Chapter Twenty-Four
Rhys
Max bites her lip. I steeple my fingers to avoid tapping them on the desk and betraying my agitation. With the old boyfriend out of the picture, there’s no good reason for her to say no…but she went AWOL for two whole weeks. She could’ve found herself another boyfriend by now.
Damn it. Should’ve thought of that before staying silent. Why the hell did I engage in that pointless ego contest?
“Do you have a boyfriend?” I ask.
“No.”
My tie feels less constricting.
“But I don’t know what your offer entails or why we should do it,” she adds.
“It’s the best solution to our problems.” She cocks her head, so I quickly lay out my pitch.
“Without a boyfriend in the way, the timing is perfect. And the best way to show your old flame is by dating somebody better. Which I qualify for—I’m taller, better looking and richer.
” I pause, giving her a chance to raise questions or concerns.
“We have an anti-fraternization policy.”
“No, we don’t,” I say firmly, glad that’s the most pressing point for her.
“Yes, we do. I saw it in the HR policy handbook.”
“That was the old version. I revised it.”
“When?” she asks dubiously.
“The day after hiring you.”
She gives me a long look. A lovely flush creeps into her cheeks. “Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”
I meet her eyes. Time to put my cards on the table. “Of course. Before you take anything the wrong way, I hired you because I believed you’d be good at your job—and you haven’t disappointed me. But I also found you hot as hell.” I pause, letting it sink in.
Her lashes flutter as her mouth forms a small O. Not sure why she didn’t realize how attractive she is all this time. Slick said some shitty things to her, but she’s had other boyfriends. Didn’t they tell her how magnificent she is? Just what kind of failures has she been dating?
I continue: “I wanted to ask you out, except you were always in a relationship.”
She sits frozen for a long moment. Finally, she clears her throat. “I, um, need to think about this.”
“Yes, think about all the advantages. Like free housing and utilities. It’s a six-star accommodation, if I may say so, and the beds are California king. Complimentary food.”
She merely looks at me. I maintain eye contact, willing her to nod and agree.
“Plus unfettered access to my body.”
Her cheeks flush instantly, her pupils darkening. Something sharp drifts across her face. Maybe vindictiveness.
“We’re healthy adults with needs. It isn’t like we haven’t done it before, and we were very compatible.”
“Right.” She nods slowly, but the hesitation is still there. “I mean—I guess that’s better than doing it behind each other’s backs.”
“Good God, no. I don’t do an open relationship or sneaking-around kind. When you’re mine, you’re exclusively mine.”
Her eyes flash. “And the same goes for you?”
“Obviously. I’d never ask you to do something I wouldn’t.” I lean forward a little. “Want to stamp me EXCLUSIVE?”
The tips of her mouth twitch as satisfaction gleams in her gaze. “I’ll have to custom-order one.”
I chuckle.
She runs the edge of her teeth over her lower lip as she considers. “Definitely no pregnancy. Condoms are mandatory.”
“Of course.”
“Good.” She exhales, long and steady. “Do we attend public events together? Like a couple? And get photographed? Do we tell everyone we’re dating?”
The rapid succession of questions makes me pause. Is she worried about being tied to me? After all, she had front-row seats to this morning’s spectacle. Thank God she wasn’t here to listen to Dad proudly say that he gave my name to the stripper.
If it were up to me, I’d take Max out, get photographed, let everyone know we’re together. Hell, I’d just rip off my shirt and pound my chest while shouting, “Mine!”
But… “It’s up to you. If you prefer to keep your privacy, I’ll do my utmost to protect it. If you don’t care, that’s fine, too. If you want us to be photographed together, again, that’s your choice. It’s your life, Max. You should have agency over it.”
She frowns. “Don’t you have any preference? It’s your life, too.”
“I’m happy to let things play out. If we happen to attend some fancy gala and get photographed, so be it.” I shrug, feigning nonchalance. “I’m not going to hide.”
“But if you’re fine with us keeping it super private, why bother with fake dating? It makes more sense to just not date at all.”
Something in her tone bothers me, although I can’t pinpoint it.
I push my glasses up my nose. “The fake dating gets my family off my back so I can continue to maintain my life the way I like it. I don’t care who’s on Grandma’s list; I’m not marrying some destitute European aristocrat whose family needs half my fortune to put food on the table and a roof over their heads.
We don’t have to take things public to achieve that.
My parents like to flaunt themselves, but Grandmother doesn’t care. Neither do I.”
“What about at work?”
“What about it? Nothing changes. You’ll continue to work as my assistant, unless you want to take a break.”
“But people might talk.” She frowns, concern etched on her pretty face. “No matter how careful we are, we may not be able to hide the fact that we’re ‘dating.’”
“And what would they say?”
“That I am where I am because I’m sleeping with you? That I get promotions or raises for the same reason?”
“If anybody gossips—whether it’s about you or anybody else—regarding something like this, send them to my office, so they can say it to my face.”
“Right. Got it.” Max nods slowly. “But how are we going to manage work and our personal life? Won’t they bleed together? And, no offense, but I don’t want to be with my boss twenty-four seven.”
“Of course not. When we’re at home, you won’t be my assistant, just my girlfriend. And to make it clear if I’m speaking to you as boss or boyfriend, I’ll call you Max in boss mode, and…Freckles in boyfriend mode. Does that help?”
“Actually…yes.” She crosses her legs, resting her elbow on the armrest. She taps her chin with a finger, her gaze focused somewhere beyond my shoulder—her classic thinking pose. Her eyes narrow. Must be doing a ton of calculations, running through every scenario—hopefully more good than bad.
Come on.
Suddenly, she straightens and looks straight at me. “Okay, fine. But only for a year.”
“Why a year?”
She blinks. “Is that too long? Maybe six months?”
“What I mean is, why a time limit?”
“Because I want to have a long-term, meaningful relationship. I want to live a life that includes marrying someone who actually loves me, and a home with a white picket fence, full of warmth and laughter. Children who enjoy love and support from not just us but an extended family with lots of people to cherish them.”
I gaze at her—and imagine the future she’s painting with bitter desolation.
She wants more than just “not-so-embarrassing parents.” A soul mate and a white picket fence sound alien and theoretical.
Still, I don’t want to give up without a fight.
I open my mouth, but her next words are like a punch in the solar plexus.
“I owe it to my mom.” Max’s eyes turn soft and wistful. A shadow of old grief and determination crosses her face. “Seeing me happy and fulfilled was the top item on my mother’s bucket list. She didn’t get to see it before passing away, so I want her to see it from heaven.”