigi Fabiano’s seventy-fifth birthday party.”
    “That’s too bad” she said, followed by a very deep sigh. May I ask what kind of food you’re serving Mr. Fabiano?”
    “Ribs.”
    “Oh.” He couldn’t mistake the despair in her voice.
    “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Don’t you like ribs?”
    “I love ribs. But that’s not what I had in mind for this wedding.”
    “What did you have in mind?”
    “Something a little more formal. Do you do anything exotic, like poached quail eggs?”
    Max laughed at her question. He’d prepared quail eggs at the culinary academy and for too many uppity society shindigs when he worked with his foster dad. They were dainty and tasteless, a far cry from the spicy, finger-licking and mouth-watering fare he preferred. “Quail eggs were Henri’s specialty,” he said. “Mine’s ribs.”
    “Oh, dear.”
    He leaned against the counter, thinking he could spend a good hour or two listening to this woman. He liked the little-girl sound in the way she said, “Oh, dear,” the way she sighed deeply into the phone. Unfortunately, he didn’t have an hour or two to converse with a stranger. He didn’t have any time on Saturday, either, which meant he couldn’t possibly help the lady with the sultry voice. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m booked this weekend.”
    “I understand that, but as I mentioned, this is an emergency. I’ve nearly two hundred guests coming. I hadn’t wanted to serve ribs but... well... She sighed again. “Are they good?”
    The lady—if she was a lady—sounded awfully picky for a woman in need.
    “They’re the best in Florida. But like I mentioned, I’m busy on Saturday.”
    “I’ll pay twice your normal amount.”
    “That sounds enticing, but I can’t be in two places at the same time.”
    He heard her fingernails again, this time drumming on something other than the phone. A table maybe. A desk. Something expensive, considering her offer.
    “Three times your normal amount.”
    “The money sounds good, but—”
    “Four times, and that’s my final offer.” She was silent again, giving Max time to think it over. “Please.”
    He hated it when a woman said please. “Let me think about it, okay? Maybe there’s a way I can swing both. I’ll call you back in a couple of hours.”
    “I can’t wait a couple of hours. I need an answer now. I’ll even pay you up front if you’re worried about the money.”
    “You don’t even know what my ribs taste like.”
    “Look, Mr. Wilde, as long as your food is edible, I’ll hire you. Of course, it would be nice to have something not quite as messy as ribs, something a little more elegant, but right now, I’ll take anything. If you need references, I can give you a hundred different people to call. I always pay on time. Call my bank. Just tell them you’re catering a wedding for Lauren Remington.”
    Lauren Remington? The Lauren Remington, the object of a foolish kid’s affection? The woman whose dress he’d accidentally doused with a glass of champagne when he’d been a waiter at the rehearsal dinner before her first wedding? The woman who’d laughed at the incident, then followed him outside, where she’d kissed him and made him think that a tough, wrong-side-of-the-tracks guy like him could have a chance with a rich and beautiful socialite?
    He rubbed his arm, where a tattoo served as a constant reminder of his folly, and laughed to himself. So, she was getting married... again. That shouldn’t surprise him, not for someone as fickle as Lauren Remington.
    “Did you hear me, Mr. Wilde? This really is urgent.”
    “I heard you,” he said,