Max Bauer’s Second Chance (Love in Penrose Beach #6)

Chapter 1

MAX

I’m thirty-two years old, and I’m running away.

No bandana tied to a stick. No walking barefoot down a highway while sad music plays in the background.

My version involves delayed flights, an overpriced rental car, and a desperate need to figure out what I’m doing with my life before I end up trapped in it forever.

I’m so used to commanding presence in a boardroom and making sure the company my grandfather built succeeds—or far exceeds—expectations, that now I’m lost when it comes to anything outside of that sphere.

It’s giving hamster-rolling-around-in-its-ball energy. A never-ending circle of the same things, like the movie Groundhog Day. At least it was until my father, Wolfgang Bauer, showed up at my front door in a three-piece suit and looking as though he could wield thunder.

He only makes those kinds of appearances when my world is about to come crashing down. Like the visit he made at the beginning of my junior year to give me my new list of classes because he’d changed my major from computer science to business administration.

And my sophomore year of college, when he came to tell me that Opa Vogel, my mother’s father and one of my best friends in the world, had passed away.

Or the last time he’d been at my flat in Munich before I moved to New York to tell me he was giving me control of the company after the heart attack that almost took his life.

This situation is a more figurative crash, but hasn’t finished its full journey yet. Maybe it will be more deadly in the long run, depending on which way I lean.

It’s why I left.

I’ve been the head of our family’s company for the last eight years, and in that time, I can only remember a handful of moments when I wasn’t either studying something about the business or flying somewhere to put out fires.

Those were relatively simple, and at least they were within the scope of what I saw as the responsibilities of my position.

My duty as the one taking care of the Bauer family legacy.

But marriage? No, an arranged marriage? That shouldn’t be required of the CEO of Alder Haus Markets.

It’s the twenty-first century, and I should be allowed to pursue a woman who would complement my life, not drain the energy from it.

One who wants to be with me for me and not for the money she can spend.

And that’s what Victoria will do. Worry about being seen by the world instead of seeing me.

And that’s why I snapped and left New York. I need time away from all the stressors in my life to make sure I’ve got a clear head before accepting or rejecting my father’s demands.

Am I against marriage?

No, I’d love to settle down someday, but it almost needs to be recorded like an appointment on the calendar.

8:00 a.m. Board meeting

12:00 p.m. Meeting with investors

5:00 p.m. Dinner with my future wife

If only it were that easy. My workday typically ends closer to eight or nine at night, and I usually head straight back to my penthouse apartment after, needing to recharge for the next day.

Being set up is probably the only way I’d be able to find someone and get married at this point, but I’ve heard so many horror stories about online dating. I figured it would be from an app or an online platform, not from my sixty-year-old father.

I don’t like either option.

I don’t drink, so I rarely go out, and I’m the worst at small talk. My personal résumé needs an overhaul, apparently.

“Maximus, we need to talk,” Wolfgang had said a few dozen hours ago when he showed up at my New York apartment. That he flew from Munich instead of calling is never a good thing.

What came next was two hours of debate. Did I get to talk a lot? Not as much as I wanted.

Words like culture, duty, and legacy were thrown around like candy, only making me feel like a caged animal. So, I pled with him to give me time to think about his major proposition. More like his demand to marry Victoria Meier, daughter of my parents’ longtime family friends.

There are some who would think that’s the start of a good romance story, but it would be a life of nightmares for me.

Wolfgang left around seven Sunday evening, and after getting no sleep, I did the most spontaneous thing I’ve done in nearly a decade.

I booked a ticket to California and left for the airport Monday morning, leaving my most frequently used cards on my kitchen table, along with my phone and keys.

It’ll look like I’m working from home for a few days and at least give me some breathing room.

I haven’t used the card for the one company I have separate from my family’s business, so this will be the perfect opportunity to go under the radar.

Where is the last place my family would ever look for me?

Penrose Beach, California. Not that they would know where it is. I didn’t either until I looked up flights.

At least, that was my first thought when trying to find a remote destination.

I’m crammed into a small, compact car I struggled to rent because I wasn’t in the right frame of mind. Why are there so many options these days? I need to give my assistant a raise after this for all he takes off my plate.

Did I think through all my plans before getting on a plane for the opposite coast?

No. No, I didn’t.

It wasn’t the smartest thing, but I panicked, okay? It’s been way too long since I’ve booked my own travel, and if I were on a bike, I would’ve crashed at least three times in my attempts to ride again.

“This is what we Bauer men do, son.” Wolfgang’s words are on loop in my brain. “We marry the right person and go on with our lives.”

Maybe I don’t believe in the Hollywood version of love, but his version makes it seem like just another contractual agreement I’d have to sign. That’s at least thirty percent of my job, as I work seventy to eighty hours each week. I don’t want my personal life to be more of the same.

My parents mean well, I think. Then again, they’ve been enjoying the newfound wealth our company has brought to the family since I came back from college.

Now that I’ve broken records and levels they believed were the limit, they’re ready for grandchildren and everything that comes with it. Would I mind being a father? No. But there’s no way I could do that while keeping up the schedule I’ve had for this long.

How many games and events did Wolfgang miss because he was working or had a last-minute meeting? I can still remember every time I held out a little hope he’d be there just to have it put out again.

The ones who were at everything, showing love, support, and every kind of human connection, were my mother’s parents. They would show up even for the one-liner I had in the school production. The celebratory art display.

I don’t think I’ve had that kind of support since they passed.

Now people want to hang out with me for what they could possibly get from me. It feels a lot like dogs waiting around for crumbs. I don’t want anyone to feel like that. I’d prefer they hang out with me because they enjoy my company and not what’s in my wallet.

And so, the idea to run away was born.

Yeah, that sounds ridiculous. Like I came home, got put in timeout or didn’t get my favorite snack, and then I packed my bags and left. But it was the only way to get any relief from the constant barrage of emails and phone calls. The mounting pressure from all sides.

I’m not the most skilled at this sort of stealth thing, but I bought a burner phone just in case I need to contact someone at some point. Even thinking this makes it sound like I’m hiding from the law. In this case, “the law” would be my father.

Traveling without a phone would be hard enough, and I didn’t want to risk not having a map to get to the beach. Typical directions like north and south don’t jive well in my brain.

Just a few days at the beach might help clear my head and give me a better path forward so I’ll know what I should do.

Sick of rehashing my father’s words, I turn on the radio and try to sing along.

“Livin’ on a Prayer” comes on, which seems very fitting for my current situation.

I glance at the directions on the phone. I’m halfway there from the airport.

“Take my hand, we’ll make it I swear,” I sing loud and off-key. I look at the dashboard and notice the gas light is on. Aren’t these supposed to come prefilled when you rent them?

I turn down the music and reach over to search the map app for a gas station on the way, when I hear the slow thunk, thunk of the engine dying.

Apparently, even the meter is wrong.

I groan. At least I went the burner-phone route.

I put the car in neutral and steer it off to the side of the road. It’s not like there’s a ton of traffic right now in late April, and to be honest, the weather is a little cold for a beach this time of year.

My only reference to this place is from my good friend, Aiden Pearson. He’d grown up visiting Penrose Beach and convinced me to buy some property to help save the town a few years ago.

Which is the reason I’m heading there now. It’s somewhere my family won’t think to look for me.

Have I ever seen it in person? No. But I trust Aiden.

I’m still several miles away from town, stuck in a car with no gas.

I pull up the map again, looking for the nearest gas station.

Five miles away. Well, it could be worse.

I guess I’ll be able to walk off the stiffness I always get when I fly.

This is the most unplanned trip I’ve ever taken in my life, but even stranded on the side of the road feels better than sitting through another conversation about my future.