Chapter Twenty
Max
Should’ve texted Rhys back.
I smack myself mentally on my way to work.
Once I finally managed to convince the immigration officer that I was really Maxine Norman—after a near-strip search—I was able to enter the country.
Only then did I realize how suspicious I must’ve looked to the officers.
I’d been out of the country for almost a month, but returned without anything but my purse.
I looked like shit and probably smelled like it.
No wonder they treated me like I was some kind of drug trafficker.
The lack of luggage created a pressing problem of not having anything to wear. I cleaned up as much as possible in the airport bathroom and headed to the office to pick up the two sets of clothes I’d left in my employee locker for the times I have to pull all-nighters.
I stopped by Kaitlyn’s desk and requested two weeks off, since I wasn’t ready to face Rhys yet. Assuming I would ever feel ready. “For what? This is very short notice,” she said, frowning.
“My apartment building burned down while I was out of the country helping Rhys with Beissen and Ohimesama.” I gave her a moment to process that. The part about my supporting Rhys overseas needed to sink in. “I need to rebuy everything, plus find a new apartment. I’m basically homeless right now.”
“Oh, that’s right. That was pretty shitty. Yeah, I guess that’s fine. Just be on call if you can, in case Rhys needs you. Got an update that he’s off to London again. Probably be at least a week.”
Something that felt like relief tinged with a bit of dismay filled my chest. Time away from him to regroup was great, but everything that we left unresolved would still be unresolved.
Things just got pushed back. We still needed to decide what to do about the…
horizontal action that occurred between us.
Could Tokyo be like Vegas? What happens in Japan stays in Japan? No need to bring our interpersonal baggage back to the States and muddy the waters. I need this job more than ever with all the expenses I have due to the fire.
Despite so many failures, one company did me right: Silicone Dream.
Its Year of Finishing First subscription box was waiting on my desk, so I grabbed it along with my clothes and left.
Using the corporate travel portal, I found a reasonably priced motel in a decent area to stay at while I searched for a new apartment.
At least I got one thing accomplished—giving the box to Ailee. But I didn’t wrap my arms around her, wail and cry. She glowed—I’ve never seen her looking so happy. I didn’t want to be a downer, so I just groused about my life a little, then gave her the toys.
Still, even shopping became a chore after losing everything. Because it wasn’t about finding items that I really like, just buying whatever I had to have to function.
At least my Honda Civic survived the fire, thank God.
I just made the final payment on it two months ago.
All the photos and videos of Mom that I wanted to keep survived because I sent them to a studio to be digitized, and they’re still being processed.
A few pieces of Mom’s jewelry went to my aunt, so they’re safe there.
All in all, the fire sucked…but it could’ve been so much worse.
Inhaling and exhaling slowly, I smooth my green dress in the elevator. Although I didn’t text Rhys back when he asked me where I was and all that, he probably figured it out when the HR system sent a notification that I was on PTO.
Still, I should’ve sent him a quick Hey, I won’t be available for two weeks. Thanks! That way, that part of our interaction would’ve been resolved.
He didn’t ping me even once during the time he was back in London, not even to yell at me for taking his passport. I should’ve warned him that I’d taken it by mistake, but now it’s too late.
My level of apprehension is at Olympian heights. When Rhys is this quiet, it means he’s either ready-to-murder-you furious or doesn’t care. And I’d bet both my ovaries the latter isn’t the case.
I place a hand over my churning belly just as my phone pings with an email notification.
URGENT AND IMPORTANT: BENEFICIARY NOTICE FOR A $2B TRUST. All caps.
It’s that scammy asshole again. Some sketchy jerks got my work email last Thursday and started to send me the same ridiculous notice every day.
Looks real legit. There are just sooo many people urgently needing to give me two billion bucks.
I flip the bird at the email. Normally when I get this kind of crap in my personal inbox, it’s the FBI or UN or Bank of America that’s dying to hand over oodles of money, so long as I send them all my personal data.
But the spam coming to my work address? And… the Loomer Heritage Trust?
Apparently, even scams have to remind me of Trevor and gross me out.
I block the address and drop the phone into my bag. The elevator doors open with a soft chime to the vestibule, discreetly painted in a muted sage green. Thick glass double doors sandblasted with the firm’s logo stand before me.
Can’t undo what happened in Tokyo. Gotta focus on what I can maybe control and hope for the best.
I paste on a friendly smile and nod at the receptionist.
She does a finger wave, showing off her new manicure.
“Nice polish.”
“Thank you!” She grins.
See? Just like any other day. Optimism buoying, I stride toward Rhys’s office, feeling more and more confident.
Finn nods at me around his usual mug of coffee.
He’s impeccably dressed in a navy pinstriped three-piece suit and polished shoes.
And a red tie. His work fashion is an almost exact duplicate of Rhys’s. “Hey.”
“Hi.” I smile.
He smiles back, all friendly. There. More evidence. Everything’s fine. When Rhys isn’t happy, Finn always knows about it. This is a good sign.
Damn, all that stress for nothing. My smile widens—
Until I see my laptop bag on my desk with a yellow sticky note on top. YOU ARE WELCOME in all caps is written with a bright red Sharpie. Regardless of what Rhys might’ve told Finn, he isn’t happy, and probably not planning to let it go, either.
Part of me wonders where my carry-on is, but I decide this is not the time to ask. Put on your big-girl panties. Growing up includes facing consequences.
Please, don’t fire me, please don’t fire me, please don’t fire me…
Dread twisting my gut, I open the door with a forced smile.
The corner office is bigger than my own bedroom, kitchen and closet combined—well, when I had an apartment to return to.
Rhys is seated at his huge desk, the morning sun pouring in through the giant windows behind him.
I instinctively bite my tongue as his dominating presence sends an odd frisson down my back.
The sensation unsettles me more than usual, putting me on edge.
I pull myself more tightly together. Gotta be in control.
“Good morning, Rhys.” I grimace inwardly. I was going for the everyday cheeriness, but overdid it. But how can I control how nervous I am? The man radiates gloom, the only cloudy spot in beautiful SoCal.
“Is it?” Adjusting his glasses, he barely looks up from the document in front of him.
“It’s sunny with a current temperature of sixty-five.” I throw out the numbers from the radio weatherman. “What could you possibly complain about?”
“Any number of things. The stock market falling. The yield curve on two- and ten-year bonds not inverting enough. Being abandoned by an assistant who went AWOL in Asia.”
I manage to hold back a wince. I didn’t know what to do and sort of freaked out after waking up next to you naked is on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow it.
It’s honest, but awkward and uncomfortable.
Rhys can’t possibly want that level of sharing.
He’s probably upset that he was professionally inconvenienced by my absence.
“I’m…very sorry about that. I had a life emergency in L.A. Kaitlyn approved my two-week-long PTO.”
“Without consulting me.” He finally drops his pen and gets up, pacing all the way to the office door and then back toward me. He stands close. Very close.
I step back, only to bump into the desk. I place one hand on the edge, then raise the other in a placating gesture between us. It’s also kind of like a shield—for me. “You weren’t available at the time.”
“Oh, right. Of course. I wasn’t in the States, even. Much less the office.”
“Right!” I’m glad he’s kind of agreeing with—
“Because it’s actually rather difficult to enter the country without one’s passport.”
He leans closer until my fingertips press against his hard chest. I smell the faint hint of his soap and cologne—the latter reminds me of seeing him unguarded in the morning before he put on his conquer-the-world mask. A languid warmth seems to stream through me, and my mouth dries.
“What exactly was so urgent?” he murmurs, his gorgeous blue eyes on mine.
Unable to bear the intensity, I lower my gaze, only to settle on his mouth. Watching it move as he speaks isn’t the best thing for my equilibrium because the view reminds me of the way he kissed me, then sucked my nipples. If I removed my fingers, would he dip his head and lean in…?
Or maybe he’s testing to see if I still feel something for his body.
I should’ve stuck to my first impression, that Rhys is the type of guy you ride on your last day at work.
He’s impossible to ignore, but I doubt anything between us is going anywhere productive—certainly not marriage and happiness.
His mouth flattens as he waits for my answer. I struggle to recall what he said, then blurt out, “My place burned down, for one. I needed to find a new apartment and buy some essentials.”
“Took you over three weeks to act on the urgency.”
“Because I didn’t want to leave you high and dry in the middle of the Beissen negotiation! There wasn’t anything I could do about my apartment at that point, except to contact my insurance company. But some things can only be arranged in person. You understand, right?”
His scowl only darkens. Guess that was the wrong answer. But I can’t think clearly when he’s this close.
“And did you accomplish your mission?” His hard voice seems to say if I failed, he might have to punish me.
Oh yes, Bossman. Plunder me like the man you are.
My face burning, I mentally slap my libido for creating an image I really don’t need right now.
“No. A new place is hard to come by, especially anything in my budget. The ones in safe neighborhoods want a kidney, and the ones that fit my budget were either too far from the office or in the kind of area I wouldn’t want to be in, even with a gun in my hand.
” I wish I just had a succinct executive memo to hand him.
Rhys’s eyebrows twitch. “And—”
A sharp ping from his phone interrupts him.
Cursing under his breath, he glances at the screen.
His dark eyebrows instantly snap together, his eyes blazing.
If they could speak, they’d mutter, Fuck, fuck, fuck.
He closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them, they’re empty of emotion, but the tension on his handsome face remains.
“Max, we can discuss this later, but for now, head to Hubby & Wifey and bring me the most expensive and time-consuming coffee they have, in the largest size available, plus a dark cherry Danish. You can also treat yourself to something. Put it on my expense account. Now go.” He waves me off.
What is that about?
Is this some kind of punishment? If so, it’s a fairly easy, if cumbersome, task.
“Is there…a time limit?” He might want an excuse other than “you ghosted me after sleeping with me” to fire me.
He glances up like I’m insane. “No. Make sure to walk there and back. And walk slowly—we don’t need you sweaty.”