Chapter Forty-Eight Gemma
Chapter Forty-Eight
Gemma
Since arriving home after catching up with Henry back at the office, I’ve been counting down the hours until I get to see Max.
My phone beeps from the living room as I swap my glasses out for contacts. I’m determined to actually stick to my rule tonight—I’m coming home to my own flat afterward. As amazing as this afternoon was, it was also extremely confronting. Emotionally, I’m drained.
I couldn’t push him away. Not when he was staring into my soul with those baby blues, like he saw every broken, jagged piece of me and wanted to help glue me back together.
The honesty in his eyes and the tone of his voice made me feel safe, a nervous response so foreign I almost forgot it existed. I think that’s the most dangerous part about all this—not the sex, not that we work together, not even Anna.
I’m beginning to trust Max to hold my heart.
I’ve built my entire life around being the one who needs nothing and no one. Yet, in the space of just over a week, I told Max I was his. And the terrifying part? I meant it.
I pad into my kitchen, make myself a latte with some penis foam art, and grab my phone from the sofa.
Max: Don’t wear any panties.
I smile, my mind already racing with the wicked possibilities.
Me: Is that an order?
His response is immediate.
Max: Yes.
Another message follows shortly after.
Max: I’m looking forward to seeing you.
My cheeks flush and my heart hammers against my ribs. I tap out my response.
Me: You’re only human.
I bite my lip, anticipating his response.
Max: Brat.
I smile and toss my phone aside, sipping my latte while I continue to get ready.
Max never mentioned where he was taking me tonight, but I’m assuming since he’s sending a car, it will be somewhere fancy. Pulling open my wardrobe, I eye the row of lace, silk, and leather, smirking to myself when I spot the perfect dress.
Tight, black, slit up the thigh. Eat your heart out, Max Browne.
My phone rings at seven o’clock on the dot.
I slide my thumb across the screen to answer. “Hello?”
“I’m downstairs.”
My heart does a stupid flutter. “Okay. Coming.”
I will myself to breathe in, hold for four seconds, and release for six before heading out.
When I reach the bottom of the building staircase, I spot Max through the glass door and my carefully controlled breathing turns to shit.
He stands beside a sleek gray SUV with tinted windows. He’s wearing a simple black suit that does everything to showcase his incredible frame. Tall, dark, and commanding.
I step out into the frigid air and make my way over to him.
“Hi,” I say, keeping my voice light and even.
He gives a lopsided grin. “Hi.”
As I move closer, his eyes scan me from head to toe, and he shakes his head. “You’re devastating,” he says.
He offers his hand, which I accept, feeling the warmth of his fingers close around mine as he helps me into the car, sliding in after me.
I cross one leg over the other. The slit in my dress runs all the way up my thigh, revealing just enough freshly shaven skin without risk of exposing my vag.
His eyes track the movement, lingering just where I want them to.
“You look beautiful, Gemma,” he says. His voice has a slight roughness to it.
I smile softly. “So do you.”
The hum of the engine kicks up as the car starts moving, the privacy partition already raised.
“How was your afternoon?” he asks.
“It was good. Everything for the launch party has been finalized and the marketing all rolls out next week. We’re almost set.” I shift slightly in my seat, causing the silk to fall further across my skin and reveal another inch of thigh.
His expression remains cool. “I don’t want to discuss work tonight.” He takes my hand in his, resting it in his lap. His cock is already hard beneath my palm. His other hand moves until his fingertips touch the bare skin of my thigh.
My mouth goes dry as I try to control my breathing.
He drags his fingers higher, taking full advantage of the slit in my dress. My legs part instinctively.
When he reaches the apex of my thighs, my lips separate and my body hums.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he says, his voice dripping with lust.
I whimper when he slides a finger through my folds, finding me soaked and aching.
“Christ,” he groans. “Always so wet for me.”
He pulls his fingers away and brings them to his mouth, sucking them clean while he watches me.
My eyes hood.
“Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and I’ll bend you over the nearest surface,” he says.
Holy. Crap.
The car pulls to a stop at the curb before I can get a word out. The driver opens the door and I climb out after Max, who takes my hand tightly in his and leads me inside.
The restaurant is almost as extravagant as the hotel.
“Booking for Browne,” Max says as we approach the host.
“Right this way, sir,” the waiter says, leading us to a dimly lit corner enclosed with sheer dark curtains. Lanterns dot the room, creating a moody and expensive atmosphere. It’s romantic.
“Can I get you something to drink?” the waiter asks after we’re seated.
I scan the wine menu, somewhat overwhelmed and blown away by the prices. Jesus Christ, I thought Lance’s coffee was overpriced—this wine list is obscene. Eight hundred pounds for an Australian red? What’s it made of?
Max watches me patiently over the top of his menu as I carefully make my selection, deciding on the most expensive by-the-glass Grenache—sod it, I might as well make the most of it. He orders a Shiraz.
“I’ll be back to take your orders,” the waiter says before gliding away, leaving us alone in our little alcove.
I uncross my legs and my dress whispers over my skin. Max’s eyes flicker to the sound and I roll my lips to suppress a smile.
“So. What do you want to know?” I ask.
He stares at me for a beat. “Everything.”
I clear my throat. “How’s Grayson’s eye?” I ask, ignoring the way my insides twist.
Max laughs, and it’s so boyish and relaxed compared to how I’ve previously seen him.
“Much better,” he says.
He goes on to tell me about New York—not just the glossy parts that everyone hears about, but the gritty details. His time at NYU, moving to a new country in his twenties, and how he came to work for Grayson.
When the waiter returns with our wine, we order entrees and mains without breaking conversation.
I’m surprised by how thoroughly I’m enjoying myself.
It isn’t awkward, it isn’t difficult, there aren’t any pauses or silences.
Just interest. I haven’t felt this comfortable on a date in a long time.
In fact, I haven’t been on a proper date like this in years.
This is nicer. And I’m fully prepared to admit that it’s because of the company. For someone who lives such a flashy lifestyle—the penthouse, the luxury hotels, the expensive wine, and hired drivers—Max is surprisingly down to earth.
Most surprising of all? He listens when I speak. And I know that it’s not because he only wants to get in my knickers. He nods and chimes in at all the right moments; we smile and we laugh.
When I tell him about growing up with a single mother, how she worked her arse off to put me through school and uni, his focus is unwavering. He digs deeper into my internship years and when I explain how I met Anna and April, he asks thoughtful questions.
“What’s your favorite thing about working at Prestige?” he asks.
I lift a brow. “I thought we weren’t talking about work tonight.”
“I’m not asking about the job,” he says. “I’m asking what you like.”
I roll my eyes. It’s a technicality and we both know it. “Lance.”
His brow furrows. “Your barista?”
I nod. “Yeah. He’s there every morning without fail.
Always smiling. No matter how early it is or how dead I look.
On the days when I’m stuck at my desk watching the clock, or Louise is being her usual cunty self—” He laughs.
“I think of Lance. He reminds me that it’s not all meant to be this serious. Life’s about the little things.”
He hums in agreement. “It’s a fine quality.”
“He told me once that he makes his coffee with love,” I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. “Said it was the secret ingredient.”
But my smile fades as quickly as it came.
“He’s always come across as so happy, so optimistic,” I murmur.
“But the council hiked his rent. That’s why his prices have gone up.
I know he’s struggling to keep up with the expenses, and I’m terrified I’ll walk past one morning and his kiosk will be boarded up.
I feel like it’s only a matter of time…”
There’s a pause. Max’s hand finds mine across the table.
“I’m sure he loves seeing your smile as much as you love seeing his,” he says gently.
I take a sip of my wine.
“And how did you get into crystals and tarot?” he asks, swirling his wine, his eyes amused.
“Doom-scrolling on TikTok,” I deadpan. “One of my neighbors was so loud I could hear her from across the hall. I was desperate for quiet, I tried a freezer spell.”
He blinks. “What the fuck is a freezer spell?”
“You write their name on a piece of paper, stick it in water, and freeze it to shut them up. But whether it was a coincidence or not, I never heard a peep from her again.” My gaze drifts as I think. “Shit. Come to think of it, she was pretty old.” My eyes widen. “I hope she didn’t die.”
His eyes light up as he laughs.
“Oh, piss off,” I say, joining him. “You haven’t told me what you do for fun,” I press, leaning in.
My dress shifts with the movement and I’m reminded of what I’m not wearing underneath.
“You know I like to read. I told you about my tarot cards and crystals. You have to give me something.” I take another measured sip, enjoying the earthy flavors as the wine coats my mouth.
He shrugs. “I like to work out.”
I gag. “Oh God. That’s positively horrendous.”
“What? It’s good for you.”
“People always say that,” I huff.
“Because it’s true.”
“So is a pap smear, but you don’t see me jumping to book my next appointment.”
He raises his glass to his lips, grinning. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss it, you might enjoy it.”
“What? Pap smears?”
He laughs. “Exercise.”
I shoot him an incredulous look before taking another sip. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Travel,” he says, placing his wine back down.
“What?” I ask, lowering my glass.
“I like to travel. Not for work, but for me. There’s something about getting on a plane and leaving everything behind—the pressure, the expectations. I like that you can land in a new place where no one knows you. No one needs anything from you… and for a moment, you just exist.”
I watch him quietly.
“My whole life is structured. I’m constantly in and out of boardrooms, my weeks planned out months in advance. But travel? I don’t need to know what’s going to happen next. I can wake up one day and have the freedom to do anything. I can breathe.”
I tilt my head. “I get that. I can’t imagine the sort of pressure your role entails.”
“I love my job,” he says, and I believe him. “I love working with Grayson. But I crave spontaneity.”
“That’s surprising,” I admit. “I thought you’d have everything planned down to the minute.”
His lips quirk. “Only in business.”
I nod, another question tugging at the edge of my mind. Before I can stop myself, I ask it. “Is that why you haven’t had a relationship since Casey?”
His jaw tenses, just briefly, and I worry I might have pushed too far. But he doesn’t shut me down.
He taps the base of his wine glass. “I told myself if I ever got serious again, it would have to be with someone who gets it. The pace. The ambition. The way I live.”
His eyes lift to mine. “My equal.”
And I swear—I forget how to breathe. My mind replays his words from this afternoon.
Because I think you want to see me too.
And I do.
I see him.
The verbal foreplay has been so intense, the more he talks, the more attractive he is.
By the time we finish our meal and the waiter slides the bill onto the table, I’m thrumming with need. Every time I adjust my legs, the cool air brushes between my thighs. I press my legs together, seeking friction—anything—to take the edge off.
Max catches my eye as he returns his credit card to his wallet, and his knowing look nearly undoes me.
He knows. Of course he knows. He’s been watching me wiggle in my seat all evening.
And judging by the way his gaze darkens as he stands and helps me from my chair, he’s every bit as desperate as I am.
“Come back to mine,” he commands.
“I’m wearing my contacts.”
His lips curve and he threads his fingers through mine like he’s already decided.
“Fine. Yours it is.”