Chapter Six
August 13th, 5:02 p.m.
M ax drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, matching the steady folk rhythm flowing through his speakers. The acoustic guitar and raw vocals carried a wistful melody that matched his mood—light and full of possibility. Working on the indoor garden for the Thompson house was the part he most looked forward to each day. Some of it was the challenges the job presented, but mostly it was Paloma. They didn’t work side by side or even see each other every day, but catching glimpses of her dark hair swinging as she bent over design boards, or hearing her laugh echo through the half-finished rooms had become the highlights of his over-packed schedule.
Earlier that morning, she’d stopped by his office with a question and coffee—fixed exactly how he liked it. They’d talked and tweaked their design vision, making it even stronger. Then somehow, they’d gotten on the topic of music and learned they had the same taste.
He turned up the volume of a band they both loved. Would she want to go to a concert, or was that crossing some professional line?
He turned into his driveway, stopping next to a sleek black Mercedes that didn’t dare have a speck of dirt on it. Shit, had he forgotten Drake was in town? He opened his glovebox and retrieved his phone. There were a few missed calls and text messages from his brother.
Drake: Why do you even have a phone?
I’m in town for work
Used the hidden key to get inside your place
Max: Says the brother who doesn’t bother calling until he’s on his way and just expects me to be at home waiting for him.
Honestly, he was happy. It had been nearly a month since his brother had visited.
Drake: Good point
Right below that message was a new one from Paloma.
Paloma: I figured out the Thompsons. They’re swingers. I’m 90% sure.
He laughed, getting out of his truck. It wouldn’t surprise him, given some of the things he’d seen in the home.
Max: Why
Paloma: Their new door knocker.
A photo of an upside-down pineapple appeared under the message.
Uh-oh. He laughed under his breath.
Max: You’re right
How do you know about the pineapple
Paloma: Urban Dictionary. How do you know about it?
Instead of answering the question, he typed.
Max: They also asked for a lot of pampas in the garden…
Paloma: So?
Max: Keep googling
“Drake?” he called.
“I’m in the kitchen. ”
Taking off his work boots, he cut through the spacious living room, passed the formal dining room with its layer of dust, and through the open repurposed barn doors. Drake sat at the round table. Besides his blue eyes, they didn’t look much like brothers. He took after their mom with blonde hair and slightly thinner lips. Not to mention, he wore a tailor-made suit. Nothing in Max’s closet was custom-made.
Drake was tapping away on his laptop, drinking Max’s last ginger beer. Papers, a laptop, and a portable printer covered every bit of space on the table.
“Dude, make yourself at home,” Max griped, even as his smile widened and they hugged. It had been too long.
“What?” Drake shrugged. “You weren’t home. And it was either get some work done or snoop. I figured I wouldn’t find anything exciting, so I went with work.”
“Says the workaholic.” Max opened the fridge. “How long are you staying?” His phone dinged, and he pulled it from his pocket. Leaning against the counter, he read it.
Paloma: Shit. I have pampas grass and a cute gnome on my back porch
He laughed. The three dots danced on the bottom of his screen. Disappeared. Just as he was about to return his phone to his pocket another text appeared.
Paloma: Why do you know so much about the swinging lifestyle?
This conversation was already veering out of work-appropriate topics. This wasn’t the first time. There’d been nothing sexual, just joking and teasing, but more like flirty friends than acquaintances and work partners. Still…
Max: TV and books
Paloma: I don’t believe you .
He grinned, even knowing they were blurring lines.
Max: I don’t want to get in trouble with HR
Paloma: We don’t work for the same company. And there is no HR. Spill, London
He hesitated for half a second, then answered.
Max: I had an interesting girlfriend from Chicago a few years back
Paloma: My mind just exploded. Nice guys aren’t supposed to have swinging girlfriends.
Max: I’m a nice guy?
Paloma: Yup. But don’t change the subject. Did you try it?
Max tapped the heel of his socked foot. This was way out of business partner territory . . .
Paloma: Spill Maxwell
Paloma: Did I ever tell you my nephew’s name is Maxwell?
Max: Nope ??
Max: But I’m Maximilian - not Maxwell
Paloma: Are you kidding???? That’s your name???
Max stared at his phone. What was the big deal?
Max: Yeah. I’m named after my grandpa
Paloma: I read on Urban Dictionary the name means big penis in Russian
He choked on a sip of water. Laughing, he shook his head.
Max: It’s good to know Urban Dictionary has factual information
Paloma: Your new nickname is Big P
He snorted. Taking a sip of water, he swallowed it and his grin.
Max: Absolutely not
Max: And I’m telling HR
Paloma: We still don’t have HR. And you aren’t my employees or vice versa
Paloma: Now stop changing the subject
Paloma: Big P
Paloma: Did you swing?
He rubbed his forehead with this palm. This conversation had spiraled way out of professional territory. No since stopping now.
Max: Once
Paloma: My mind just exploded! ??
Paloma:Again.
Max: Don’t worry, I moved back into my nice guy lane.
Max: I like experimenting, but it wasn’t for me. It was a one-time thing.
“Are you dating someone?” Drake asked.
“Huh?” Max looked from his phone. He’d forgotten about his brother. “No. Why?”
“Because whoever you’re texting is making you smitten smile.”
“‘Smitten smile,’” Max muttered, sliding his phone into his pocket. “No. I was chatting with a business partner of sorts.”
“Of sorts?”
“It’s temporary. A single job.”
“Explain,” his brother said.
He told him about Paloma and the Thompson project. Drake took a long pull from his glass bottle, hooking an arm over the back of his chair. “She, huh? Interesting . . .”
“That’s all you heard?” He pushed off from the counter and opened a cupboard, grabbing a glass. “Anyway, what has you leaving Detroit and working out here?”
“I alre ady told you this,” Drake sighed. “But you were too busy ignoring me and sexting your business partner. A company from overseas is expanding to Michigan. I’ll be here for a week but will be returning on and off for the next few months until the job’s completed.” He tapped his index and middle finger on the table then stopped, seeming to notice his nervous tic. “I thought while I was in the area, I could stay with you.”
“You don’t want to stay with Mom?”
“I’d rather visit with my little brother. Or do you not want me here because your—” he made air quotes— “‘work partner’ might visit you late at night.”
Max snorted. “The better question is, are you dating someone and that’s why you want to stay with me?”
Drake rolled his eyes, his corporate veneer slipping a little. “No.” Then he grinned. “But I might want to make a few trips down memory lane with my favorites.”
“Fine. If you’ll be coming and going, just take the key you used to get inside.” He took another drink of his water. “I wish you’d told me late last week you’d be spending most of the summer here. I wouldn’t have accepted Paloma’s offer.”
“Oh, Paloma. Is that your w—”
He’d started with the air quotes again and Max swatted his brother’s hands. “Asshole, we’re work partners.” Although, the more time he spent with her, the less he liked the title.
“Fine, I believe you,” Drake said, sounding the opposite.
Max’s cell buzzed in his pocket, and he checked it. The message was from Paloma, reminding him she was on her way over. “Shit, I need to get in the shower. I’m going to the tree farm with Paloma.”
Drake dipped his chin, looking at Max. “And you need to shower? Won’t you just get dirty again?”
“I’ve been outside all day.” He ran a palm down his sweaty, dirt-streaked shirt. “I probably stink.”
His brother tilted his head. “Is she hot?”
“Why does that matter?”
“That means yes.”
“Again, what does that matter? We’re working together. Not sleeping together.”
“Would you shower if you and I were going to the tree farm?”
No.
“Yes. I’m covered in grime.” Max turned to go.
“It’s a smart move not to mix business with pleasure. Glad to see you’re taking this new venture seriously.”
Leaving the kitchen, Max waved a hand but didn’t answer. What could he say? He wasn’t sure what was the right move: stay professional friends or explore the obvious chemistry. The impulse was to explore, but he’d learned the hard way that impulses led to consequences that rippled far beyond himself. And sometimes, they shattered everything that was solid.
His phone buzzed again, but this time he ignored it.