Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Maximillian
Does being a good friend always involve carrying dead bodies? Because if so, I might need to reconsider my social circle.
Okay, so this isn’t a dead body, but Ethan and Lily need to stop buying old furniture that weighs a ton. I’m going to establish a new rule for the Montgomerys: If you can’t carry it yourself, don’t buy it.
What happened to buying unassembled low-quality furniture? When did he become this guy who has to have old stuff from people who died more than a hundred years ago?
Sweat trickles down my temple as I secure the last screw into the handcrafted mahogany bookcase. At least I feel proud of my handiwork. Lil and Eth’s penthouse library is finally coming together, rich wood paneling gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I step back, muscles aching from the labor, to admire the piece. It’s not that bad if I say so myself.
The click of heels shatters my moment of pride. My shoulders tense like I’ve been hit with a freeze ray. Lily strides in, her megawatt smile on full beam, with Zoe right behind her. My hands clench around the drill, knuckles whitening as my heart does that stupid flip it always does when she’s nearby.
Zoe.
Beautiful, infuriating Zoe Harper, who I haven’t been able to see all week. And my hopes of taking her for lunch today are gone since she’s with her sister already.
Briefly, I consider escaping through the balcony and climbing toward the rooftop so I can take the emergency stairs. Though, that seems a little overdramatic. But who can blame me? I have to pretend I didn’t miss her one bit or that I don’t need her. Just one nibble, a small bite—and if possible, her mouth sucking me.
I’m just trying to avoid the awkward conversation between us. The one that will probably push me to snap at her or make some snarky comment about something or other about her perfect life. But it’s the only way I know how to resist her charm and that pretty pouty mouth I miss.
Pretty mature, McCallister. I yield, that’s pretty childish, but in my defense, I never claimed to be a grown-up. I’m a proud thirty-five-year-old man-child, thank you very much.
Zoe saunters in, hips swaying slightly, wavy light brown hair cascading over bare, tanned shoulders dusted with captivating freckles. Her striking green eyes meet mine and narrow almost imperceptibly. Her full lips quirk into a hint of a smirk, leaving me momentarily breathless.
I look away, busying myself with my toolbox, metal clanging like I’m hosting a one-man band. The air crackles with our usual tension—a weird cocktail of attraction and annoyance that I can’t quite shake.
“The library looks amazing,” Lily exclaims, giving Ethan a longing kiss and then a quick hug to me. “Thank you so much for helping us out, Max.”
“Of course, my pleasure,” I reply, acutely aware of Zoe’s gaze. “Anything for my friends.”
I glance at her, determined not to let her snub me. I agreed to pretend for her, but I’m not going to totally ignore her. “Hello, Zoe,” I drawl, my voice sweeter than a caramel latte.
“Oh, hey, Maximillian.” She barely looks up, her tone as lively as a tax audit.
I can’t resist poking the bear, I’m judicious that way. “So, where’s Tom the Tool? Thought he’d be the one doing all this work. Trying to be a good brother-in-law and all that shit.”
Zoe’s smile falters for a nanosecond before she recovers, chin lifting defiantly. Her eyes narrow to cat-like slits. “Really, ‘Tom the Tool’? You’re so immature, Maximillian,” she snaps, each word sharp enough to slice bread.
Though we all think anyone could be a better choice than him, I might be the only one who voices it out loud when possible. I don’t say that, though. Instead, I flash her a shit-eating grin. “I never claimed to be a grown-up—proud to be a man-child, sweetness. So, what happened to Tommy boy? Did he finally realize a screwdriver isn’t just a vodka-orange juice combo?”
Lily’s eyes widen, darting between us like she’s watching a particularly intense ping-pong match. “Um, guys? Maybe we could?—”
“We broke up, so it’s just me,” Zoe interrupts, her voice flat. “Not that it’s any of your business, Maximillian.”
“Oh, joy,” I say, trying to keep my tone light but unable to hide the smirk tugging at my lips. “Well, at least you brought your charm.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Don’t worry, Max. I won’t get in your way.”
“Good to know,” I reply, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance and something else I don’t want to acknowledge coiling in my gut.
My phone buzzes incessantly in my pocket, the vibration against my thigh impossible to ignore. I fish it out, frowning at the urgent message from my security company—we have an imminent situation with a high-profile client, requesting immediate assistance. Fuck. I was hoping to get her out of here and . . .
Ethan strides in just then, also checking his phone with a furrowed brow. I catch his gaze, noting the conflict in his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve got this,” I say, already backing toward the foyer. “You stay and enjoy your weekend with your lovely wife and sister-in-law.”
As I turn to leave, I catch Zoe’s gaze one last time. For a moment, I swear I see a flicker of . . . something in those green eyes. Disappointment? Relief? But then it’s gone, replaced by a mask of cool indifference.
“You sure?” Ethan asks.
“Of course, you stay with Mrs. Montgomery and enjoy your newlywed life.” I flash a grin I don’t quite feel, thoughts already racing ahead to whatever crisis is requesting our presence and who we’re going to call for this mission.
With a quick goodbye, I’m out the door, adrenaline already pumping, like I’ve just downed a triple espresso. Though even as I step into the elevator, a pair of unsettling green eyes still haunts the edges of my mind.
I slide into my Bugatti Chiron, the engine purring to life like a contented cat. As I pull out, the scent of Zoe’s jasmine perfume lingers, a ghostly reminder of our proximity moments ago. Suddenly, I’m transported back to those late-night calls, her laughter echoing through the phone as we helped with Lily’s quest.
Our conversations usually started with Ethan and Lily’s cross-country adventure but ended with her telling me about her life and me . . . Well, I never told her much because I enjoyed listening to her voice.
There was something about her that made the world feel more vibrant—more alive.
When she spoke, it was like she painted the air with colors I didn’t know existed. Her words would dance around me, each syllable a brush stroke of brilliance that left me breathless. She made me see things differently and feel things I didn’t think I could.
In those moments, everything else faded away, and all that mattered was the sound of her voice. The usual background noise of my life—the constant hum of work, the weight of responsibilities—all of it disappeared. She was more than just a beautiful distraction; she was a reminder that there’s still magic in the world, and maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be a part of that magic.
My heart would race and my palms would sweat as I hung on her every word. It was as if she held the key to a part of myself I never knew existed. A part that believed in possibility, in connection, in something beyond the carefully constructed fortress of my bachelor lifestyle.
But of course, it was all an illusion. She was like a siren who could enchant me with her voice, but once I couldn’t hear her, the spell broke. Reality would come crashing back like a tidal wave, leaving me disoriented and slightly hollow. The colors would fade, the magic dissipating like mist in the morning sun, leaving me to wonder if it had ever really been there at all.
But then . . . then she left Tom and now I don’t even know what we’re doing. Am I just helping her learn how to live, or could there be something more? These rules we’ve set up feel like minefields, ready to explode with the force of a supernova if we take one wrong step.
I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. It’s too soon to think either way because she’s just getting out of a relationship and hasn’t lived enough. Sure, she’s thirty-two and a successful lawyer, but she’s lived her life by her parents’ rules.
I shake my head, forcing myself back to the present. My knuckles whiten as I grip the steering wheel, willing the thoughts of her away. The streets of Boston blur past as I weave through traffic, horns blaring in my wake. My mind switches gears from personal to professional, the familiar mask of composure sliding back into place.
My fingers drum impatiently on the steering wheel as I dial Caleb’s number, and the call connects through the car’s Bluetooth.
“Hey, Max,” Caleb answers on the first ring, his tone brisk and businesslike.
“Hey, Cal, where are you?” I ask, swerving around a slow-moving SUV.
“Already in the San Diego office,” he replies, the faint sound of keyboards clacking in the background.
“What’s the situation?” I press the accelerator, the engine roaring as I speed through a yellow light, narrowly avoiding a collision.
“There’s been a cybersecurity breach at First National Bank. Hackers drained a significant amount from several high-profile accounts overnight. We need to stop the threat and recover the stolen funds,” Caleb explains, his voice tight and urgent.
I pull into the parking garage of our building, tires screeching as I brake hard into a spot. “Any idea who’s behind it?” I ask, stepping into the elevator and jabbing the button for our floor.
“Not yet. We’re running traces and analyzing the breach vectors, but these guys are good. They’ve covered their tracks well,” Caleb replies, frustration evident in his voice.
The elevator dings, and I stride down the hall, my footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. “Alright, mobilize the team. I’m almost there,” I say, my hand already on the door handle to our office. “We need to lock down the system, track the breach, and start the recovery process immediately. We can’t let them get away with this.”
“I’m on it,” Caleb says. “When you arrive just connect to StreamTalk so we can do this together. See you in a bit.”
As I push open the door to our bustling office, the familiar buzz of urgency fills the air. That’s when I receive a message from Zoe.
Zoe: So I take it we’re not seeing each other today either?
MaxMc: Nope, and can we rethink the whole ‘I don’t like you’ lie, because I fucking like you, Zoe Harper.
Zoe: Did I tell you your mom is trying to convince Audrey to bring Suzy’s niece to the wedding—maybe you two can hit it off? It’ll be another Cohen-McCallister happy ending.
MaxMc: You’re lying.
Zoe: Ask Liam when you can. If she ever finds out about me . . . I’d have to disappear—witness protection program and all the jazz.
MaxMc: Fine, we’ll continue this the way you want it, but you owe me.
Zoe: What do I owe you?
MaxMc: A blow job, of course. Miss me, beautiful.
Zoe: You’re insatiable, Max. I might just have to oblige. But what about you? What do I get in return?
MaxMc: Anything you want, baby. I’ll make it worth your while. I promise you won’t be disappointed.
Zoe: I want to feel your hands all over me, making me beg for more. Maybe I’ll let you tie me up and maybe I’ll let you break the rules and have your way with me.
MaxMc: Fuck, Zoe. You’re going to make it hard to focus today.
Zoe: I want to hear you groan my name when you come, Max. Just thinking about it makes me wet.
MaxMc: You’re killing me, baby. I’m already hard just reading your texts.
Zoe: Good. I want you worked up, thinking about my mouth wrapped around your cock while you’re trying to get through your meetings.
MaxMc: Trust me, I am. And when I get my hands on you, I’m going to make you scream my name.
Zoe: I’ll be counting down the minutes, Max. Don’t keep me waiting too long.
MaxMc: I won’t. And Zoe?
Zoe: Yes?
MaxMc: Make sure you’re ready for me. Because the next time I see you, I’m not holding back.
Zoe: Promises, promises.