Chapter 2 #3
I’d had a bad breakup on my travels, betrayed in the very worst way by my boyfriend.
Getting your heart broken by a cheating bastard is bad enough anywhere at any time.
Experiencing it when you’re thousands of miles away from home, from your family, is even worse.
If it had happened in Chicago, well…let’s just say my family would have words with anybody who messed with me.
Words that might land them in the emergency room.
But I was far from home, and I was battered and bruised by what he’d done. I was at a low and followed advice that’s been passed down through millennia: the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.
Mad Dog, I’d been told by the other traveler girls I met, was not only drop-dead gorgeous but a sure bet. In fact, the phrase they used was he’d screw anything with a pulse. Even feeling as dejected and unsexy as I did right then, I definitely had a pulse—one that sped up as soon as I saw him.
There was a night. A meal. We talked for hours.
We had a moment. Or at least I thought we did.
It felt like we were getting on. At the end of our date, I practically offered myself to Mad Dog on a plate, wrapped in a bow with a cherry on top.
And he turned me down flat. In fact, he looked horrified at the very prospect.
So, not anything with a pulse then.
All of this floods back to me now, as I stand in a very different place, as a very different woman.
“Wow. Small fucking world, huh?” Mason says, clapping his brother on the back. “I don’t believe this.”
Meanwhile, Maddox is still staring at me with those rich dark eyes, his gaze so intense that a shiver runs down my spine.
How does he remember that night? I cringe at the possibilities.
What if he tells Mason about it, or even worse, Elijah?
What if he reveals that I threw myself at him, tried to bed him?
Gods, goddesses, and all that is holy, please let the office floor open up and swallow me.
“It’s really good to see you again, Ellie.
” The way he says my name, like he holds it in his mouth just a second longer than he needs to, savoring every syllable, has goosebumps prickling out all over my body.
It makes me glance at his kissable lips, imagining him doing other things with his mouth.
Shit. How can I be turned on right now? What is wrong with me?
He extends his hand and, for an awful moment, I simply look at it. A handshake feels too formal for what we shared. The kind of thing strangers do when they meet for the first time. Despite the way he said my name, that he even remembers my name, perhaps that’s what I am to him. A virtual stranger.
I’ve always doubted my memory of that night, bearing in mind how it ended.
You see, our evening before the whole sex rejection was beautiful and intimate, and we each disclosed things we never expected to.
At least I did, which made his rejection sting all the more.
I didn’t just want to use him to get over my ex. I actually liked him.
I take his outstretched hand, if only to be polite in front of my boss. His strong fingers circle around my palm, grip firm yet careful. And there it is. That same lightning bolt that hit me two years ago in Morocco when our hands brushed for the first time.
We were sitting together in a little village on the outskirts of Marrakech that night, sipping sweet mint tea outside a quaint café with a blanket of stars above us.
Our fingers connected when we clinked our glasses, and even that limited contact sent shockwaves running through me.
I’d been giddy with it, so excited for what the rest of the night would hold.
Because if even touching his little finger got me hot, then the rest of him would surely rock my world.
I thought we had a connection back then, emotional as well as physical. We didn’t just flirt, we talked. Really talked. And then I went and ruined it all by assuming that he would sleep with me.
His hand lingers, holding on to mine for much longer than a handshake normally requires. Far more than is polite. The prolonged touch of his skin against mine sends signals shooting all the way down my body. My stupid body still thinks we have a connection.
We absolutely do not, I remind myself. My only connection to Maddox James is a humiliating memory. And the fact that yeah, apparently he’s my boss’s brother. Fan-fucking-tastic.
“It’s good to see you again too,” I force out, wishing I were anywhere but here. Still, neither of us lets go. Me because I’m being polite, and him…? Well, I have no idea.
“You want to join us for lunch, Ellie?” Mason’s voice cuts through the thick silence.
“No.” I blurt out, probably a little too quickly. “I have a salad, and it’ll go bad. I hate wasting food.”
That is not a lie—I do hate wasting food—but I do not have a salad. I didn’t have time to make anything after my drama this morning, so I just shoved a whole box of sugary granola bars in my bag.
“Me too,” Maddox says, still holding onto my hand. Him too what, I think, lost in those deep, dark eyes. “Waste. I hate wasting food.”
“Yeah, you two have a lot in common,” Mason adds. “Mad never met a leftover he couldn’t turn into a better version of itself. He’s the same with the people he cares about.”
He grins at his brother, and I can see there’s something beneath the surface there, some reference I don’t get. I can’t imagine Mason James ever being a leftover. But what do I know? Maybe he was, and maybe Maddox helped him recover.
Maddox seems to finally notice that he’s still holding my hand, and he releases it.
I’m relieved, but also sad. I liked the way that felt, my fingers safe in his.
And that makes me even more determined to avoid ever being in this position ever again.
I learned early on in life that you must protect yourself, and Maddox spells danger in all kinds of ways.
I take a step back, keep my face neutral. His eyes flicker over my hair, and the way it’s now making a full-on prison break from the clips I used to pin it down.
“I’ll see you around, Ellie,” he says as they prepare to leave.
Not if I see you first, pal. Thankfully, those words stay tucked away on the inside, where I have all my best conversations.
It wouldn’t be cool to say that out loud to my boss’s brother, especially with the boss right in front of him.
The last thing I need is for Mason to find out the truth, especially after our conversation earlier. I simply smile politely.
Seems I spoke way too soon about my work life being perfect.