Chapter 21
PAIGE
I run my eyes around the large ballroom inside one of the most expensive hotels in San Francisco and suppress an eye roll as one of the partners at my firm wraps his arm around his secretary’s waist, confirming my suspicion: they are sleeping together.
I wonder what his wife would have to say about that.
“Good afternoon.” Max’s voice startles me, making me jump and causing my coffee to slosh around in the cup I’m holding on to like a lifebuoy. I hate these events.
“What are you doing here?” I audibly groan, unable to make eye contact with him.
A week ago, we had phone sex.
I had phone sex with Max Hart.
The worst part of it: I enjoyed it. It’s atrocious the way my body deceives me around him. Fucking traitor.
Every time he’s called me, I’ve declined the call because I don’t trust myself.
And goddammit, why did he have to be here today? I didn’t see his name on the list of attendees.
Uninvited, he pulls out the chair next to me and sits down. “I could ask you the same question. You never come to the monthly lawyers’ lunches.”
I’m only here for one reason. “I was hoping Lauren Stark would be here. And don’t get too comfortable, I’d much prefer it if you sat at the seats over there.” I point to empty chairs around the table directly opposite.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want you sitting here.”
With no intention of leaving, he moves his chair closer to mine then says, “That’s not what I meant. Why do you want to speak to Lauren Stark?”
The way he ignores me, makes my teeth itch with annoyance. He’s irritatingly aloof and wafts of sin and something I might want to taste again just to confirm if hell feels as good as it smells.
I avoid his stare that feels like it’s burning into my cheek, my eyes staying fixed to the dozens of men and women in suits.
“I wanted to speak with her informally, outside the office, to discuss a case. I’m hoping to gauge whether her client might consider joint custody if we agree to full spousal support.
So far, she’s remained firmly opposed to granting her husband any custody, understandably, given she found him in bed with her best friend. ”
“I fucking hate the infidelity stories we hear in our jobs. It’s made me lose all faith in humanity and relationships.”
“Me too.” Unable to resist, I finally lock eyes with him, summoning all my bravery, and instantly regret it.
It’s unfair to be that handsome. That raw intensity about him stirs feelings I know I shouldn’t have.
I’m a confident woman; I am immune to his charm.
Who am I kidding? I can already feel myself unraveling.
That expensive suit he’s wearing only makes him look like he belongs in a photoshoot for Giorgio Armani.
Polished, composed, every thread stitched with certainty.
Meanwhile, I’m held together with caffeine and wishful thinking, trying not to give away the fact that I’m coming apart at the seams.
“Separation is fucking brutal.” He shudders as if it gives him the jitters.
I let out a long, heavy sigh. “Just another day in the life of a divorce lawyer, Max.”
“Marriage never ends well.”
“Your mom and dad are still married,” I point out.
He shakes his head, dismissing me. “They might be married, but since Dad moved into the memory care home, well, let’s just say it’s not what they hoped their retirement would look like.”
My heart contracts, hating how deflated Max sounds. I heard rumors that his father had Parkinson’s disease and was now in full-time care, but I wasn’t sure how true they were. Idle gossip isn’t really my jam, and I stay away from our staff kitchen at break times to avoid the chin-wagging.
“I’m sorry to hear about your dad, Max.” I mean it. His father was an incredible lawyer and someone I admired and looked up to. Max and his brothers are just as impressive, if not more so. Combined, they are a tetrad of lawyer brilliance that makes even the toughest of judges sweat.
He juts his chin up in acknowledgment, his eyes full of sadness. “My mom visits my dad every day.”
“Till death us do part.” For sickness and in health. For better or worse. His parents got a bum deal, which is so unfair.
He suggests morbidly, “They should change wedding vows to be ‘until we get divorced’ instead.”
“My mom and dad are still married.” They are the only couple in my family who have stuck together through thick and thin.
“Those marriages are few and far between. Rare these days.”
He’s right.
He swivels around in his seat, sitting sideways and now staring straight at me as if he’s searching my soul for an answer. “That’s so fucking depressing. Remind me why we became divorce lawyers again?”
I want to ask him who styles his hair. No one wakes up looking like that by accident. It’s a sea of messy waves, infuriatingly perfect, and all I want is to run my fingers through it… again.
Like a magnet, the pull toward him is strong and inescapable, and I find myself mirroring his actions.
As I stare at his gorgeous face, I realize all the extreme levels of disdain and hatred I’ve ever felt toward him aren’t there anymore; it’s changed into something completely different.
Admiration, lust, desire… Oh, no, this is bad.
Focus, Paige. “We do what we do because we love it, Max.”
“My client lost full custody of his dog today. I don’t love those days.”
“Poor guy.”
“Poor dog. I think the judge was more of a cat person.” His grin is playful and inviting.
Laughter bursts from my chest at his stupid joke that catches me off guard.
He smiles wider. It’s cocky and masculine, and makes him look like he won the goddamn lottery. “You should smile more. And I like this little dress you’re wearing today.” He flicks the metal pull tab at my neckline. “You’re kind of illegal-looking right now.”
My pulse quickens with forbidden longing.
“Thanks.” I blink once, then twice, as the distance between us shrinks, and the room around us blurs into a hazy mess.
“Did you enjoy the other week, Paige?” he asks in a huskier tone.
“Yes. You know I did.” I don’t think I could’ve been more obvious. I said his name as I came, hard.
“So why haven’t you picked up my calls?”
“Because it’s wrong.”
“Don’t care.”
I hate the way he disregards my concerns, railroading my thoughts, knowing it won’t take much to twist my arm to change my mind.
He chews up what space there is between us, his mouth finding the shell of my ear. “Presidential suite.” He places a keycard into the palm of my hand; his warm breath tickles my skin. “I checked the attendance list and I knew you’d be here today. Don’t argue with me. See you in an hour, Bunny.”
And with that, he’s gone, leaving nothing but a cloud of aftershave behind and a surge of desire igniting through my core.
Presumptuous bastard.
My fingers tighten around the room keycard so hard that they make my knuckles turn ghostly white.
When I leave this event, I’ll hand the card to reception.
I look down at it, uncurling my fingers from around it as it burns a hole in my resolve.
I’m not going.
Maybe I will.
Shit.
I’m definitely going.