Chapter 21
Max
"So, what are you thinking now about the case?" Lila asks me, her eyes narrowed. I can feel the heat in her gaze, and I know what she’s really asking. She wants to know if I’m going to drop the case.
"Sorry. What?" I don’t want to disappoint her or make her feel badly about me, but I’ve already told her several times that my job isn’t to ensure that Mrs. Whittington is provided for. The nuances of this particular case are none of my business.
She either accepts the settlement offer or she doesn’t.
A momentary ripple of guilt spreads through my stomach, which I try to ignore. Why have I let Lila infiltrate my brain and heart like this?
I blink as she leans forward. I want to kiss her again, but I'm not sure if she really wants that or not.
"Are you going to drop the case?"
"Am I going to drop a potentially multi-million-dollar case because you had one conversation in a smoothie bar with someone?" I shake my head. "That's not how life works, Lila. I think I told you that."
"You said you were willing to see what her side of the story was and—"
"And you found out that she and her husband have fun at clubs, and she openly admitted that she has slept with other men."
"But it was her husband that set it up, and she didn't even want to."
"She was coming on to me, Lila. She said she wanted an orgy with the two of us, and God knows who else."
Lila lets out a deep sigh. "Yeah, but you should have heard her when she was looking at us, and she thought we were so in love.
And I could tell from the look in her eyes that's what she really wants.
She doesn't want to be sleeping with these random men.
She just wants the love from her husband.
He's manipulated her. Can't you see that? "
"Lila, I can’t not take this case because you are now an actress, personal assistant to an attorney, and psychotherapist all rolled into one infuriating female."
"I'm not a psychotherapist just because I care about people."
Henry pulls up outside her apartment. She leans back, and I wonder if this is how the night is going to end.
What had been an amazingly sexy, fun, and flirtatious night full of banter turned into something quite awkward.
I have a professional responsibility toward my client.
Unfortunately, that client is Jack Whittington.
It doesn’t matter if he persuaded his wife to have threesomes; that isn’t my business.
"So this is me," Lila says, running her fingers through her hair. She gives me a little smile, and my heart races.
"This is you," I agree, nodding.
"So…"
"Yes?" I ask her, leaning forward.
"You interested in coming up for a nightcap?" she asks, and I’m in shock.
Did she just say what I imagined she did? "Is that an invitation to come up to the apartment that you did not want me to see earlier?"
"It might be, or it might just be that I'm asking if you want a nightcap so we can decompress from our kind of crazy evening. But I mean, if you don't want to…" she says as she slides toward the door.
"Oh, I want to," I say. "Henry, I'm going to get out here. You can go home. I'll find my way back."
"Certainly, Mr. Spector," he says. "Have a good evening, Miss Haversham."
"Thanks. You, too, Henry."
She gets out of the car, and I step out and slam the door shut. I watch as Henry drives off, and Lila walks next to me.
"He's going to think I'm a slut, isn't he?"
I look down at her in surprise. "What are you talking about?"
"He just dropped you off at my apartment, and you told him to leave, so he knows you're not leaving anytime soon. He's going to think I'm a slut."
"Why would he think you're a slut?"
"Because…" She bites on her lower lip. "Well, you know."
"No. Why don't you tell me?"
"Because, you know."
"Come on, let's see your apartment." I smile at her.
"Don't expect anything fancy," she says as we head toward the main door.
I look around, and I don't want to be rude, but the street is not exactly lending itself to be compared to Park Avenue or Fifth Avenue.
"Come on, we've got a bit of a walk," she says.
"No elevator?"
"There is an elevator, but it doesn't work all the time." She giggles. "You'd think I'd be in better shape from having to go up so many flights of stairs so often."
"I can help you get into better shape if you want me to."
"Max." She turns back to look at me. There's a glitter in her eyes. "You are incorrigible."
"Well, I like to think that I turn incorrigible into encourage-able."
She groans at my bad joke. "Come on."
We walk up a few flights of stairs for what feels like hours until we finally get off at a landing and walk toward a door. The corridor we walk down is dark and dingy, and there may or may not be wet spots on the ground. I try not to think about where they may have come from.
"Remember, don't expect much," she says, turning to me with a small smile.
"I'm not."
She opens the door, and we step inside. My jaw drops as I look around. The apartment is empty except for an air mattress pressed against one wall, a black bag full of clothes that's sitting on the ground, and two paper plates on a countertop.
"Have you been robbed? Do we need to call the police? Is this what…"
"No, silly. I haven't been robbed."
"But where's your furniture and—"
"I don't have any," she says. "You're judging me, aren't you?"
"No," I say, but I am worried for her. "Why do you live in an apartment with no furniture?"
"I was living with my best friend and her sister and her niece and nephew, and we all kind of just decided to go our own ways.
Oh, that sounds way worse than it is," she says.
"My best friend ended up dating this amazing guy, and she moved in with him, and then her sister and niece and nephew moved back to Florida to live with her parents.
So we gave up the place, and well, here I am. "
"Here you are with no furniture."
"I have an air mattress," she says, her hands on her hips. "And it's my own place. Do you know how much it cost me to get this?"
"It's a studio in a not great part of town, but a lot?"
She giggles, and I'm glad she hasn't taken offense at my words. "It might not be a great part of town to you, but I love it, and it's my own studio. The only place I've ever lived by myself, so yeah, I don't have furniture, but I'm going to get some as soon as I have the money."
I lean against the countertop, strum my fingers across the laminate, and try not to flinch as I see some black droppings in the corner. Does she have mice? I hope she doesn't have mice. I'm not going to say anything.
"What is it? Why do you look like that?" she asks.
"Nothing." And then, suddenly, it hits me. "That's why you didn't go to the audition that day, isn't it?"
"What are you talking about?" she says as she heads over to the fridge and opens it. "So, about that nightcap?"
"Yeah," I say.
"I have water, apple juice, milk, and two beers. I'm guessing you want one of the beers?"
"That would be nice, if you don't mind."
"I don't mind," she says. "Do you want a glass?"
"That's okay," I say, shaking my head as I step forward.
She hands me the Corona and takes the other one out for herself.
"Cheers to being my first guest," she says.
"Well, I like the sound of that."
I look down at her lips. I just want to pull her into my arms. Instead, I open the beer and take a pull. It's cold, but it's not my favorite.
"So, like I was saying before you tried to distract me, you did it because you need furniture. You did it because you need a paycheck."
"I mean, am I being responsible? Yes, but that's not the only reason why I didn't go to the audition. I just didn't think that I would get it. I couldn't cry on cue, and, well, I've just been stressed out, you know?"
"Why have you been stressed out?" I ask her. "Is it money?" I sigh. "That's why you took the job, isn't it? Because I offered you a shit ton of money, and you couldn't walk away from it."
"You do remember that I decided to go for a job before I even met you. You do remember that, right? I had already decided not to take the audition before we met in the lobby."
"We met before you got to the lobby," I say, chuckling. "Or do you not remember that?"
"Oh, yeah, we met outside." She shrugs. "Why?"
"I was just thinking about it." I run my finger down the side of her face and tug on her hair. "You never know. You may have gotten the role."
"It was unlikely. Anyway, I have a question for you."
"Go ahead. What is it?"
"Why did you hire me?"
"Huh?" I say, surprised at her question.
"Why," she asks slowly, "did you hire me?"
"Because I needed an assistant. What sort of question is that?"
"You are a named partner at a top law firm.
You work on million-dollar cases, and you hired me.
I mean, I know I'm great, but you didn't really know I was great.
So I want to know why you hired me." She grins.
"And if you tell me that it was because you wanted me to sign a contract to be your sex slave for a billion dollars, you will owe me a million. "
"Unfortunately, Lila," I say as I pull her toward me and kiss her forehead. "I did not hire you for a contract, no matter what your romantic brain may want you to believe. I hired you because of a bet."
"A bet?" she questions.
I kiss the tip of her nose.
"Yes, a bet."
"But—" she starts.
Before she can continue, I press my lips against hers and run my fingers down her back.
She moans as she presses herself into me and wraps her arms around my neck.
I run my finger down and up under her shirt until I reach the side of her bra.
I go to pull her top up, but she pushes me away, blushing slightly.
"You need to tell me more about this bet. Is it something that I should be offended by?"
"No. Kingston just bet me that my next assistant wouldn't last a month."
"But that doesn't explain why you hired me."