Chapter Ten
Rhys
The executives get over their pearl-clutching moment once I explain that Max’s phone was hacked and she’s been receiving a lot of strange scam messages since arriving in Tokyo. “She clicked one of those links by mistake. Very regrettable.” I lay it on thick, shaking my head.
A man who looks old enough to be in the Guinness Book of World Records says, with paternal concern, “You have to be careful these days.”
Max nods with a small, contrite smile, shooting a grateful look in my direction. “Thank you.”
I’m glad Max’s feeling more comfortable, and relieved she was too embarrassed to ask how I know about love hotels.
I had to clean up a mess Mom and Dad made once.
After them, the hotel supposedly made a rule that said, “NO ANIMALS.” Dad was eager to share the titillating details, but I shut him down.
Nobody wants to know what their parents did to have the establishment implement a policy like that.
But Max still splits my focus. I can’t quit thinking about the thong underneath her dress.
It’s like it’s wrapped around my neck, cutting off the blood flow to my brain.
Thankfully, I’ve done this kind of deal countless times, and none of the Japanese execs asks any really difficult questions.
I more or less wing it, talking on autopilot, drawing on the prep work I did before.
And Max conducts herself superbly for the rest of the day. Atta girl.
The wagyu omakase dinner serves more sake than food, but that doesn’t faze her one bit. Good food and alcohol put a lovely rose glow on her already pretty face.
By the time we return to the hotel, it’s a little after ten thirty. Housekeeping has folded the extra blanket and laid it on the bench. Max glares at the floor with her mouth tight, then turns to the couch in the living room.
“That one won’t be any better than the floor,” I say.
“The three-inch cushions barely provide any support. Besides, it’s too short for you.
Like I said last night, you’re going to have to curl up like a shrimp to fit.
Not only is your neck going to be out of alignment, but your lower back and hips will hate you come tomorrow morning. ”
She scrunches her face and shudders.
“Unless you want me to do another back cracking—”
“No!”
I smirk. “You’re going to need it.”
She shakes her head. From the way her cheeks flush, she’s remembering the garment mishap from the morning. Hell, I’m recalling it too, and my dick is getting harder.
“But the bed…” Her eyes slide to the white expanse of tightly stretched sheets and a blanket. Sadly, the mattress doesn’t look any bigger than yesterday.
“You don’t have to lay out pillows flat. You can have them stand like this.” I place them, so the long side is touching the mattress.
She purses her mouth as they flop left and right. “They aren’t staying put.”
“If we’re both lying down, they will because our bodies will provide, uh, structural support.”
A long sigh. “This is ridiculous. The hotel needed to at least give us a bigger bed if they couldn’t manage two rooms.”
“But this is what we have. We can either cry or solve the problem. Be flexible. I’m not sleeping on the edge of the mattress and falling off. I need a good night’s rest before another early meeting tomorrow. We also have to prep for Zoom calls with the investors. Pete confirmed his attendance.”
She nods, dissatisfaction darkening her eyes.
“I’m trying, but there’s nothing more I can do unless you come up with a better solution yourself.” I spread my hands and shrug.
“I know. I’m not ungrateful. It’s just…” She sighs. “There’s hardly any horizontal space between us.”
I glance at the floppy pillows. “Horizontally challenged, but vertically endowed.”
She lets out a soft chuckle. “This isn’t what I thought my first trip to Tokyo would be like.” She sounds almost wistful.
“Most things don’t go as planned. Keeps therapists employed.”
She shakes her head. “You’re such a cynic.”
“Life lessons. You have to be emotionally and intellectually unaware to stay optimistic after thirty.” Especially if you have a life like mine.
Her phone vibrates. She checks the message, then gives me a strange look. “Are you supposed to meet with your grandmother this Saturday?”
“How did she get your number?” I’ve avoided giving her Max’s contact info, even though she asked. Nothing good can come of Grandma knowing how to reach Max.
“It’s Camilo.”
Great. Camilo, Mom’s so-called assistant—more like a boytoy she keeps under the respectability of “assistant.” If the man knows how to open a Word doc, I’ll eat a garden snail—raw.
He generally flirts his way out of any trouble with Mom, but can’t do that with Grandma, who has the sense of humor of a rock—unyielding and stern.
“Tell him I’ve fallen a victim to a massive international murder conspiracy involving blowfish toxin. ”
“But your grandmother—”
“Can wait until I’m not dying.”
Max’s phone vibrates again.
“Ignore that,” I order her.
“Can’t. It’s part of my job.”
“Camilo’s never been part of your job.”
“He has since I started working for you. Every time you ignore your parents, their assistants try me.”
“Ugh. Block them all. I’m not paying you to waste your time on them.
” I pick up my phone. I’ve muted all notifications from my parents, grandmother and all their assistants.
Why can’t they accept that I’m not interested in dealing with the nonexistent “pregnant girl scandal” or their attempts to disrupt my life from sixteen time zones away?
–Me: Jeremiah Huxley’s handling it right now. Wait for her update.
Then I copy and paste the exact same message to everyone else. Not starting a group chat with them. Might as well hand over a cock-shaped cactus to a bunch of sadists and bend over.
–Dad: When is this update happening? Is this going to be in person?
–Me: No.
I’m not taking Dad with me, no matter how much he wants some private time with Jeremiah. She tolerates him only because he’s a profitable client. And biddable.
–Czarina: This is hardly the type of event that requires her expertise. She’s a lawyer, not a PR rep.
Ignore.
–Mom: Prescott might be better for this because he’s a man. He could seduce the girl, prove that she’s just looking for her fifteen minutes of fame.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. Prescott Huxley. A man whose marital devotion is legendary. No way is he seducing anybody who isn’t his wife.
–Mom: Besides, why would she want to keep some random stranger’s baby? It’s weird. I only had babies with men who were really nice. Not that I’m saying there’s anything wrong with you, but you CAN be a bit grouchy.
Incredible—Mom honestly has no clue where my “grouchy” personality comes from.
But she is speaking from experience, since one of her pregnancies came from one of her numerous affairs.
Out of the seven sons my parents “raised”—using the loosest definition of the word—she only gave birth to four, including me.
She supposedly freaked out over the fourth, afraid it would make her “tummy look bad,” but Dad coaxed her into it because it was his baby.
He’s awfully attached to his “flesh and blood,” even if he has no desire to actually raise a child.
“You want to change first?” Max asks, pulling me out of my gloomy thoughts.
“No. Go ahead.”
She nods, then slips into the bathroom. She’s probably going to put her barely there top on again. Crap. I should’ve gone first. It’s easier to hide a stiff cock when you’re lying down with a sheet over you.
The impact might not be as intense the second time around. Seeing the same face every day gets stale. People fall in love at first sight, not at hundredth sight.
I pull up a short message from Finn. Sorry to dump not the best news, but the rumor is that there’s another player going after Ohimesama. That’s why their executives and owners were behaving arrogantly. A serious player, capable of financing the deal.
I text him: Who?
–Finn: Dunno. I overheard some lawyer talking about it at a bar. I don’t think he knew I was eavesdropping, but it sounded like he was helping facilitate it. Supposedly, the executives are approaching this with a “forward-looking posture.”
Irritation pierces through me. Why the hell are they wasting my time by withholding information? If something’s giving them pause, they should’ve told me so I could address it.
–Me: Nobody from Ohimesama said anything to me. Bastards.
–Finn: It’s possible they’re trying to get a feel for how we do it versus how the other guy does it. You know how they aren’t crazy about restructuring.
–Me: Another PE?
–Finn: Maybe? But not a whisper about it anywhere.
I scowl. Private equity might seem huge, but it’s much smaller than people expect, with lots of booze-greased gossip flying around. Besides, you can’t hide major due diligence for an international deal like this. And Finn’s well connected.
–Finn: Better not be Calvin.
I can hear the grinding of teeth. Calvin is Finn’s rival in all things—and a complete dick. To make things worse, he’s a fairly capable dick. I’m not a fan, but my dislike stems from loyalty to Finn rather than anything personal.
–Finn: I’ll let you know if I hear anything.
–Me: Thanks. Same.
I plug the phone into the charger, pull off my glasses and run a hand down my face with a sigh.
It’s been a long day. Jet lag is a bitch, although it isn’t so bad once your body is no longer in one time zone.
I turn around, then almost jump at the sight of Max standing on the other side of the bed, her arms crossed.
Her hair falls messily around her shoulders.
She blocks my view of her breasts with arms crossed over her chest, although the top’s still too flimsy to cover her properly.
The placement of her arms pushes the breasts up, forming a stunning cleavage.
She probably has no idea. If she did, she’d never stand there in that pose.
Where did she buy that, now that I think about it? Did she wear it to bed with Slick, too?
The possibility bothers the shit out of me for some reason. Despite what she said about his being in Charlotte that week, I can’t shake the feeling that the guy’s a lying piece of shit.
Maybe you just want him to be.
I scowl. The thought makes me seem like a horrible human being, but at the same time, it’s my policy to be honest with myself.
I want Max to be… What? Not deceived? No.
That’s too simple. But I can’t pinpoint what else is there.
The feeling is too new and uncomfortable—something entirely too dangerous because it isn’t something simple and clean… like lust.
“You want that side?” I say, gesturing at the section near the bathroom door.
“Sure.”
“Okay. Let me change, then we can turn in.”
I head to the bathroom and strip off everything, then put on a pair of boxers. I prefer to sleep naked, but that would freak her out.
By the time I brush my teeth and come out, she’s pushed the cover that was originally on the bed over to my side, and pulled the extra blanket over her. The pillows stand like a fortified castle wall.
Cute. Very cute.
I pad over to my side and slide under the blanket. The mattress molds to my body perfectly, but the bed is definitely snug with the two of us. Gotta take care to not move around too much or I’ll land on the floor. Wouldn’t that be embarrassing?
Dad always sounds full of shit when he says a man’s gotta slay a dragon or two for a woman—and look suave doing it—in order to get laid. Of course, he’d never even get to step up to the plate if he didn’t have money.
But I’m starting to understand where he’s coming from. I don’t want to look silly in front of Max. Not just because I need to establish my authority as her boss, but because I want her to actually admire me for the person I am. The realization is startling—and kind of unsettling.
Not sure when the physical attraction turned to something softer and warmer.
Is it because I’ve seen a glimpse of her vulnerability and foibles?
She always seems so capable and put together.
When she doesn’t know something, she never panics, just calmly asks questions.
She doesn’t let people walk all over her, but at the same time understands when to retreat and cut her losses.
There are whispers around the firm that she must bleed radiator coolant.
She shifts on her side.
I kill the lights and let my body sink into the mattress. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”
“What?” she squeaks.
“The bed.”
“Oh.” A sigh. “Definitely. I won’t be needing my neck cracked tomorrow morning.”
I laugh. “Lucky for you, I’m always at your service.”
“You could go to jail for practicing medicine without a license.”
“There’s the Good Samaritan law…”
She chortles.
“…and you said you wouldn’t sue.”
“For this morning,” she says with a smile in her voice. “Not forever.” She sighs again, sounding wistful. “Nothing is forever.”