Chapter 17
MAX
Standing at the bottom of Paige’s drive, I text my brother as the metal gates begin to close, stopping me from running after her. I want to chase after her, I do, because I have a billion facts I need to check, along with a billion questions I need answers to.
Me
Send me the list you made earlier.
Cole
Only if you ask nicely.
Me
Just send me the fucking list, I’m not in the mood.
It’s her.
Bunny is Paige Bradshaw.
I know she is.
And she does have a kid. His name is Alfie.
He’s not hers but her sister’s, and she’s taking care of him for her while still holding down her job and working manic hours, all while her sister does who knows what with who knows who.
It’s no wonder she’s been late for meetings and looks like she hasn’t had a decent night’s sleep in months, because she hasn’t.
My memory flips back to the email she sent me weeks ago as I stomp to my car and get in but don’t start up the engine.
You know for someone who is supposed to be a well-connected insider, I’m surprised you don’t know what has made me late for the last six months. I guess the secretaries don’t tell you everything.
No, they don’t, because they would have told me if they knew she had a baby.
Cole’s note arrives, and I click accept to add it to my app and read down the list, my eyes and brain consuming every item.
Virgo constellation tattooed on her ankle because it’s her star sign. It glows in the dark under UV light, and she said it looked different in daylight.
Forty.
Helps people to untie knots.
Could be a divorce lawyer.
My brothers worked it out before I did. She is a fucking divorce lawyer.
Desk worker.
Blonde.
Blue eyes.
Took a mask by mistake.
Has a kid.
Nicknamed Bunny.
Wears Vanilla Sex perfume by Tom Ford.
That last one stands out like a sore thumb. She’s told me that twice now, and I don’t think she even realized she did. Or maybe she did, and it was a test to see how I’d react. Does she know?
Single for four years and abstinent for the same length of time.
She confirmed that again just minutes ago.
It’s her!
While my fingers get busy and start scrolling down my contacts list on my cell phone, my mind gets to work trying to figure out what the hell I want to say when I text her.
I get straight to the point with an accusation.
Me
You lied to me.
Paige
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Me
I’m not a fool and neither are you. You know exactly what I’m talking about. I know who you are. You were at The Velvet Rooms the same night I was.
Paige
Seriously, Max. I don’t.
Me
Did something happen to Alfie that night? Was he sick?
My message changes from unread to read in a flash and as the minutes pass, she doesn’t reply but my fingers are already typing another message.
Me
You can run but you can’t hide forever.
I look up from my phone and stare through the bars of the metal gate at Paige’s sleek, suburban home. With a frustrated sigh, I begin to doubt myself because maybe I got this all wrong. But I can’t have done. There are too many similarities for it not to be true.
If it’s not her, then… “Jesus Christ.” I run my hand down my face, annoyed at myself because I told Paige Bradshaw I thought she was beautiful and that she had pretty lips, and then I asked her if she went to a sex club, which she’s probably looking up right this very fucking minute and now knows I have.
Fuck. Shit. Fuck.
I slam the palm of my hand against my steering wheel and instantly regret it. “Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean it.” I rub the dashboard of my new car then pat it.
To hell with it, I admit defeat and press the start button to fire up the engine. One last glance at my phone before it connects to my car leaves me feeling hopeless, but when I shift my car into reverse, another text message arrives.
I brace myself for yet another push back from her, but a lazy smile shapes my lips as I read the preview once, then twice before opening the text to make sure my eyes aren’t deceiving me.
Paige
The hunt is half the fun.
She quotes herself verbatim from our conversation in the dark at The Velvet Rooms.
It is her.
Game. Fucking. On.
Let the chase begin.
Until she puts a stop to the hunt.
Paige
But we are two opposing lawyers representing a couple and we work at different firms. It’s not only unethical but unprofessional.
It’s over before we’ve even began.
Pity. Paige Bradshaw, the ice queen, gave me the best blow job of my life and the way she came all over my fingers is a memory that has imprinted itself into my brain, and I think about it every morning I jerk off in the shower.
Our meetings will never be the same again. Hell, I’ll never be able to look at her lips in the same way again, the very ones she wrapped around my cock and sucked me like she was the queen of fucking blow jobs.
I still can’t believe it.
There was more to it than just the blow job; she made me feel. What exactly?
More. Everything.
Regardless of what she says, we’re far from done. Not even close because in a few weeks, the Youngs’ divorce will be finalized and then, little bunny, you better fucking have your sneakers ready, because I’m coming for you.
Although I don’t think I can wait that long.