Chapter Three
Rhys
Silence. My question was probably too abrupt. The fake smile on her face is likely meant to freeze my veins, but it only makes me think of hot, wrinkled sheets and messy things HR would never approve of.
I always assumed singers crooned, “She’s so divine” because “She’s not that bad, with a decent smile and straight teeth” didn’t sell albums. But after Max…I finally understand.
What would it be like to see her emerald eyes glazed with passion as she gazes up at me, her copper hair spilling across my pillows?
Would she moan if I ran my hands along her soft curves?
Maybe she’d bite her lip, in which case, I’d push her harder.
Eliciting a moan when she was trying to be quiet would be hot.
I hired her after glimpsing an irresistible hunger and drive burning in her eyes.
The others had better résumés, but lacked the intangible qualities that drew me in.
They seemed too comfortable where they were.
And once again, my instinct was proven correct.
With some training, she’s turned into the best assistant I’ve ever had, working with focus and aggressive efficiency.
Wonder if she’s like that in bed too. Or if she’s the type to be more malleable and relaxed, letting go of the control she’s held on to all day long.
Not that I’ve given in to the urge to find out, since she’s had a series of boyfriends, none of them worthy as far as I could tell.
I would’ve known otherwise. You can’t hide a sneeze or being in love.
Even my mother sighs with despondency after leaving a particularly talented boytoy.
But Max? She just throws herself into work with laser focus.
Why did she ever bother with those men, anyway? Surely it isn’t out of boredom. I give her plenty of mission-critical tasks to fill her waking hours. Hell, I even torpedo her plans occasionally—intentionally—and she always chooses to do the overtime rather than be with any of her boyfriends.
At the same time, she won’t stay single even for a week. It’s like she’s demonically possessed to date, even though she doesn’t seem like the type who can’t tolerate being alone. She has no problem spending a weekend on her own because her boyfriend’s out of town for work.
Regardless, she could do better than her current man.
Some kind of consultant that she brought to the firm’s Christmas party last year.
In his late twenties, slicker than snake oil.
Brown eyes to go with brown hair. Slightly pale—probably spends most of his time billing clients.
Average body, average height, average off-the-rack suit, undoubtedly bought on sale.
His face is acceptable, with acceptably formed features and extraordinary cheekbones—I recall the last detail grudgingly.
Still, how in the world does he deserve to date Max?
A man needs more than cheekbones to be worthy.
Like abs at least. And a brain. Maybe some success.
He probably doesn’t have parents who greet his girlfriend with virtually naked sidepieces. That’s a huge advantage.
At least I don’t cheat. I’m pretty sure I saw him with another woman last month at Morton’s.
Didn’t look like a business dinner. A dress that plunged to her navel, the way she was leaning way too close…
and the shit-eating smirk he wore, that of a guy who knew he was going to get laid.
The only reason I haven’t said anything to Max is that I’m not one hundred percent certain it was him.
It had been five months since the Christmas party, and I was on my way out with an audit team after an early dinner, so I couldn’t take time to really observe.
Regardless, my instinct says her boyfriend is a scumbag, and my gut’s pretty accurate about things like this.
An acquired skill after dealing with so many of my parents’ partners.
People like that, no matter how innocent they appear, give off certain vibes.
You just have to know how to detect ’em, something Max is obviously incapable of.
Finally, I cock an eyebrow. “Well?”
She shrugs. “You heard the kissing noises just this morning.”
I almost grimace. “And? You both seem perfectly fine not seeing each other for a while. How much feeling can you possibly have for that kind of person anyway?”
“If I hadn’t had to accompany you here, to Tokyo, I would’ve been in L.A.
by now.” Her tone remains calm while her smile grows tight.
“We have to be fine or we would’ve broken up.
He’s busy too, so it isn’t like if I’m not around, he’s just moping alone in his apartment.
” Her gorgeous green eyes shine with affection and respect—the fact that both are directed at her boyfriend is highly annoying. “We’re very career-minded.”
“Ha. Making kissing noises and whining about needing to spend birthdays together.”
“Birthdays should be celebrated.”
I shudder. Dad said the same thing before he totally traumatized me on my fourteenth birthday. Thankfully, I slapped him down so my brothers were spared. “Just another day, nothing special. You’re a year older, so work faster.”
She gives me a daggered look. “You can work hard and have a life, too. People aren’t, like, born to work.”
“The phrase you’re looking for is destined to build an empire, which Slick—Jeffrey”—I sneer the words—“doesn’t have the ambition or capability for.”
“Just because he doesn’t want to be a billionaire doesn’t mean he’s incapable. He’s very good at his job…and everything else. He’s perfect.”
Thank God I didn’t touch any of the dreck the airline insisted was food.
Otherwise, I’d be puking. The image from Morton’s comes back to me.
My instinct says it most definitely was Slick—he has a sidepiece, or else Max is the sidepiece.
Both possibilities make my blood boil for reasons I can’t quite pinpoint.
My voice grows tense. “Then he can be understanding and let you play my girlfriend for a couple of months. Tell him it’s for your career. ”
The second the words slip from my mouth, I wince inwardly.
I was going to ask her to find me a fake girlfriend to get my grandmother off my back, but said the wrong thing.
Must be the whiskey I had on the flight or the lack of sleep.
The seat was too cramped for me to rest properly.
I should take it back, but now that I’ve said it, I’m interested in Max’s reaction.
“What?” she rasps, then glares at me.
Why is she annoyed? Fake-dating me wouldn’t be that bad—or would it?
“Is this over the high school kid you got pregnant?”
Max saw that, too? Jesus. Who hasn’t seen that damn article? My fist clenches tighter around the phone as it vibrates again. Not checking yet another message from Grandmother. “All lies. It wasn’t me. Never even heard of her. The sperm her egg got to tango with wasn’t mine.”
“She seemed awfully sure. Not that I’m, you know, judging.”
I grind my teeth. “No photo, nothing. The only thing she got right is that I’m older than her—obviously—and was good in bed. Got paid to smear me, undoubtedly.”
“If she wanted to smear you, she would’ve claimed you weren’t any good.”
I wave a hand listlessly. “There has to be at least some limit to one’s lies. Nobody would believe that.”
“If you say so.”
Her skepticism makes me want to grab her and kiss her until she’s breathless and soft in my arms, just to demonstrate how wrong she is.
If she weren’t already dating some average Slick, I might just go ahead and do it, the hell with HR regulations.
But it’s my firm policy never to touch a woman who’s with somebody else.
I’d rather dance naked in Times Square on New Year’s Eve than be like my parents.
Max’s eyes darken in the car. Or perhaps it’s the shades playing tricks on me. “So if you didn’t do it, why the story? Who hates you that much?”
I bark out a laugh. “Oh, it’s a long list. Success invites jealousy.”
“Uh-huh. No wonder you can’t wear T-shirts. Hard to get that swelled head through such a small hole.”
“My ego’s healthy, not inflated.”
“And if you had nothing to do with her, why do you need me to play your girlfriend? Not that I’d do it,” she adds, enunciating each word clearly.
“Because my grandmother is freaking out.” She wants me to marry a “respectable woman” to quell the scandal, except her idea of a respectable woman is somebody just like her.
Marrying the younger version of her would be my idea of life gone wrong.
I don’t bother to mention the thousand messages I’ve gotten from my parents.
Max would never believe they’re that concerned.
They live to create scandals. Mainline them like crack.
They probably hold ownership stakes in all the trashy celeb and society gossip sites because they alone have to be responsible for at least half the traffic those sites get.
“Well, I sympathize,” Max says, sounding completely unsympathetic. “But I can’t betray my boyfriend.”
Acid pools in my belly. That asshole doesn’t deserve Max’s devotion, especially when he’s fucking around behind her back. My gut’s certain of it, and I might as well tell her. “What if he’s already betraying you?”
She stares at me. “Jeffrey? No way.”
“I think I saw him with another woman a few days before we left for London.” There, it’s said. Now the ball’s in her court. Dump him.
“You need to update your prescription.” Max jerks her chin at my glasses. “He was in Charlotte that week on a project. We had to cancel our movie date because it was an emergency.”
“A sexcapade disguised as work. Don’t be na?ve, Max.”
She shakes her head. “That’s pretty low, attacking someone you barely even know. He’d never do it. I’d stake my annual bonus on it.”
Her staunch defense smacks me down. Was I mistaken? She’d never wager her annual bonus otherwise. She loves money.
Guess she loves Slick just as much, if not more.