Chapter Eight
Rhys
By the time Max steps out of the bathroom, room service has delivered a breakfast for two. Some fresh berries, eggs Benedict and a few croissants with various jams and butter, plus a generous pot of freshly brewed coffee. I’ve noticed that Max likes these items every time we travel together.
I’m glad she took her time. Although jerking off in the shower helped, touching her and smelling her warm, sweet scent rekindled the heat. To say nothing of the inadvertent show she gave me. It took a little while to get back in control.
Max has changed into a fitted violet dress with sleeves that reach her forearms. The conservative neckline barely shows any cleavage, which is a shame.
It’s too bad I wasn’t wearing glasses earlier.
My vision isn’t terrible, but my eyes get dry and tired easily, and won’t focus properly at times.
Unfortunately, they went slightly out of focus when she flashed me.
But I most definitely got a good look at the thong.
And now I feel like Superman, my vision going almost X-ray, creating a good picture of the sexy underwear under the dress.
I swallow, then reach for the ice water.
Max is making me understand why some men obsess over underwear—I didn’t until this morning.
Her hair hangs loose. Probably too painful to put it up like usual. Although I cracked her back pretty thoroughly, this hard floor isn’t forgiving.
My fingertips tingle with the memory of her shoulders and spine under my palms. She was so warm and pliable, like a lazy kitten. The knots felt like golf balls, though.
Although she was skeptical, back cracking isn’t that difficult to do if you know what you’re doing.
I learned the technique when I was in Thailand for several months after breaking up with Selena.
Seemed like a perfect post-breakup thing to travel and be a bum.
A bunch of local ladies came out every day to do massages on the beach.
I got one without fail, and one day I got curious and asked them about back cracking.
One of them showed me how to do it, probably feeling sorry for my being alone for weeks, unlike the other tourists.
Despite the pain in her shoulders and arms, Max has put on perfect makeup. The freckles are gone, unfortunately. She must not know how adorable they are.
I settle down at the table. “Have some breakfast.”
“The hotel offered to comp breakfast down at the buffet,” she says stiffly. She walks like she has a giant stick up her butt, and takes the seat opposite me with a wariness reserved for wild animals.
I stop in the middle of biting into an egg and shoot her a steady look. “Ugh. A buffet breakfast? Really?”
She studies me for a moment. “Guess not.” I can hear a rather catty Your Majesty. She called me that once when she thought I wasn’t listening.
“Exactly.” I pour coffee for us and slide a cup toward her. “The hotel’s going to send someone to pick up our dirty laundry. I bagged mine, and I suggest you do the same. They should be done before we come back.”
She glances at me over the rim of her cup. “Thanks.” A flicker of surprise softens her tone.
Not sure why she doesn’t think more highly of me—I’m not a total bastard.
This trip to Tokyo was abrupt, granted, but I didn’t want to return to the States and deal with less-than-pleased investors—or my grandmother, who’s determined to do something about my personal life—without having all the data.
Asking them to wait is akin to expecting a hungry toddler to shut up and go to sleep.
Pete in particular has been nothing but a pain.
I should’ve never let him be one of the founding investors for the new international market fund Finn and I launched, but he practically begged, saying he needed the best place to park his money.
Of course, as soon as he got in, he shed his humble demeanor and started to act like a dick and make demands about how it should be managed.
He thinks he’s all that because he has some money.
He forgets we all have money. I have enough to buy him out twice and still have quite a bit left over.
Besides, Ohimesama needs a face-to-face, come-to-Jesus moment. The owners are living in delusion, probably because the professional managers they put in place refuse to communicate bad news.
Max nibbles at her breakfast, her back straight. Her eyes roam everywhere but my face. I reach for the butter. She starts to grab a jar of strawberry jam next to it, then jerks her hand back.
“Why so jumpy?”
She shakes her head, still avoiding eye contact.
“If you’re worried about permanent damage, don’t,” I say, trying to get her mind off whatever’s bugging her. “Your back’s fine. I don’t commit medical malpractice.”
She snort-laughs. “I wasn’t going to sue you for ‘medical malpractice.’ I’m just…” She sighs, then rubs her temple. “What happened this morning isn’t something I wanted to have happen with you.” Her eyes flick down.
“I wasn’t wearing glasses, so I didn’t see much.” I shift to make myself more comfortable. My pants are so tight now.
“Enough to know what you saw,” she says dryly.
I sigh. “It wasn’t the first time I’ve seen a naked breast.”
She slaps her hands over her ears.
“I’m thirty-seven,” I add.
“I can’t hear you.” She glares at me, then lowers her hands. “We aren’t discussing anything HR would find wrong.”
“Facts aren’t wrong.” What’s wrong is her erotic thong underneath the prim dress and the image of a perfectly shaped breast that won’t leave my head.
Her grip on the fork tightens. I can tell she’s thinking about bossicide.
I almost smile. This side of her is much better. Max isn’t Max if she’s furtive and jumpy. “What are we doing today? Lay it out for me.”
Relief floods her eyes. “Our car should be here by seven, and we can make it to the Ohimesama HQ before eight,” she says crisply, easily slipping into assistant mode.
“The slides are ready?”
She checks her phone. “Yes. June sent me the files last night.”
June is Finn’s assistant, and more efficient than some of the MBAs we have.
“Good. And the interpreter?”
“Ohimesama said they’ll provide one on site, but we also have ours, although she’ll be mainly taking notes for final confirmations and the firm’s lawyers, so they can properly update the contract as needed.
The morning’s all meetings, and we’ll have factory visits in the afternoon.
Afterward, we have dinner with the CEO, the CFO, and some VPs from marketing, production and design. ”
“Sounds exciting.” I pray they aren’t like the other Japanese execs I worked with three years ago. They took their work way too seriously. And drank like they had spare livers.
Max’s phone pings. She glances down. “Our car’s here.”
I nod, then finish the last sip of my coffee. Need every bit of caffeine.
She dumps half her suitcase into the laundry bag, scribbles something on the order sheet and leaves it next to mine on the bed.
I open the door. “Ready to go forth and conquer?”