Max parked right in front of the first SUV, threw open her door, and stepped from the car. She’d hoped to create a long enough pause to get the crowd’s attention, and when that didn’t work, she moved to Plan B. What is that woman in the limo shouting—legal jargon? Max groaned as she climbed onto the roof of her car and raised her hands in the air. With a quick flip of a switch on the control panel on her belt, she flicked on the intercom mounted above the gate.
TREAT PULLED up to the back gate behind a mass of media surrounding a number of cars. He rolled down his window and was met with too many shouts to decipher. It was obvious that no one was going anywhere anytime soon. He pulled into the parking lot outside the fence and decided he’d run in, say hello to Savannah, and tell her he’d catch up with her later at their father’s ranch. The last thing he needed was to deal with this type of headache.
He heard Savannah’s voice and swiftly scanned the crowd. If anyone touches her I’ll— Savannah was standing with her body out of the limousine’s moonroof, shouting God knew what as the media peppered her client with questions. Connor Dean, Savannah’s client, was an actor who was quickly climbing the ranks of fame. Savannah had been his attorney for two years, and whenever he had a public engagement, he brought her along. It wasn’t a typical attorney-client relationship, but for all of Connor’s bravado, he’d been slandered one too many times. Savannah kept track of what was and wasn’t said at most events—by both Connor and the media.
Treat couldn’t see Connor Dean, but by the way the media swarmed the limo, he assumed Connor was inside fielding questions from behind the slightly open tinted window.
Treat leaned against the entrance to the gate, crossed one foot over the other, and watched his little sister in action. Her long auburn hair looked like fire against her narrowed, serious green eyes. She was the only one to have their mom’s coloring—and their mother’s spitfire spirit also came with the genes. He and his brothers were all dark, like their father.
Savannah glanced up and their eyes caught. Her scowl morphed into a warm smile as she scrambled onto the roof of the limo.
Treat pushed away from the fence and headed in full protective mode toward his sister. She might be mouthy, but she could be easily injured by those media animals as they pushed their way forward.
“Treat!” Savannah called.
Treat moved into the crowd, parting the media like flies. His six-foot-six frame naturally commanded more space, and one look up usually sent smaller men scrambling away. The ones who remained, he gently persuaded with a cold, domineering stare—a stare he hadn’t needed to rely upon since Savannah was a teenager, when he and his brothers had spent countless hours keeping the horny boys away from their precious sister.
Treat reached up and caught Savannah as she jumped down. He spun her around and, as he set her on her feet, his eyes landed on a woman standing on a car in front of the limousine. His breath caught in his throat. Max.
“OKAY, THE SHOW is over.” Max ran her eyes over the crowd as her voice boomed into the raging crowd.
“Let’s give Mr. Dean some space to continue driving through. He’ll be signing autographs and answering questions after his appearance.” Max’s gaze landed on the handsome man towering above the crowd, with a gorgeous woman in his arms and a smile on his lips. She froze as he spun the woman to the side and his face came into view. Oh God. Her pulse soared, and—damn it—the butterflies in her stomach that she thought she’d annihilated six months earlier roared to life with a vengeance. She stumbled backward, and one of the security guards was quick to grab her until she found her footing.
“Max! You okay?”
The security guard's voice wrenched her back to the chaos. She tore her eyes from Treat and whomever the woman was that he was holding as if she meant everything in the world to him, and she blinked away the unexpected tears that threatened her steely reserve.
“Clear a path or you’ll be removed from the premises for the rest of the festival.” Even she could hear the difference in her voice, the weakness. Damn it. Her eyes darted back to Treat, who was staring at her with an incredulous look on his face. Suddenly painfully aware of her jeans and T-shirt, the ponytail in her hair, and—oh God—how she must look like a crazy woman standing on top of the car, she clambered down to the ground as the crowd surprisingly obeyed her orders and began to dissipate. Threats of eviction usually worked.
She turned off the intercom and fumbled for her keys. Treat was heading her way. She wouldn’t be caught dead speaking to him after the way he’d blown her off six months earlier. The woman he was with now was stunning, and obviously well connected, and it was abundantly clear by the way Treat looked at her that she was exactly what he wanted.
“Max,” he called.
His smooth, deep voice was enough to send her heart aflutter. She cursed under her breath as she started the car and navigated around the crowd. She glanced in her rearview mirror, grasping the steering wheel with trembling hands. Damn him for having this effect on her. Treat stood alone in his dark suit, watching Max’s car, while his beautiful companion looked on with a confused expression on her face.
Chapter Three
“WHAT THE HECK was that all about?” Savannah asked.
Treat couldn’t believe his eyes. Max. After all these months, he’d thought he had squelched the need she stirred within him, but seeing her standing on that car like she could command the world—all wrapped up in an adorable five-foot-five, one-hundred-ten-pound frame of brown-haired beauty—all those urges came rushing back. Treat saw right through those jeans and that T-shirt. He’d seen the sexy woman beneath, the one she tried so hard to ignore.
Damn it. How could he have been so stupid? And now Savannah was looking at him like he’d lost his mind, and he wasn’t so sure he hadn’t.
“Nothing. I thought she was someone I knew.” What the hell was Max doing at the festival—standing on top of a car? Of course Max was there, he realized. The other groom in his cousin Blake’s double wedding had been Max’s boss, Chaz Crew. Chaz owned the festival. One phone call six months earlier would have told him everything he’d ever wanted to know about Max, but he hadn’t made that call. His only goal had been to forget her—and now Treat wanted to know more.
“That was more than nothing, bro.” Savannah flashed a sly smile. “Let me tell Connor I’ll catch up with him, and we’ll go grab some coffee and chat.”
Treat couldn’t put anything in his stomach if he wanted to. It took every bit of his focus not to run after Max’s car, or ask the security guard where he could find her. He didn’t want to make a scene, and it was obvious that she didn’t want to talk to him. He was frozen, locked into place between what he wanted to do and how quickly Max had fled. The thundering of his heart was too strong to ignore, and now, with the hope of forgetting her gone, he accepted what he had feared all along—the thundering was his heart's way of telling him not to let her go.
TREAT BRADEN. Oh God, Treat Braden. Max drove as fast as she could into the underground garage that was reserved for the festival’s staff. She slammed her car door shut and paced the concrete floor. What is he doing here? Is he doing this just to torture me? Is this some sort of game to him? She thought she had hated him enough after the way he’d treated her that she’d become immune to even the sight of him. But the way her heart melted with one look from his piercing dark eyes convinced her she was wrong. Boy, was she wrong.
Get a grip.
A voice came through her earpiece. “Max, I need you by Marquee One.”
Damn it, Chaz. Now? “Be right there,” she said into the earpiece. There were thousands of people milling about. What were the chances she’d run into Treat again? Not much, she decided. She felt a pang of disappointment, then chided herself for it.
Max hurried to Marquee One and flipped through her planner to make sure there were no issues with it that she hadn’t taken care of. She found Chaz staring up at the large sign.
“Max, come here.” Chaz motioned her over with a flash of his pearly whites. His hair had lightened from the sun during the summer, and he still carried a copper tan, giving him the look of a twenty-something surfer rather than the thirtysomething director and owner of the festival. “Look at that. What do you think?”
She squinted at the sign, having no idea what she was supposed to be seeing. Maybe she just couldn’t focus because her heart had yet to settle down. “What?”
“That there.” He pointed again.
“Chaz, sorry, but you’ve lost me.” She pushed her earpiece to her head and answered another request. “Yeah, no problem, Grace. Sure.”
“I think we can have Joey maneuver something right along that wall, in that divot of the sign, to create another major sponsor location. I looked at both sides, and they match. What do you think?”
Leave it to Chaz to find more opportunities for sponsorships in the middle of the festival, when Max would give anything to hide beneath a rock. There he stood, smiling and pleased with himself at the chance to sell more sign space and bring more funding to the festival. Max could easily be annoyed with him for his bad timing, but she had no siblings and he’d become the brother she’d always wished she had. After so many years of working together, they bickered like she imagined siblings would and cared just as deeply about each other. Chaz’s wife, Kaylie, had become one of Max’s closest friends.