Chapter 30
PAIGE
“Good morning, Paige.”
“Morning, Edward.” I stride past him, feeling achy all over from the rigorous sex at lunch with Max.
It was better than any gym workout, and I swear my flexibility is better than it was before.
I can now easily put my legs up by my ears without feeling like my hamstrings might burst when Max leans on my legs to push them back further.
It’s so deep when he does that and the stretch feels so good.
“How are you today?” Edward asks me.
“I’m great.” I feel fantastic. Sex is amazing, Alfie is great, work is busy, and I now have a new secretary who has made my work easier.
I’d been managing and using temps for way too long because I was planning on leaving.
Since the curveball that is Alfie entered my life, and since I’ve finally accepted I won’t be starting my own firm until I can afford to, I finally took the plunge and hired a full-time secretary.
It’s just as well he’s here because I’ve started to lose focus on work.
If I thought I was busy before, I’m so busy now that I skip lunch.
“There’s a parcel on your desk,” Edward tells me, pointing through the door of my office to my desk, while focusing on whatever is on the screen of his computer.
“What is it?” I ask curiously, feeling confused because Edward opens my mail.
“I don’t know; it arrived ten minutes ago.
It was delivered by courier and marked personal, so I left it for you to open.
” He drags his attention away from his task and looks around before lowering his voice to say words that shock me to my core: “You know, people in the office are starting to talk.”
I widen my eyes in shock, then try to compose myself. “Talk? About what?”
“You, and where you go at lunch. They keep mentioning that you never used to do that and how they all think you have a new man. Plus”—he uses his head to point at my office—“you received another bunch of flowers the other day from Mr. Fox. Patricia in accounts read the card before you arrived the other morning.”
Damn you, Max Hart, for your careless romantic gesture.
And damn us for coloring outside the lines. I have to tell Max to stop sending me flowers, or better still, to stop sending me text messages of where we are meeting next.
Even more so, I need to stop sending him messages asking him where and when we are meeting. He’s become the thing I swore I would never allow him to become: my fix, my person, the one that stirs emotions in me I promised myself I’d never invite.
“I don’t have a new man.” I wave off the accusation. Technically, we’re having fun. Nothing more. He’s not my man. It feels like he is though.
He stares me down. “Even if you did, I have your back, Paige. I’ve been telling them you have meetings.”
“Do they believe you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, and I glance around the office but no one is looking at me.
“You know, it would only take one call to the florist to find out who sent you those flowers.”
My chest feels too tight, like my own skin is trying to rip itself open.
Edward suggests, “Have him send them to your house instead. That might be a better idea and would stop the chins wagging.” He winks like a conspirator then goes back to whatever he was doing on his computer.
“Thanks, Edward.” I step inside my office and close the door behind me.
People are talking about me.
I rub my fingertips into my temples.
This is getting out of hand.
Edward is massively protective of me and discreet, and he has eased my workload tenfold; choosing him was the best decision I’ve made this year.
On the flip side, sleeping with Max Hart might be the worst one.
But that still hasn’t stopped me from going back for more, though.
It’s been months since our first hookup in the presidential suite, and I almost hate myself for it, but I’ve seen him nearly every day at lunch.
It’s crazy to think we can keep this up, but my self-reasoning tells me that we aren’t, and never have been, discussing the Youngs’ divorce case, so it’s fine. Everything’s fine.
It’s not fine.
It’s far from it.
The case should have been closed weeks ago, but after Stella Young pushed for Tate to have more custody of the children—probably to mess with his weekends, which he planned to spend golfing and going out on his boat—and so we are still weeks away from settling the Youngs’ divorce.
When all I want is for it to be over, then I won’t feel so guilty.
After hearing what the office is saying about me, it makes my decision easier today. Max will hate me for it, but I’ve given it a lot of thought and at lunch, I’m telling him that this will be the last day I meet up with him. We can’t keep doing what we’re doing. I’m not lying this time.
Becoming romantically involved with him during a divorce case is a serious ethical breach. If anyone were to find out, it could explode into a terrible scandal for both of us.
Something I never want to happen.
So it stops. Now. Today.
We draw a line under the desire that keeps pulling us back together like magnets. This is our ending.
I stare at the mini black box edged in gold that’s sitting on my desk and drop my workbag on the floor as worry is replaced with curiosity.
I take a seat behind my desk and pick up the box that looks more like a gift than anything work-related before removing the lid, revealing a smaller black perfume box surrounded by black tissue paper.
I lift it out of the box and read the words on the front: Tom Ford, Fucking Fabulous.
My eyebrows furrow in confusion as I open the box to reveal a black perfume bottle inside.
There is only one person who this can be from. Max.
I recheck the box to confirm it’s from him and I smile to myself, excitement rushing through my veins when I find a small note tucked beneath the black tissue paper.
Holding the card between my fingers, I read it, then burst out laughing and have to cover my mouth to quiet the loudness.
My beautiful Bunny,
Please replace your old perfume with this new one. Your sex life is no longer vanilla… it’s Fucking Fabulous.
Mr. Fox x
There is no denying it; we’re more than enemies with benefits. We’re crossing into relationship territory. Why did he have to be so nice? Why couldn’t he have just kept being the alpha-hole fuckboy I thought he was?
Instead, he’s kind-hearted, funny, sweet, and he’s the best lover I’ve ever had, always putting me first during sex. He never finishes before I do. In his eyes, that’s non-negotiable, and I’m here for it. Actually, I was here for it. We’re past tense now, not present after today.
“Shit,” I hiss under my breath, eyeing the perfume. He’s twisting my wrist, making me reconsider ending our midday trysts.
Popping the lid off the perfume bottle, I pump the atomizer a couple of times to draw the fragrance up the dip tube, then spray it on my wrist. I inhale the strong scent, drawing the notes into my nostrils, instantly lifting my mood.
“God, that’s nice.” I spray it on the pulse points of my neck then a little more over the fabric of my dress.
It’s unsettling how much he knows about me in such a short time, but he’s taken the time to ask questions and really explore my life because we’ve spent countless hours together, uncovering every detail of our bodies and every chapter of our childhoods and lives both inside and outside the court.
From the sports he plays to the cars he drives, I know everything about him, just as he knows everything about me.
He even knows when I lost my virginity. It was prom—absolutely dreadful with a guy named Vincent who turned out to be a one-pump chump, which Max found hilarious.
We talk and share things about each other’s lives.
It’s an intimacy that goes far beyond the surface.
Our physical closeness opened the doors to our emotional truths and personal histories, some of which we’ve never shared with anyone else.
When we are together, we’re vulnerable, sharing our bodies and memories.
The bond that’s building feels unique and comforting, scary too because I share parts of myself with him that I hide from others.
I bend down and pull my cell phone out of my workbag to text the man who is chipping away at my ice queen heart… His words, not mine. If only he knew, every time I’m in his orbit, it flutters wildly like a beast in my chest, as if it’s trying to break free from my body.
Me
Thank you for the perfume.
I almost add a kiss on the end of my text then reconsider it and send it without one.
Max
You are most welcome. Did you like it? x
Me
It’s beautiful.
Max
Just like you. x
Fuck that infuriating man and that damn kiss.
As my fingers hover over the keyboard, I’m unsure if I should send my next request. I don’t want to, but we need to before we get in any deeper than we already are.
Develop feelings… if I haven’t already.
I hit send before I have any more time to inwardly debate.
Me
Can we meet up today, but just to talk?
Max
Don’t tell me, you want to end things? Again? x
I hate how well he knows me; it’s as if he’s living inside my head sometimes.
Me
Yeah.
Max
No hotels today. Meet me at the airport near Watsonville. I’ll send you the directions.
Me
That’s miles away. I have work to do.
Max
Forget work. See you soon. And think about us, Paige. I know what I want. I want you. Meet me today, though, let’s have some fun together.
Why is he always so diplomatic? Oh, I know why, because he knows if he gives me space and time, I will change my mind yet again.
Me
Are you going to tell me what we’re doing?
Max
No. Can’t wait to see you.
Another text from him arrives right after his last one.
Max
I miss you every day I don’t see you. x
Ditto, Max. Ditto.
I drive into the parking lot at a private airfield I didn’t even know existed, and there he is.
Max.
With his strong arms crossed tightly, the midday sun highlights every corded muscle in his forearms.