Chapter Twelve
September 13th, 1:15 p.m.
“ H ey, Sleeping Beauty, you alive?” asked the sultry voice that visited Max’s hottest fantasies often.
Opening his eyes, his heartbeat quickened, and warmth spread through him. Paloma stood a few feet from him on his porch in a summer dress in her signature red that he couldn’t help admiring. The color was stunning on her.
He shook his head. She’s a business partner, not a daydream.
The comfortable rocker squeaked as he stood. He stepped toward her before catching himself and moving back, and grabbing his duffle. “Shit, sorry. I know you wanted to get on the road to beat the rush hour traffic. My plan was to wait here and be ready as soon as you pulled up.” A yawn overtook him, and he covered his mouth, his jaw cracking.
Her brows rose. “Seems like you needed a catnap.”
More like he needed to hibernate. For the last week, he’d been getting up before the sun and working until it set to carve out time for this overnight trip to the Sterling house in Traverse City.
“I’m good,” he lied. “Ready?”
She nodde d and stepped off the porch, walking toward her red car. He slid into the passenger seat and rubbed his eyes, debating whether sleeping the three-hour trip would be rude. He was exhausted, and things between them had shifted since the run-in with Asher. The easy camaraderie they once shared had given way to an uncomfortable formality, leaving an almost palpable tension in its wake. Yet underneath it all, the constant current of attraction was a struggle to ignore.
The only time things weren’t strained was when they talked about work—which was for the best. And that’s what he’d focus on. “Since they’ve asked me to design the landscaping as well, I’ve been thinking about the garden layout. How do you feel about bringing some of the outdoor elements inside? Like extending the natural stone from the patio into the living room.”
“Oh, I love it,” she exclaimed. “Blending the actual outdoors with the interior space would create such a beautiful flow. Can you imagine how stunning it would look, especially with the right lighting?”
Her eyes sparkled with excitement, causing a warmth spread through his chest. Damn, she was beautiful. But she wasn’t his to admire. She was hung up on Asher. The reminder was a bucket of cold water, dousing the spark of desire that had flared in his chest.
“I’m glad you like the idea,” he said, his voice carefully neutral despite his internal conflict. He turned his gaze to the road ahead, hoping the passing landscape would distract him. Silence settled between them, heavy with unspoken words. Or maybe all this angst was one-sided, and she didn’t notice his mood shifts.
The hum of tires on asphalt filled the car, punctuated by the rhythmic click of the turn signal as Paloma merged onto the highway. His eyelids grew heavy, but her voice cut through the white noise. “You know, you’ve got that same faraway look my dad used to get on long drives.”
His sleep y brain jolted awake, curiosity piercing through the fog of fatigue. Dad? She’d mention her mom and siblings but never talk about her dad. He shifted in his seat, turning toward her. The sunlight between the trees cast fleeting shadows across her profile, kissing her cheeks and lips in a hypnotic pattern. “Were you a road-tripping family?”
“No. We were the kind who traveled first class, vacationing where my dad worked.”
“What’s he do?”
“He’s a hospitality design architect,” Paloma said. “He designs luxury hotels and resorts all over the world, creating lavish, one-of-a-kind spaces. His projects took months, sometimes even years. That’s why we’d always vacation where he was working.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by this glimpse into her family life. “That sounds interesting. Did you enjoy it?”
“Mom called it ‘mixing business with pleasure,’ but I think it was more about keeping the family together.”
There wasn’t a change in her body language or facial expression, but he caught a hint of something in her voice—a subtle undercurrent of melancholy that tugged at his heart. The lavish vacations and worldly experiences suddenly seemed less glamorous, tinged with longing. A pang of sympathy tapped at his heart.
A thoughtful silence settled between them, broken only by the steady hum of the engine and the occasional whoosh of a passing car. She merged onto the fast lane and then glanced at him. “What about you?” she asked, her voice quieter, almost hesitant. “What are your parents like?”
That familiar tightness banded around his chest. Images flashed through his mind: his father’s smile, the sound of his laughter in the kitchen, the screaming beep of machines in his hospital room. He swallowed hard, pushing the memories away. How could he possibly explain the weight he carried, the guilt that gnawed at him every time he thought about his family?
Moreover, what were they to each other? Colleagues? Friends? Their attraction was undeniable, but he wasn’t sure if it went beyond physical desire. The thought of baring his soul, of sharing his pain with someone passing through his life, had him hesitating. His dad wasn’t a casual anecdote to chase away boredom during a long car ride.
“They’re . . . my mom and Drake, they . . . we’re all trying to navigate things the best we can. It’s not always easy, but we manage.” He sighed, then said, “It’s complicated. They worry a lot. Especially about me.”
“And your dad?” Paloma asked, her voice gentle, tinged with curiosity and concern.
His gaze remained fixed on the passing landscape, his jaw tightening. After a moment, he replied, “He . . . he’s not with us anymore.”
Her quiet gasp filled the car, and a moment later, her small hand covered his. He turned his and squeezed before letting go, even though he wanted to keep holding her. He was ridiculous—into a woman who wasn’t interested in him.
“What happened?” she asked.
“Heart failure.” The words dropped like stones. His fingers drummed once, twice on the steering wheel. He couldn’t bring himself to unpack all those memories, not here, not now. “It was a long time ago. I was a freshman in high school.”
“That’s when you moved to our town, right?”
“Yup, second semester. I met Asher through Jackson in Biology. He’s the reason I got into landscape architecture. Sort of. He got me a job working at his family’s construction company, but I was more interested in the designing the outside than inside. I spent my free time sketching landscape ideas for the sites we were working on.”
He paused , a faint smile tugging at his lips, recalling those early days with Jeff. “It started with doodles, but then a landscape architect the homeowners had hired came across one and loved it. He hired me, then mentored me, and later, sold his business to me when he retired.”
She turned in her seat. “His name was also Max?”
The question caught him off guard like he’d missed a step. “No . . . his name’s Jeff.”
“But your company is MaxScape Designs.”
A chuckle escaped him. “Oh, well it was kind of a pain to change names, but the inner kid in me couldn’t resist.”
She grinned. “It is perfect.”
His shoulders relaxed as he continued, more comfortable with this topic. “What about you? How’d you end up in your field?”
As she shared her career journey, the miles slipped by unnoticed. Their conversation flowed easily from one topic to the next, with professional anecdotes giving way to more personal stories and shared laughter. The tension that had lingered between them since the start of their trip slowly dissipated, replaced by a growing sense of camaraderie.
Lost in their discussion, he almost missed the “Welcome to Traverse City” sign as it came into view. The long drive had passed in a blink. He glanced at her relaxed smile. The carefully maintained professional boundary he’d been so aware of at the start of their trip had softened without him noticing.
Her smile faltered, and she twisted in her seat, glancing at the welcome sign. “Oh, shit. I was supposed to call him when I was a half hour from his place.” She said then asked the Bluetooth in her car to call Felix. Her brother answered on the second ring, and Paloma said in a rush, “Sorry, Flea. I’m ten minutes from your house.”
“Perfec t,” came a deep male voice for the speakers. “Fence would love to see you.”
Max glanced at Paloma and caught her rolling her eyes. He asked, “Who’s that?”
She shook her head and said quietly. “I’ll tell you later.” Then said louder, “Seriously, Felix, hanging out with criminals? What does Abigail think about that? Or your customers?”
“One,” her brother began, but another guy with an even deeper voice cut in, “Darling, you wound me.”
“Ugh, Flea, take me off speaker,” Paloma demanded.
“One, he was an alleged criminal,” her brother began again. “He was never arrested.” Another pause and murmurs rose, then Felix amended, “Okay, never convicted. Two. Abigail suggested I hire him to help him toward a different career path. He’s no longer selling stuff that fell off the back of the truck. He drives the truck. He’s my luxury courier. I’ve needed someone like Fence since I connected with a guy in Detroit who rebuilds and refurbishes large antique pieces. His items are in high demand with a lot of my clients.”
Paloma’s brow furrowed. “Is that code for something, luxury courier? You’re not doing anything illegal, are you?”
Felix laughed, “Sister, I’m offended.”
“And my family would murder him. They’d bury him next to Hoffa,” interjected a woman with the polished cadence of a prep school education.
“That’s true,” Paloma muttered, then said, “Anyway, I could drop Max off at his friend’s first, then come over. That should give you time to finish whatever you’re doing.”
“Oh, he’s still with you?” her brother asked. “Bring him. We’re playing cards and need even numbers.”
“Or,” rumbled another man—probably the criminal Max was growing to dislike. “Drop him off. I’ll sit out the game. I’d much rather get caught up with you, pretty lady”
Max bristled at the man’s blatant flirting. Turning to Paloma, he blurted out, “You know, I love cards.” The words tumbled out before he could stop them. Sure, he hadn’t touched a deck in years, but that was beside the point.
“Great, see you in a few. Love you, sis.” Felix hung up.
Not wanting to look closely at why he threw his plans with Jamie out the car window, he asked, “Why do you call your brother Flea?”
“To annoy him. When he was little, I convinced him he was named after mom’s scrawny cat from her childhood, who always had fleas. He threw a fit, tears and screaming, all of it. Mom thought it was funny. Dad was less amused since I told Felix the story during an unveiling of one of his resorts.” She shrugged. “Since then, I’ve called him Flea.”
Max snorted. “He must love that.”
She grinned, and the devil behind it was adorable. “I think he hated his high school nickname more.”
“Which was?”
“Alley Cat because he was a bit of a slut,” she said with a hint of fondness in her voice. Max burst out laughing. “He grew out of that in college. And now he’s blind to anyone who isn’t Abigail. You’ll see how he looks at her—like she hung the moon and stars. He’s so completely, utterly in love with his girlfriend that it’s almost sickening how sweet they are together. But mostly, it’s just beautiful to see him so happy and devoted. You’ll get to meet her this evening.” Paloma’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel. The car slowed as her foot eased off the accelerator. “Speaking of tonight, are you sure about coming over? Your friend won’t mind?”
He avoided the question, asking his own. “Who’s Fence?”
She sighe d, facing the street. “Remember when I told you about the guy I took home who stole from me?”
“Yeah . . .” He forced his voice to stay even though the mention of another man getting to touch Paloma and then hurting and humiliating her made him want to do violence.
“Fence is his nickname. I don’t actually know his real name,” Paloma admitted. “Well, with his contacts, he helped me get back what was stolen.”
“Ah,” Max said. Well damn, now he couldn’t hate the man. “As for my friend, Jamie and I don’t have a set time.” That was a lie. He was expected in the next hour or so. But there was no way he was leaving Paloma with her knight in tarnished armor.