Chapter 10 #3
“If I recall correctly, the building used to be a boutique hotel before the new owners bought it and converted it into a glorified strip club. I guess they just kept the third floor as is, though with some light renovations to make it look more modern. Not many people know those rooms are still there. If I were to guess, some of your little friends at the club would take their favorite clients up there for a more… private dance… and your managers would take a cut for turning a blind eye.”
“Have you taken women there before and…” she begins, then swallows the rest of her words, unsure how to continue.
“No, Lila. You were the first,” he answers, annoyance creeping into his tone.
“Really?”
“Yes, really. Are we done talking about this?”
“I guess,” she mumbles, feeling unsatisfied and miffed. He sounded exasperated by her probing, his tone making her feel like she’s the one in the wrong for asking.
“What else is running through your mind?” he asks, his words dripping with curiosity as he studies the conflicting look on her face.
“I’ve never done this before,” she confesses bitterly, placing the glass of water on the circular side table between them.
“What haven’t you done before?”
“A one-night stand,” she admits, feeling a bit embarrassed, though she isn’t sure she should even label it that. She crosses her arms as she watches him lift the glass she just placed down and set it on a coaster instead.
He’s definitely a control freak.
Though the concept of sleeping with a perfect stranger, with no strings attached, had intrigued her once or twice during the many “off” periods with Jake, she had always denied herself.
Deep down, she knew she wasn’t the type to separate sex from feelings.
A part of her also worried about how Jake might react if they ever got back together.
But he doesn’t ever have to know.
“It doesn’t have to be for one night,” Max states, pulling her from her train of thought. She studies him warily, picking up the glass and taking another sip of water. His composure is calm, collected, which only makes her wonder why she’s the one feeling shame and regret.
Her lips purse into a scowl as frustration builds. She’s annoyed at the tumultuous mix of emotions brewing inside her.
She doesn’t want to admit aloud that, since she had willingly slept with him again that morning, it technically wouldn’t count as a one-night mistake anyway.
Speaking of mistakes… “I’m not on any birth control, by the way. And you came inside me two times already…”
“Three.” The unabashed way he says it shocks her to her core. Her jaw drops with an audible pop.
“When—how can you just say that?” she cries indignantly, brows furrowing as she clutches her forehead in disbelief.
Then it hits her. The sex dream wasn’t just a dream. The realization churns her stomach.
“Would you have preferred I kept that to myself?” he asks nonchalantly.
“I don’t know!” she snaps. “What if I get pregnant?”
“We can get you something,” he replies, voice steady and unbothered. He had expected her to be on birth control, as every woman before her had been. “There’s a drugstore down the street.”
His audacity knows no bounds, and she can’t believe it.
The casual way he responds, offering a simple solution to a problem he created, makes her livid.
Her gaze drops to her lap, hands curled into tight fists.
Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, threatening to fall, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
She knows that once she gets her phone back, she’ll leave him without a second glance.
“You go into stores?” she scoffs. “I thought rich people like you just paid someone to do that for them.”
“I pay people to pay people for that,” he replies casually. “But I also want you to stay with me this morning. Though it seems like you’re ready to bolt any minute now.”
Her scowl deepens. She wants to tell him that if anyone should be running, it should be him—from the fucking police.
12
Lila walks beside him as they exit the store, both hands tucked into the pockets of the hoodie she borrowed, avoiding his attempts to hold hers as they move.
The softness of the material feels like heaven against her skin.
It smells of freshly laundered clothes straight from the dryer, offering cozy warmth and a shield from the cool October breeze that stirs the browning leaves of nearby trees.
“What are you thinking about?” Max asks.
He has so many questions, but she lacks the energy and desire to answer them.
“I’m just… processing, I guess,” she says faintly, her voice soft against the backdrop of the street noise.
He stops in the middle of the sidewalk, gripping her upper arm firmly to halt her, annoying a few people walking behind them.
Looking down at her expectantly, he waits for her to explain.
She sighs.
“Okay. Like, for example, I don’t even know your full name. I feel…” Her eyes flick to his other hand, which grips a plastic bag containing the emergency contraceptive pill. The bag sways gently in the breeze, as if mocking her. “Super overwhelmed.”
He reaches into his jacket pocket, pulls out his wallet, and hands her his business card.
“Now you know me. Feel free to Google me,” he says with a bright smile, as if all is right in the world.
She turns the weighty cardstock between her fingers, admiring its minimalist design. His name is embossed in the center in elegant lettering:
Max A. Cooper
“What does the ‘A’ stand for?” she asks, already listing the possibilities in her mind: Amoral, Asshole, Asmodeus, Astaroth… Anakin-Fucking-Skywalker.
“Anthony,” he answers nonchalantly, the hint of amusement never wavering in his voice, as if he can read her thoughts.
“Oh.” It’s a surprisingly ordinary middle name for the Devil Incarnate.
Max Anthony Cooper. She thinks it has a nice ring to it.
To anyone watching, they might seem like an ordinary couple navigating the streets together.
Out of his suit and dressed in a soft black mock-neck shirt and slim-cut black jeans, he appears effortlessly casual and at ease.
As he resumes walking, his hand rests lightly on her back, gently guiding her forward.
As they reach a busy intersection, his large hand slips into her pocket and pulls out hers, clasping it firmly.
“Safety first,” he says with a cheeky smile.
For a second, her breath catches. The warmth of his hand around hers is unexpected and disarming. It shouldn’t feel pleasant—but it does, sending a flutter through her.
He doesn’t let go even after they make it to the other side in one piece.
Glancing over, she sees the lively fire in his big eyes behind the dark amber lenses of his designer sunglasses. The spark of life dancing in them draws her in, despite the warning signs flashing in the back of her mind. Everything about him feels so deceptive it should be a crime.
Okay, so he’s conventionally handsome, she concedes with a flicker of ire as she watches the breeze tousle his hair.
His angular face still holds a touch of boyish softness, the kind that gives his smile undeniable charm.
Still, she tells herself, what matters most is the inside… and his is rotten through.
“So, breakfast?” he asks with a broad grin, dialing up his charm as he flashes straight, pearly-white teeth. “My treat.”
Her mind flashes back to what he told her earlier. Just before forcing her into the shower, Max claimed he always gets what he wants. Doubting he’ll take ‘no’ for an answer, she remains silent as he leads her into a small bagel shop she instantly recognizes.
Once he orders and pays for their food, she silently follows him outside to stand under the green awning, watching as he effortlessly settles into a seat at the steel-meshed table.
“Shit. That took a long time,” he says, then gestures with a curt nod at the spare stool opposite him. “Sit.”
“I’m not a damn dog,” she snaps.
“Come sit and eat with me,” he urges again, this time softer.
With great reluctance, careful not to expose herself to any innocent bystanders, she settles across from him. The skirt of her dress feels uncomfortably short.
She pulls out her breakfast from its paper sanctuary. The toasted bagel sandwich, with its tantalizing contents, makes her mouth water instantly. Her stomach, ever the traitor, growls loudly, mocking the tension between them.
“It’s a pretty popular place. Have you been here before?”
“No, though it’s been on my list of places I’ve been wanting to visit since moving here,” she admits.
She had spent months before her move planning and compiling lists of things to do, see, and try.
Not expecting that she’d be working non-stop at night in a seedy club, she was excited for the future, dreaming of the experiences and adventures awaiting her in the big city.
The bagel shop, a neighborhood fixture for decades and praised on online blogs, has been near the top of her list.
The thought of having visited one of her must-see places with Max churns her stomach, dampening what little appetite she has.
She takes a sip of her pink lemonade, the ice brushing her lips and momentarily distracting her from the unwelcome company. Despite the sandwich’s delicious mix of flavors, she can’t stomach another bite, deciding to save the rest for later.
“The coffee here is pretty shitty,” he remarks, sipping his drink. He’s clearly trying to keep the conversation alive, but she couldn’t care less. She takes a slow sip, pretending to be lost in deep thought… until a real thought surfaces, and her mouth runs ahead of her brain.
Before she can stop herself, she blurts, “I’m honestly surprised you’d come here.”
Dang.
“Why?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at her.
“It seems like it’d be beneath you… or something.”
“Lila, I’m not like that.”
From the corner of her eye, she watches him finish the last bite of his sandwich, gracefully dabbing the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin.
He looks completely unbothered by her silent treatment; every small movement makes him seem like a refined prince.
It’s clear to her that he was raised differently.
She bitterly wonders how he might have turned out if he’d been brought up like her.
Hard to imagine, but she assumes he’d be humbler…
and, with his natural good looks, more palatable to be around.
Finished with his food, he leans back and relaxes, legs spread wide, simply watching her. His steady gaze makes her want to slink away. His offending cup of coffee sits full and untouched at the side of the table.
“Do you want to—”
“I already have plans!” she blurts, her voice shrill as she interrupts him.
He smirks. “I was going to ask if you’d like another napkin,” he says, tapping a spot next to his smiling lips. “You eat like a little kid.”
She quickly raises her hand to brush her face where he had indicated.
“No, the other side,” he says.
A faint warmth rises to her cheeks as she tries to smooth away any lingering crumbs on both sides.
He chuckles.
He’s making fun of me, she thinks sourly, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“Any room left for dessert?” he asks sarcastically, gazing at her partially eaten sandwich.
“Um, no. Not really,” she replies, ignoring his mocking tone. “I’m not hungry.”
Suddenly, he leans forward and reaches toward her.
“Oh!” she exclaims, caught off guard as he casually grabs her drink and takes a generous sip. She watches, dumbfounded. “Really, dude?”
“This is so much better,” he says, placing it back in front of her. “Have you heard of this place called Kizuna?”
“No.”
“It’s this omakase spot with the absolute freshest seafood you’ll ever taste,” he continues, voice gaining enthusiasm. “The kind of place where the chef prepares each piece right in front of you. It’s like edible art. Do you like sushi?”
He barely pauses before going on, clearly excited. “They have this melt-in-your-mouth o-toro that’s so buttery it doesn’t even feel real. And the uni? Insanely fresh. Sweet. Briny. Just the right kind of creamy. It’s like tasting the ocean—but in a good way.”
Leaning forward slightly, eyes intent, he adds, “I’d love to take you out for dinner sometime. It’s the kind of place you don’t forget, and I think you’d really like it.”
She blinks, lost on most of the terms except sushi, which wasn’t exactly popular back in her small town.
“Hm,” she mumbles, voice uncertain. Maybe it’s because her only sushi experiences haven’t been great.
As if he doesn’t even hear her unenthusiastic reply, he asks, “What do you have planned for today?”
“Lots of stuff,” she answers dryly.
“Like?” he probes, arching an eyebrow and leaning closer over the table.
Despite herself, she feels drawn to the magnetic pull of his sudden closeness, stirring something dormant inside her and making butterflies dance in her stomach.
She struggles to come up with a good excuse, sensing the unspoken desire behind his questions. It’s like he wants to prolong whatever this is by trapping her in conversation.
Does he think this is a date or something? she wonders, heart racing.
“Laundry,” she replies, forcing casualness as she shifts back in her seat, creating a small buffer between them in a feeble attempt to regain composure.
“Sounds important,” he says sarcastically.
“It is. I’m all out of clean underwear,” she responds pointedly, remembering he’s holding one of her favorite pairs hostage.
“I can attest to that, Ms. Thorne,” he says, mirth lighting his eyes as his smile broadens into a grin.
“Wow, you really are a creep,” she mutters, though she can’t help but blush beet-red with embarrassment.
Unfazed by her insult, he chuckles softly. A flicker of genuine amusement dances in his eyes, flustering her. His unpredictable response is another reminder she’s dealing with someone maybe even clinically insane.
She takes another tentative bite of her sandwich, retreating into silence. Every word they exchange feels like a step away from her own sanity. She can’t shake the feeling he’s playing a twisted game, with rules she can’t understand and stakes higher than she ever imagined.
“I really would like to see you again,” he says quietly, but she looks away, overwhelmed. Her silence speaks volumes, and he stops pressing.
He places the bag with the emergency contraceptive pill on the table, then pulls her phone from his pocket, sliding it toward her.
“You should take your little pill now.”