Chapter Six #2
“That doesn’t matter. Not to me. They were his things, Max.
They were his, and they’re special,” Bo replied, her sadness betraying her, and for a moment, Max’s eyes locked with her own.
He was trying to read her, she realized.
He was looking deep into her eyes, trying to work out what to do and say next.
She felt open and vulnerable and exposed, and she shifted uncomfortably in front of him, though his hand still held her own with that damnably strong and — damn him — damnably attractive grip.
“You really did love him, didn’t you?” Max asked quietly, and there was a kind of wonder to his voice which made Bo pause.
“Well, yes, of course I did.”
“I’m glad. I’m glad he had someone to love him in his final years.”
The timbre of his voice had dropped, drenched as it was with honesty, and there was a moment of quiet between them.
Max’s grip on her hand slackened slightly, so that he held her hand with an almost tender grasp, and his thumb rubbed over her own gently, the movement slight but loaded.
Bo’s heart picked up tempo, and her mouth went dry.
You’re angry with him, she tried desperately to remind herself.
You’re angry with him. You should be shouting at him, not holding hands with him in the hallway while looking deeply into his eyes.
Remember what Willa said. Professional boundaries.
Right now, there’s nothing professional about this and the only boundary between you two is an invisible line under a hedge in the garden. You have to get it together.
As though reading her thoughts, Max abruptly cleared his throat, and his thumb stopped moving over her own.
“Right,” he began authoritatively. “Can I trust you not to jab my eye out now? Put your claws away? Can you be a good girl and stop trying to kill me?”
Good girl. The phrase caught Bo off guard, sparking a sudden, unexpected warmth in her body that had nothing to do with the situation, and everything to do with Max and his words.
“I can be good,” Bo replied, her voice at once both sulky and sultry, and she felt another unforeseen throb of desire run through her.
I really have to get on Reddit and look up kink, she thought, taking a deep breath. I mean, ‘I can be good’? What the actual fuck?
Max cleared his throat again, and Bo wondered if his thoughts had strayed the same way as hers.
“Fine.” He released her hand, nodding to the room beside them.
“You’ll see I’m emptying Geoffrey’s study.
I need the space. Legally, Geoffrey’s books and furnishings are now mine, and I have no need of them. I had planned on donating them.”
“Oh.” Bo paused. “They’re sitting outside, in boxes.”
“Temporarily, yes. I’ve arranged for them to be collected and taken over to the British Library. A curator there will go through them one by one. They’ll siphon off the valuable ones for their collection, while the rest will go to the British Heart Foundation to be sold.”
“Oh,” Bo said again, a little pointlessly. “I see.”
Max’s face softened. “Anything you want, you can take. Legally Geoffrey’s things are mine, but morally, you have a claim on them too.
So, whatever you want, help yourself to.
The same goes for his furniture. I told you already; I don’t live here.
I have no use for Geoffrey’s bits and pieces, and less desire to ship any of them across Europe. Whatever you want, you can have.”
There it was again, that slight raise in the tempo of Bo’s heart.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” she asked him, and he stared back at her quizzically.
“Why wouldn’t I be nice to you? I told you; I’m not your enemy.”
“It feels like you should be.”
Max gave her a long look. “That’s understandable.
The previous times we’ve talked, I’ve not been in the best of moods, have I?
I’ve no defence for that, other than that my relationship with Geoffrey was complicated, and you happened to find yourself in the middle of that complication.
I mean it though, Bo; you’re not my enemy.
I told you that you could trust me, and you can. ”
“Even though our relationship is complicated too?” Bo mused, thinking out loud, and to her surprise, Max nodded.
“By its very nature, yes, I suppose it is,” he agreed. “Still, I’d much rather our relationship was happily complicated than vexed and miserable.”
“Happily complicated? Is there such a thing?”
Max shrugged. “I hope so. Like it or not, we’re stuck with each other for the next few months.
I’d much rather have someone living at the bottom of the garden who I can be friendly with than someone I’m constantly warring with.
I was constantly warring with Geoffrey. It’s exhausting.
To be frank, I’ve a busy few months coming up, and I don’t have the energy to war with anyone but myself.
So, if you and I could be happily complicated, I’d appreciate it. ”
Bo pondered his suggestion, but only for a minute.
In all honesty, she just needed to get through the next few months until she had the money from the sale of Geoffrey’s property in her pocket.
Then she would have all the breathing space she needed to re-evaluate her life and what she wanted from it.
Besides, Max was right; if they were friendly with one another, it would make those months easier.
Of course, there was still a small part of her that was concerned this was all one giant trick by Max to lull her into a false sense of security so he could build a case against her to challenge Geoffrey’s will.
That small part was overridden, however, by Max’s insistence that he was trustworthy, and by the fact that Bo believed him.
“Okay,” she agreed, nodding slowly. “Happily complicated works for me. I can be friendly if you can.”
“Thank you.”
“And I can really take any of Geoffrey’s things for myself?” Bo then asked, still uncertain.
“Yes. There’s no space for them in his study now. I need the whole room for my piano.”
“The whole room?” Bo raised an eyebrow. “Your piano takes up the whole room?”
Max nodded. “It’s a concert piano. They’re large beasts by nature.”
“You must like music.”
Max gave her an odd look. “I suppose so. I’m a pianist. That’s what I do for a living. Play piano.”
“Oh.” Bo blinked. “Oh, so you’re a musician.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Well, yes,” Bo found herself replying. “You, umm, don’t give musician vibes.”
“What vibes do I give then? If not musical ones?”
Bo shrugged. Once again, she took in Max’s ultra-casual attire, from the sandals worn with socks to his wrinkled button-down shirt. “I don’t know. My friend was worried you might be a secret murderer.”
Max gave a wry smile. “Don’t worry. The only things I murder are Beethoven and Brahms occasionally.”
She couldn’t help but smile back at that, a full and genuine grin that stretched across her face. Max inhaled sharply, and Bo’s smile dropped as she stared at him.
“What is it?” she asked worriedly, but Max simply shook his head.
“Nothing. That was the first time I’ve seen you smile, is all. I was starting to worry you didn’t know how.”
“I know how to smile,” Bo replied, feeling cross again. “It’s not my fault that you’ve only made me smile once. You should be funnier.”
“You’re right. It’s not your fault. It’s my fault, and entirely remiss of me. You’re ten times as beautiful when you smile, did you know that?” Max asked easily. “If I’d known having a sense of humour would give me that smile as a reward, I’d have told knock-knock jokes from the moment I met you.”
For a moment Bo was speechless, but somewhere in her mind, even as her heart treacherously picked up tempo once more, a warning bell sounded.
Professional boundaries, Bo, she lectured herself. You must stay professional here.
“Oh, well, I—”
“Have dinner with me tonight,” Max suddenly suggested, looking at her intently with eyes that were, Bo realized, the colour of the sky on a stormy day.
“I know our arrangement doesn’t officially begin until next week, but I’m not working this evening, and I planned on ordering Indian food.
I’ve missed good Indian food in Berlin.”
“I don’t know,” Bo replied, biting on her tongue to stop herself from immediately saying yes. “Is that a good idea?”
“We’re being friendly, remember? Happily complicated?”
“Well, yes, I know, but . . .” she trailed off uncertainly, looking down.
“But what? It’s just dinner.”
She shrugged, steadfastly staring at the ground.
Willa told you to get to know him, she suddenly thought, you’d just be following her instructions.
Besides, dinner would be a good place to start to ask questions, like why he and Geoffrey didn’t get along.
And it’s just dinner, after all. You don’t have to go to bed with him again, or anything like that.
She coloured pink as soon as she thought of going to bed with Max again though. Her skin felt warmer and her body tighter, and when she looked back up at him, their eyes locked and she felt a tremor run down her spine.
“All right,” she agreed. “Dinner sounds nice. Happily complicated, right?”
“Right,” Max agreed, a slow smile spreading over his face. “Happily complicated.”