9. 9
Ikeep my expression steady even though my insides are jumpy enough to make anyone brand me as guilty.
I did not expect him to say that.
I didn’t expect anything from Max Steele.
I know of his reputation—youngest son of famed developer Dalton Steele and doing his best to stay afloat in the company and impress daddy. He’s like an eager puppy—bouncing and barking and peeing on the floor when he gets excited.
But when he talks to the police about me, he turns into a guard dog.
“Sorry, about that, dear,” Max says with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Not really being a gentleman, am I, if I go around telling these nice men our business?”
I take a sip of tea and hold Max’s gaze over the rim. “Gentlemen are boring.”
His eyebrows almost disappear into his hairline. A nice hairline. Thick hair. I appreciate men with a full head of hair. And with visible reluctance, he turns away from me to look up at the police still looming over the table. “Anything else we can help you with, boys?”
“You’re telling us you ate with Mr. Tate and then joined Mr. Steele in his room?” The second officer, ruddy-faced and broad-shouldered, doesn’t bother to hide his sneer.
“Mr. Tate is a long-time friend of mine,” I say carefully.
“Friend. Right.”
“What are you implying?” Max snaps. “That it would be impossible for a woman with Ms. Quinn’s business sense and savvy—more than most men I know—to be considered a peer of Noam Tate, even though he acted as a mentor to her for her entire career? You think that wouldn’t happen because she’s a woman? Or because she’s a beautiful one?”
They don’t know what to do with him, and frankly, neither do I. But hearing him defend me like this is like someone handing me a warm blanket after a cold walk home. “Maximus,” I say softly.
He looks over at me and by the twinkle in his eye… He’s enjoying this. “Our eyes met across the restaurant when she was with Tate,” Max waxes nostalgically. “I was ready to bust up their dinner and claim her as my own right then and there, but Cady stayed the course because Tate is a good man, a good friend. As soon as she said goodnight at the door, though, she found me and the rest… is none of your business.”
“I think it might be,” the heavyset officer tells me with a suspicious gleam in his eyes.
Neither one of the police officers believes Max. Or maybe they do, but they don’t think much of me. My shoulders begin to hunch and I feel myself shrinking into something small and insignificant, just like I felt growing up. When I first started on the stage, before my skin thickened and I would leave every night in tears from the rude catcalls and disrespect.
But I am no longer that girl. I straighten my spine, staring coolly at the police. “It’s none of your business who I spent my evening with,” I announce.
Max gets to his feet. And even though he’s dressed in a pair of jeans that have seen better days, a faded U2 T-shirt and a baseball cap, somehow he gives off an aura of authority. Of superiority.
It must be the money he was born into.
I may look like a million bucks, but I’m missing Max’s I’ve got so much more money than you air, and probably always will.
He slaps the older officer on the shoulder—an attempt at friendliness—but the fact he laid hands on the police and nothing will be done about it is shocking to me.
But the confidence he shows does something else to me.
“Listen, boys, you seem to be hell-bent on insulting my friend, so is there a reason for this? From where I look at it, Cady has done nothing wrong. She ate dinner with her friend, who unfortunately passed away later that evening.” Max shrugs. “I don’t understand what information she could have for you. Do you want to know what Noam ate? Can you tell them that, Cady?”
His gaze is warm like he’s telling me he’s got my back.
I draw in a shaky breath because I’m not used to someone having my back.
“The chicken piccata, same as he orders every time he’s here.” I swallow. “Can I ask how he died?”
“Looks like a heart attack,” the second admits reluctantly.
“Natural causes.” Even so, it takes a few breaths to settle myself. If it was natural, there’s no question of me being involved. Especially if there was no evidence of me being there.
Of course, it would be natural. Who would want to hurt Noam?
“Looks that way.”
I run through my memories of leaving his room, sluggish and vague because I had been half asleep. But still, I’m fairly certain, I left no sign of being there.
“But the family would like to know if something brought about the heart attack. Some activity perhaps…” The heavyset officer looks expectantly at me like I’m about to burst out with a confession that I had sex with Noam and give them all the dirty details.
I could give them dirty details about their sex lives just by looking at them. Like how the older one—probably divorced—hasn’t been pleasured by anything other than his right hand in years and wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if he had the chance with one. And the younger one, with the cocky arrogance of a man used to pushing his authority, would think he was good in bed, but I would put money on the fact most of his partners fake it just to get it over with.
From my years of being in intimate situations with men, but never sharing intimacy, I can tell these types of things. It’s my party trick.
So is keeping my anger to myself. A quick intake of breath is the only reaction I give to their suggestion that I sexed Noam to death. “When I left Noam at the door, he said he was going to bed,” I offer, wishing I was on my feet instead of cowering in my chair. But they want it that way. Small woman, easy to intimidate.
I’m not easy to intimidate. “I would think your forensic experts should be able to tell if brushing his teeth proved to be a dangerous activity,” I say in my iciest voice.
“He was found in his bed.”
“That is usually what happens when a person goes to bed,” I snap.
“The man died in his sleep and you’re interrogating Cady about whether she had sex with him? Really?” Max shakes his head with disgust. “We’re done now.”
“The family—”
“I don’t give a flying fart about the family,” he starts, but I reach for his hand.
“Maximus,” I chide. “They lost someone important. It’s only natural to demand answers, but officers—” —I paste a smile on my face with difficulty, wanting this to be over and done with— “I’m afraid I’m not in any position to provide any. I can tell you Noam enjoyed his dinner, but only ate a small portion of it, had a scoop of vanilla gelato and a glass of port for dessert. Then he told me he was going to sleep because at eighty-six, I’m sure he was tired.”
“Eighty-six,” Max echoes with a hard glance at each of them. “Natural causes.”
“Thank you for your time.” The first officer backs away with an expression of embarrassment. He should be embarrassed. He should be—
The second officer mumbles something I can’t make out and stalks away without another word.
“And that’s where our tax dollars are going,” Max says with disgust, hands on his hips as he watches them swagger out of the restaurant. “How dare they treat you like that.”
“They dare,” I say simply, lifting my teacup to my lips with a hand that is surprisingly steady. “And it would have been much, much worse had they known I was in the room after dinner, so thank you. I really appreciate your help.”
He turns to me with a smile. “Happy to.” He sits back down, still watching me. “If you feel like those pancakes now…”
I take a deep breath. “No, but thank you. If there’s anything I can do to repay you—” My words are cut off by a rush of pure emotion. I’ve never felt anything like it; one minute I’m about to offer myself to Maximus Steele and the next I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus and sent flying through the air.
I don’t know where I’m going to land, but I know it’s going to hurt.
“Cady?”
The police were here to question me. It’s not the first time, but it reminds me I’m vulnerable, that I’ve hidden secrets and information and have so much to lose—
I’ve always prided myself on not being a crier so I can’t understand the pinpicks in my eyes until the tear trickles down my cheek.
“Hey,” Max says gently, reaching for my hand. I snatch both of them off the table and press them against my mouth to block the cry, the sob, the scream that bubbles up. Through tear-filled eyes, I see him motion to the waitress for more tea. “Hey.”
“You can go,” I tell him, my voice unrecognizable.
“Why would I want to do that? You’re upset.”
“I’m not.” I swipe away the pool of wetness under my eyes. “I’ll go. Thank you for…” Where do I have to go? I need to make sure Max won’t say anything to the police, and for that I need to offer him an incentive…
“You’re not going anywhere,” he insists, a note of authority in his tone. “You’re going to sit here and drink more tea and tell me about your friend. Because you just lost him and you have every right to be upset.”
I meet his gaze, warm and sympathetic and caring.
I’ve never had a man look at me like that.
“In fact, I’ll have some tea with you.” He smiles at the waitress who sets down a new pot for me. “One more of those. And I think I’m finished with these eggs.”
“Can I get you anything else?” She looks at me, but it’s Max who answers.
“Can we have two of your lemon-cranberry scones? You look like the lemon scone type,” he says to me, his full lips curving into a soft smile.
I nod. Lemon is my favourite flavour.
“Very good,” the waitress says as she backs away.
I glance around the dining room, the very same one I sat in with Noam last night where he ate chicken piccata with delicately roasted potatoes, asking for green beans instead of baby carrots because he hated carrots. Now I’m drinking tea with a stranger and Noam is dead.
Another bubble rises in my throat and I wonder if I’m going to be sick.
“Is this the first person you’ve loved who has died?” Max asks. He refills my cup before filling the cup the waitress bought for him.
I shake my head. “My mother.”
“Ah. Another with the dead mother card. You can really get away with so much with that.”
I pause with my cup halfway to my mouth. “Pardon?”
At least he has the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just something Marcus and I say. Both of us lost our moms, you know, and when we were in school, we would use the excuse that our mothers had died when we were assholes. Dead-mom card.”
I can’t believe he says that. When he was being irresponsible and immature, using his mother’s death as an excuse, I was hiding my loss from everyone, not the pity. Not wanting anyone to realize how important my half-brother and sister were to me since they were the only part of my mother I was left with.
When he was playing his way through school, I spent my eighteenth birthday working a private party and made five hundred dollars for letting a drunk groom-to-be motorboat my breasts.
I never spoke of my mother because I couldn’t handle anyone saying the words: Your mother would be so disappointed in you.
Max’s life couldn’t be any more different from mine. We both may have lost our mothers, but the Steele’s have money—old money. Money that will go to Max whether he works for it or not, same as Preston Tate.
I worked for every penny I have, worked in ways that Max could never imagine.
The hot tea has trouble passing through the lump in my throat. “I see,” I finally say.
He studies me for a moment. “Obviously not, because you think I’m an ass for bringing that up.”
That produces the barest of smiles. “I don’t. I never talked about my mother with anyone so that wasn’t an option.”
“No one?”
“My therapist,” I admit. “It took quite a few sessions.”
“Dead mothers always do. Tell me about Noam, the second person you’ve loved that has died.”
Did I love him? Lying beside him in the bed last night, it was easy to say that I did, but now in the light of day…
I don’t know.
I respected him, and admired his business acumen. He taught me so much about taking risks and covering your back and knowing when to walk away.
I think I should have walked away years ago.
“He liked to think he could control me,” I begin, eyes on the pristine white cloth covering the table. The shining cutlery nestled perfectly in the snowy napkin.
Noam demanded perfection.
When I look up, Max is watching me. “But he couldn’t, because you are the wild bird beyond anyone’s grip,” he says.
“Not exactly.”
“But pretty close. I’m very good at reading people, you know. Now, tell me the best thing about Mr. Tate.”
“He was the first man who ever respected me.”
Max leans back in his chair and studies me like he’s reviewing for an exam. And for the first time, I feel like someone sees me. Really sees me.
I’m not sure I like it.
“I imagine that was what won your loyalty, then. Because a woman like you—a woman who looks like you—isn’t often afforded a lot of respect. Am I right?”
I nod even as I fight to pull myself together. No one should see me like this—vulnerable. Open. Max is reading me like a book and no one does that. Because I don’t allow it.
Seeing me exposed, and knowing what’s going on under the surface is an open invitation to hurt me.
It’s why I don’t do relationships.
“He was a good man, then, even though he wanted to control you. I guess most men want to control you. See you as a possession.”
“Who are you?” I demand.
He tips an imaginary cap to me. “Your new best friend.”
“I don’t have best friends.”
“Which is why you need me. Next question: What was the best piece of advice Noam ever gave you?”
“To respect myself,” I say softly. “And that I needed to have more fun.”
“Everyone needs to have more fun. I think those we both excellent pieces of advice. In fact, I’m sure I can help you with that one. The fun one.”
I smile tightly. Negotiations will begin. He will make an offer, one I will counter. We’ll do the dance until we can conclude our deal with me ending up naked, probably in his bed.
I’m hollow inside. The news about Noam hit me like an axe chopping through a tree, bound and determined to bring it down. I may not be hauled down to the police station but this isn’t over.
But there’s no time to deal with that because I owe Max a favour, and I always pay my debts.
I give a delicate shrug and sip my tea. “What can I do for you?”
“A few things.” Max leans back in his chair and studies me with a hopeful expression.
“You have a list?”
“I was wondering if you’re busy this weekend.”