Chapter 5
ROSALIE
My head hung off the edge of the couch like a wilting flower straining for the last rays of sunlight. The world tilted on its axis, the room warping with every frustrated blink.
Time stretched before me like an endless hallway, each tick of the grandfather clock in the foyer echoing through the house like a death knell.
I’d been waiting for Sean. I waited, and then I waited some more, the minutes bleeding into each other.
Conversation with my mother and her friends wasn’t exactly my forte.
Their discussions about bridge scores and the latest gossip from the country club didn’t interest me, but I was tempted to chat anyway.
Boredom had gotten the better of me. When Sean said a few hours, I figured he’d meant two, not four . . .
Suddenly, I heard the familiar sound of the patio door creaking open. I peered up. It wasn’t Sean.
Disappointment washed over me.
It was Max.
He stood upside down in the doorway, taking a few strides toward me as he put his hands in the pockets of his impeccably tailored Armani suit.
Broad shoulders, check. Muscular legs, check.
“Rosalie,” he greeted, his flat delivery lacking its usual effect. “The car is ready to go whenever you are.”
Not this again.
I turned upright, fixing the dress—which had ridden up my thighs—and whirled back, stammering, “Oh, no, no, that’s all right. Sean is driving me home. I’ve been waiting for him.”
“He’s going to be a while.”
I guess we were doing this again.
“I thought you needed some time off.” The words tumbled out before I could stop them.
A ghost of a smile returned to his lips. “Keeping tabs on me?”
My cheeks burned. “No,” I lied.
“Hmm.” The amusement was clear in his brown eyes. “Sounds like it.”
“Sean happened to tell me,” I admitted, forcing myself to meet his gaze.
“Sean, huh?”
“Yep. Speaking of him, I should go have a chat with him.”
“Or,” he offered, “you could come with me and save him a headache.”
“You—”
He cut me off. “Let’s go, Rosalie.” His tone left no room for argument. “I don’t have all day like you.”
Impatiently, Max left through the front door, leaving it gaping open. Clearly, another talk with Sean was going to happen. It seemed he didn’t understand my frustration.
Sighing, I hurried after Max. His car, a sleek black Maserati, shined under the dim glow of the streetlights. This was the second expensive sports car I’d seen him in. I guess he was a car guy. Strange hobby for a mobster.
Taking a deep breath, I approached the passenger side. Max opened the door for me. Taking a step closer, I looked up at him, and his eyes drilled into mine before I lowered myself onto the leather seat. The inside of his car smelled like him—expensive.
Folding my hands in my lap, I waited for Max to get into the car. Once he did, he took out his keys and turned them in the ignition. The engine roared to life. We pulled out of the driveway, the silence already pressing down like it did before.
About five minutes into the drive, I turned to face him and said, “You know, we could try out those icebreakers again.”
He stretched his legs, his right arm falling onto the center console. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”
“You think so?” I asked, hopeful.
“No.”
I rolled my eyes, the movement exaggerated as I threw my head back. It was clear I couldn’t catch on to his sarcasm from even a mile away, which only showed how brooding the man could be.
“And why not?” I asked, crossing my arms against my chest defensively.
“Because,” he began, “this is my job, and I—”
“Take it very seriously, blah, blah, blah,” I finished for him.
“Stop bickering with me, Rosalie.”
“We don’t bicker,” I began, but my own words made me pause. We do . . . I couldn’t stand him sometimes—of course I was going to argue with him.
“We do bicker, and it needs to stop,” he declared.
But why would I entertain the idea of not talking to him?
Right. I won’t.
And I didn’t. Instead I did what any self-respecting woman with questionable taste in men probably shouldn’t do: I bombarded him with questions.
“When’s your birthday?” I chirped, my voice dangerously sweet.
I got nothing but silence in return.
“Favorite childhood memory?” I asked with a smile.
Same answer. Crickets.
Finally, I asked the last question I thought would get a response. “What’s your favorite car?”
Max remained silent.
“Okay,” I started again. “Why offer me a ride home if you didn’t want to?”
“Driving you home was a quicker job,” he muttered, avoiding my gaze. “I want to get home too, and that wouldn’t happen if I was stuck at your father’s house mediating another one of his negotiations.”
“So you’re saying you just . . . used me as a getaway?” My mouth fell open. Why did I want him to talk, again?
Max finally turned his head to look at me. “Not exactly,” he said grumpily. “It’s a win-win. You get a ride home, and I get out of a situation I didn’t want to deal with in the first place.”
I made a face, wrinkling my nose and curling my lips into a playful pout. “It’s dreadful, really.”
“What is?”
“Talking to you.”
“You think so?” He raised an eyebrow.
“Mm-hmm,” I confirmed. The way he looked at me made it hard to keep a straight face.
“Well, you seem to do it a lot for someone who doesn’t like it.”
He was right. I did. I couldn’t help myself.
Once we’d arrived at my apartment, Max parked on the side of the road and shifted the car into park.
I didn’t bother thanking him for the ride, since I wasn’t thankful at all.
With a huff, I unbuckled my seat belt and reached for the door handle.
But just as I was about to open the door, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye.
It was Max, and he was getting out too.
“Oh, no,” I mumbled, the words barely escaping my clenched teeth. “There’s really no need. I can walk inside perfectly fine on my own.”
“I’m sure you can,” he murmured. His voice was softer than before, almost hesitant. He continued to exit the car.
Quickly, I fumbled with my own door handle, eager to rush after him. Once I’d caught up, he ducked through the doorway to the apartment building, this time without complaint or even a grimace.
Finally, I reached the door to my apartment. Just as I was about to twist the knob and step inside, a large hand clamped down on my wrist, stopping me in my tracks. I whipped my head around to find Max standing impossibly close.
His gaze wasn’t on me though. Instead it was on the doorknob—that rusty, unassuming thing. Max’s hand, which was still wrapped around my wrist, was surprisingly gentle. The hold he had on me was more hesitant than forceful.
“How long has that been unlocked?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. He nudged his head slightly toward the door.
He didn’t need to elaborate further.
“Let’s see,” I mused, pretending to think deeply. It was childish, I knew. Still, I couldn’t help but make a face. “When was the last time you were here?”
“Weeks ago,” he deadpanned. His lips twitched with frustration. He looked at me as if he knew what my answer would be.
“Ah, then weeks ago,” I said with a cunning tone.
“Christ,” he said.
The man could be so sassy sometimes.
He let my arm go, then I twisted the door open. He glanced across the room and welcomed himself into my apartment. Again. Was this going to become a regular occurrence?
Max shook his head as if he couldn’t believe how careless I’d been.
He was always paranoid, always worried about me, as if I were a porcelain doll in a war zone.
I wasn’t sure why he cared so much about my safety—not when Dad had spent years separating the Irish Outfit from any threats.
He’d put us so far under the radar that not many people even knew we existed.
I was safe, especially considering he handled most of his business overseas anyway, which Max should be well aware of.
Still, he went around my apartment checking all the nooks and crannies. Should I be flattered he cared this much, or worried? Perhaps my father paid him a lot of money and that was his reason for being so thorough.
He finished his circuit around the room with a grunt of disapproval. “See?” he finally said, bringing my attention to the windows. “Wide-open like this. Asking for trouble.”
He closed it. Locked it.
My hands fell to my hips. “I needed air earlier and must’ve forgotten to close it.”
“We’ve talked about this, Rosalie. Air circulates even with the windows shut. You also have central AC perfectly capable of keeping you cool,” he mumbled as he headed to the door.
“Seriously?”
He ignored my question, his gaze hardening. “You may think you’re safe, but the world hasn’t forgotten who your family is. There are those who wouldn’t hesitate to exploit a weakness, a careless mistake.”
“Do you worry about me?” I asked.
“A stray bullet with your name on it wouldn’t exactly improve my day.”
There was a vulnerability in Max’s words I hadn’t seen before; a glimpse behind the walls he always kept up.
I pushed a little further. “Is that all?” I pressed.
“What else would there be?” he mumbled defensively.
“Maybe you care a little more than you let on,” I suggested, tilting my head to gauge his reaction.
“Don’t get cocky,” he warned.
“Cockiness is the least of my worries.” A playful smile tugged at my lips. “Besides, you’re here to keep those stray bullets at bay, aren’t you?”
He humored me. “I’m not bulletproof, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said, feigning a frown. “That’s actually really disappointing to hear.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What’s disappointing?”
“That you’re not bulletproof. I would’ve thought you’d be invincible, with how much my father pays you.”
“My current rate is me being kind. If you were any other spoiled brat, I would’ve asked for much more.”
“Hmm. So I’m your favorite then?”
“Do you really search for a compliment in everything I say?”
“No.”
“You do.”
“So you agree?” I raised a brow. The grin that took over my face was impossible to hide.
He smiled as clear as day as he walked through the door of my apartment, shaking his head. “Have a good night, Rosalie.” He pronounced my name with a slight drawl, making it sound like Ro-salie. I loved when he said my name like that. Only he could.
My face felt warm. Oh god, I was blushing. Trying to snap out of it, I forced a smile. “I will now that you’re gone.”
“Lock this door, unless you want me sleeping on your couch.”
Quickly, I closed the door. I locked it.