Chapter Twelve

I found Max sitting in his cube with his coat already on and his cell phone to his ear. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I did. “What a jerk. They’re still not speaking to each other? Oh wow.”

He looked up and saw me hovering. “I gotta go, Mom. Still at work. I’ll think of something.”

I could have pretended that I hadn’t overheard anything, but it sounded too darned interesting. “Is everything OK?”

He closed his eyes briefly. “Family drama.”

I leaned on his cubicle wall. “Tell me everything. I’m a master of family drama.”

He glanced at his phone again, checking the time. “I have plans in an hour, and I need to meet a ticket scalper on the Riverwalk before then. Walk with me for a bit?”

A butterfly fluttered in my stomach, and I paused for a moment to set its imaginary wings on fire. The man just said he had plans, which probably meant he had a date. Going for a quick walk meant nothing.

“Sure.” I’d been planning to return to the conference room and get down on my hands and knees to search for my lucky ring. But I really wanted to walk with him. I’d just have to come back to the office afterward and find it then.

I hadn’t been outside all day and was relieved to feel the temperature still hovering around fifty degrees. It wouldn’t be that cold, even on the waterfront.

“So, family drama?” I prompted as we navigated the large stone stairs down to the pedestrian walkway on the south bank of Chicago River. It was getting late in the year for boat rentals, but the restaurants and bars on the Riverwalk were a popular happy hour destination and the steps were crowded.

He groaned and gripped my elbow to steady me on the stairs. “I swear, Tess, it’s like the plot of an old Lindsay Lohan movie.”

I bounced up and down, clapped my hands together. With that description, I was clearly going to love it.

“Apparently, my two younger sisters were dating the same guy and didn’t know it.” He winced. “Everything was somehow revealed this week, and now it’s Armageddon. They’re furious at each other.”

I almost tripped on the last step. “That’s insane! But wait—did the guy realize he was seeing sisters?”

Max squinted, and for a minute he looked so angry I shivered. “Yeah.”

“Asshole!” I declared.

Max nodded hard and gestured to an empty bench. “This is where I’m supposed to meet the scalper.”

We sat on the cold wood, and I angled my body to face him. “Why are your sisters mad at each other though?” I was always curious about sister dynamics because I was well aware that my relationship with Kat was unlike that of other siblings. She was my best friend. But I also felt unusually maternal toward her, no doubt because of the big age gap and what our household had been like when I was a teenager.

He shrugged. “According to my mom, they both liked him and they’re just hurt. So they’re taking it out on each other.” He gave a look that was a mixture of adoration and exasperation. “They’re both enormous drama queens.”

“Did they not think it was odd that they were both dating a guy with the same name?” I asked.

“I asked that too!” Max exclaimed, and then his face got even darker. “The dickhead’s name is Andrew. He told Beth to call him Andy and he told Sarah to call him Drew. That’s one reason they didn’t put it together sooner.”

Diabolical! “The dickhead must pay,” I said, my mind racing.

“Way ahead of you,” he muttered. “When I get his last name, I’m going to find him and beat the shit out of him.”

I couldn’t help it. I started laughing. Max was tall and fit-looking, but absolutely nothing about him said: “I routinely beat the shit out of people.” He’d probably come home with a broken nose.

When he glared at me, I smothered my laughter. “Good instinct,” I assured him. “But have you ever punched anyone in your life?” He pinched his lips together. Before he could answer (in the negative), I went on. “What needs to happen is that your sisters bond over the revenge. The plotting and execution of a truly excellent ‘fuck you’ will unite them.”

“I’m listening,” he said stiffly, probably still annoyed I found the idea of him as an avenger kind of funny.

“Some ideas,” I said briskly, counting off some favorites on my fingers. “1. Remove the license plate from his car and then call the cops from an anonymous phone and suggest there’s a sketchy person in the neighborhood with a potentially stolen car. 2. Post on Craigslist on behalf of dear Andrew. The posting should express the desire for intimate contact with ex-convicts with massive tattoos. Make sure you post his work email address for the contact and with the request to send pictures; his employer will notice. 3. If your sisters can get into his apartment somehow, they should buy some shrimp or oysters and put them in unfindable places. Like, remove a light switch cap and plant one in the wall. Put them in the ventilation fans in the bathroom and kitchen. It’ll smell godawful. 4. The old laxative in a hot chocolate is a classic—”

I broke off because Max was staring with his mouth open. “I am honestly terrified of you right now,” he finally said. “Did you actually do any of those things to an ex?”

“Not to any of my exes,” I said quickly. “But to some of my sister’s exes. If they were jerks to Kat, then absolutely yes.” I’d done them all. The smelly fish was my personal favorite. The others were over too quickly.

“Mention some of these ideas to your sisters,” I continued. “It’ll make them laugh, it’ll intrigue them, and before you know it, they’ll be concocting a plan. Together.” I shook my finger at him for emphasis. “Nothing brings people together like a common enemy.”

I thought he’d refocus on his sisters, but he surprised me with his next question. “Why did you never do any of that stuff to one of your exes?”

The words popped out before I could think about it. “I never really cared about any of them enough to—” I bit the sentence off. That sounded downright pathetic. “Tell them to go with the shellfish,” I advised. “It’s the best one. They get the excitement of a B and E and the ongoing satisfaction of knowing he’ll be miserable in his own home.”

He started to chuckle. “It’s a pretty good idea,” he admitted. He pulled out his phone and started a long text. I tried not to watch him but failed. His glasses had slid partially down on his nose, and I could see the navy color of his eyes. His lips were turned up at the sides and twitching slightly, his brow furrowed as he crafted his message. He wasn’t Clark Kent and he wasn’t some Calvin Klein eyewear model. But I would have stared at him for hours if that wouldn’t have been super creepy. I just really liked his face, particularly in unguarded moments like this.

He looked up and caught me staring. “Thanks,” he said. “My sisters will love this.” He grinned down at me, his eyes crinkling. “And I might be a little relieved not to have to pummel someone.”

I’d never felt physically warm under someone’s gaze before. “Well, I owed you for earlier. You really saved our meeting this afternoon. So, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

Sometimes when out at a restaurant or the park, I’d see a couple smiling at one another. Not speaking or laughing, but just solely connected to one another from the eyes and lips. They didn’t feel you watching because they were seeing only each other. These smiles were private moments happening in public, and you almost felt like a voyeur watching it. On the few occasions I’d witnessed that kind of smile, I’d felt odd, physically. A pain my chest, a shortness of breath, a sting in the eye. At this moment, smiling at Max, I knew what those physical symptoms represented: jealousy. Because I’d never experienced one of those shared smiles that spoke of pure enjoyment and appreciation and connection and all that sappy bullshit.

Until now.

Max blinked and cleared his throat. “I almost forgot.” He dug around in his pocket, pulled out my lucky ring, and held it up. “You dropped this earlier.”

I inhaled sharply. He’d noticed me dropping it during the meeting and then took it upon himself to go back to the conference room and find it?

“Thank you! I was going to go back to the office and search for this. Wow!” And now I needed that damn ring because my hands were starting to tremble. I snatched it from his palm, almost dropped it again, and finally fumbled it onto my index finger. Close enough.

Max cocked his head. “Isn’t that the wrong one?” He reached over and tapped the longest finger on my right hand. “You don’t wear the ring often, but when you do, you wear it on this one.”

My breath caught in my throat. What did it mean, exactly, that he was watching me so closely he would notice something like that? And what did it mean that I liked it?

I looked away, just in case little red hearts were actually appearing in my eyes. The wind blew wisps of hair out of my braid, and I busied myself with tucking them neatly behind my ears. A guy wearing a baseball cap came strolling down the sidewalk, his eyes trained on our bench. “There’s your scalper.”

Max turned, stood, and waved. I watched as he handed over a wad of cash and looked carefully at whatever was in the envelope the scalper offered. Finally they shook hands and the scalper took off.

“Cubs playoff seats?” I guessed.

He grinned down at me. “Actually, they’re Hamilton tickets. My parents’ anniversary is next week. My dad will be skeptical, but my mom’s been dying to see it. She’ll be thrilled.” He sighed. “As long as my sisters are speaking.”

I thought he might say good-bye then, but he just sat back down next to me on the bench.

“Are you always the family peacekeeper?” I asked. “It’s another classic middle child trait.”

His lips turned up as he considered my question. Most people, myself included, didn’t bother. They deflected, answered with the same answer they’d provided dozens of times before, or said the first thing that came to mind. But Max always appeared to genuinely think about your words and give a thoughtful answer. It made people feel valued to be taken so seriously. I’d made a note of it earlier in the week to try this approach with my team. Past staff evaluations had told me many of them considered me to be too blunt and mouthy.

“I guess I am,” he finally answered. “And yeah, I think it has to do with being the one in the middle. My two older brothers are twins, and my sisters are only sixteen months apart. I’m separated from each of those pairs by three years.” He showed me a picture of his large family on his phone, tapped his finger on the image of an older brunette woman. “Or it could be I’m so much like my mom that she knows how to guilt me into helping whenever there’s a crisis.”

He put his phone back in his pocket. “What about you? Are you more like your mom or your dad?”

“Oh. Well.” I shifted on the bench. “My dad died when I was eleven, but I think he was more like Kat. She’s very sweet. Not in an annoying way,” I assured him. “She’s smart and funny too, but she’s never harsh or makes a joke at anyone’s expense. That’s how I remember my dad.”

“I’m sorry,” Max said, serious. “That’s really young to lose a parent.”

I nodded. It fucking was. “Yeah. But it was a long time ago.”

I was about to change the subject to something lighter when he asked, “So are you more like your mom then?”

I almost made a gagging sound and said, “God, I hope not.” But I’d just been admiring the way he actually responded to questions, and I wanted to give him the same respect, even if I generally avoiding thinking about this particular topic.

“Probably,” I grudgingly admitted. “She can be very feisty and fun, but she can be a little cruel and weak too.”

Max did a sort of gasp-laugh. “I see you’re still being candid.” Was I ever. Sheesh. I looked across the river, desperate for a funny subject change before I started blurting out more family demons.

Max’s phone buzzed in his pocket, thank God, and he pulled it out and looked down. “One of your sisters?” I asked eagerly, already thinking of new, undetectable hiding places for the shellfish.

He blanched, reading the message. “Uh. No. Crap. I’m really late.” He stood quickly and looked up the stairs at the street signs as if trying to orient himself. “I totally lost track of time.”

The nasty taste of disappointment filled my mouth. Why did I keep forgetting all the important stuff? The way I lit up around him wasn’t a sign of something growing between us. It was a sign I had a serious problem. If he was this unnerved at the prospect of being a few minutes late, he wasn’t looking at me the way I was looking at him.

“Aria?” I assumed.

He glanced back at me. “Yeah. We’re having dinner, and then I’m taking her to the airport. She’s on a red-eye tonight.”

I snorted. Even though I knew better, I just couldn’t shut up. “So last Friday, you built Aria furniture, and tonight you’re taking her to the airport?” I fisted my hands so that I wouldn’t put them on his shoulders and shake him. “Most people don’t take their ex to the airport, you know.”

His nostrils flared and his voice was cold. “Most people don’t have a list of elaborate revenge plans for their exes either.” That stung. It was also true, but I’d only mentioned it to help his sisters.

“You’re right. None of my business.” I stood too and started to march up the stairs without bothering to wait for him. We weren’t going the same direction anyway. “None whatsoever.”

It took me only forty minutes to go home, change from my work clothes into proper Friday night attire, and get myself to Fizz.

In front of the mirror as I adjusted my cleavage, on the edge of my bed as I exchanged my work boots for spiked heel boots, in the Uber (because I couldn’t walk the three blocks in said boots), I beat myself up for getting stupid over Max. It was just a crush and one I needed to get over ASAP. He was going to work at my company. I couldn’t exist with permanently hurt feelings.

What I needed was a palate-cleanser guy. I hadn’t been out on the town at all since Max had come along and messed me up with his words and his kiss. Maybe if I found a nice, ordinary guy to spend some naked time with tonight, I’d get over my Max problem.

My determination must have been etched on my face because when I passed Roz in the hall she’d burst into the classic song “Maneater” by Hall & Oates. Normally I would have found this hilarious, particularly because Roz sang it in a baritone voice, the word man eater coming out as loud as a foghorn. But tonight I only managed a weak laugh.

At Fizz, Micki slid me a bourbon and raised an eyebrow. “I haven’t talked to you all week.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “What’s the latest with the Ghost?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Talking about the FSG would inevitably lead to talking about Max, and I was not doing that tonight. Breezily, I changed the subject. “Nice crowd.”

Fizz was extra busy tonight. Lots of happy Cubs fans and lots of folks just drunk with Friday night freedom. I nursed my drink and surveyed the room. Plenty of possibilities for male company. After chatting with Micki for a while, I set my sights on a muscular, sandy-haired guy drinking beer with a couple of buddies across the room. He was the physical opposite of Max, which was perfect. Nothing about him set my heart a-thumping, which was…normal.

I threw my shoulders back, tossed my hair, and walked slowly toward him until he noticed me coming. He paused, his beer bottle halfway between the table and his mouth, to give me an appreciative look up and down. “Hey there,” I said, flashing my teeth. “I’m Tess. Want to play pool?”

I let him win the first game while wowing him with my sports trivia knowledge. Kat would have called him a total Jerry: an affable guy with a sales job, Blackhawks season tickets, and a strict gym habit. He offered to buy me a drink and complimented me on my hair and earrings.

I was so bored I wanted to scream.

My phone buzzed with a text message just as Rich? Rick? started to rack the balls for another game. It was from Max, and my foolish heart cannonballed into my throat. He must have just finished up dinner. It was a simple message and surprisingly personal.

I feel bad about earlier. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.

True. But I didn’t really need to give him shit either. My crush was my problem, and he was entitled to spend his Friday night mooning over his ex on the Kennedy Expressway if he wanted. I thought about texting back “I’m sorry too,” but…no. I needed to get further away from emotional exchanges with Max, not prolong them.

So instead I flipped my phone to the camera app and called Rich/Rick over. Then I took a selfie of us. In the photo, my eyes were half-closed, I was smiling hugely, and Rich/Rich’s gaze was stuck to my propped-up boobs. Perfect. I texted that back to Max with the comment: No worries! Happy Friday!

We played another round of pool. This time I lost because I couldn’t concentrate. Not that Rich/Rick could tell. I still smiled, nodded, and cooed appreciatively over his shots. When the game was over, he offered to get another round, but I didn’t need one. “Be right back,” he said.

“Great!” I peeped—but I didn’t want to go home with Rich/Rick. I just wanted to go home.

Because my eyes were on the front door eyeing my escape, I saw Max the moment he walked in.

I froze. What in the world was Max doing here? The city was too big for a coincidence like this; he was here for me. He must have felt my flat-out gaping, because we locked eyes in an instant. His jaw tightened and he tore across the room, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to a dark, back corner.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I yelled.

“Trying to keep you from making a drunken mistake.” His tone was so self-righteous I wanted to punch him in the face.

Instead I took a deliberate step back, causing him to drop my arm. I spoke clearly and directly and made perfect eye contact. “I’m not drunk,” I said truthfully. My tolerance was high, and I was holding my second drink of the evening. It was full.

He examined my face. “Oh.” He let out a frustrated huff. “In the picture you sent, you looked hammered.”

“Is that how you found me?” I demanded. “The picture?”

A dark flush crawled up his neck. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “Most smartphones embed GPS coordinates in the photo files. All you have to do is enter the coordinates in Google Maps to see where they were taken.”

Jesus. Modern-day technology was going to be the death of me. “Well, the first thing I’ll be Googling when I get home is how to change that privacy setting on my phone,” I informed him.

We stood in silence for a moment. I did the timing math in my head. He couldn’t have had dinner and driven to the airport and back since I’d seen him last. My silly picture must have absolutely panicked him into savior mode. Tess the Disaster Girl about to strike again! I couldn’t believe he came dashing across the city to save me from myself. How pathetic I must have seemed to him.

He looked down at the floor. “Sorry about the photo-stalking. I didn’t want…” He paused. “I, uh, I was worried about you.”

I suddenly felt weary. “You don’t have to worry about me, Max.” Not sure what it was about this guy, but the blunt truth just seemed to burst from my lips whenever he was around. “I’m thirty-two. I’ve lived in the city for a long time. I know self-defense, and I’m very careful. Despite the fact that I should have made sure the video with the damn Sex Ghost was deleted, I’ve managed to live my life—including having a sex life—and I’ve survived just fine.”

He nodded and swallowed. “You’re right. About everything. I’m sorry I intruded on your evening. I—”

“I hate that the first thing you learned about me was that I made a sex tape with a stranger!” I interrupted with a vengeance. I still wasn’t ashamed of the video, but it should have been my choice to share something I’d done in the past—not an act of desperation that forced me to talk about it. And I hated that Max was probably judging me for it. “I’m forever branded in your head as an idiot, aren’t I?”

He shook his head vigorously. “No, Tess. That is not how I think of you.”

“You should have seen your face in the Gage the night we met,” I retorted. “When you heard why I needed to hire you, you ran away like you were completely disgusted.”

Max’s mouth dropped open. “I ran away because I was mortified! Here I’d been having the most surreal encounter with a girl, and then all of a sudden she knows that I’m unemployed and I’ve made a completely false assumption about the job.” He paused. “To be perfectly honest, I didn’t love the story about the sex tape. For God’s sake, you blurted out two sentences about being a victim of a sexual predator who’s about to infringe on your privacy in the worst way. I didn’t know the right way to respond!” He pushed his glasses up higher on his nose. “I did think it was pretty awesome that you’d concocted a plan and were hell-bent on executing it. But, Tess, I swear, when I think of you, that video is not what first comes to mind.”

“You came running across town tonight because you think I’m a weak woman who makes bad decisions,” I reminded him.

“I came running across town because I didn’t want you to have sex with the guy in the photo,” he muttered.

Was there a difference? I rubbed my eyes and left them closed. “I’m not perfect, Max, but I’ve been taking care of myself for decades. I’m not the kind of woman you have to protect.”

“I know. I think that’s the reason I’m so attracted to you.”

My eyes flew open. He was speaking so softly. I couldn’t have heard him right. I looked up, searching for his eyes, hoping he hadn’t guarded them by angling his chin to cause a glare on his glasses.

He hadn’t. He was ready to meet my gaze, even though the flush had moved up from his neck to his jaw. “You charge around the office in those goddamn boots, and I can’t take my eyes off you. I sit in meetings and watch everyone get nervous when you zero in on them with your smart-ass mouth.”

He took a step closer to me. “You are the most independent woman I’ve ever met, and it turns me on like I’ve never been turned on in my entire fucking life.”

Where did all the air in the building go? There certainly wasn’t any left in my lungs. I had to be having some sort of auditory hallucination based on wish fulfillment.

“The sex tape was not the first thing I learned about you.” He took the bourbon glass from my hand and held it up. “I learned you love this stuff. I learned that you’re a quick wit.” He let his eyes leave my face and linger for a long, long moment on my breasts. “I learned that you’re sexy and confident.” His gaze traveled up to my lips. “I learned how you kiss.”

My heart pounded so hard I was sure he could see my pulse in my throat. I was so warm that steam would rise off me if I stepped outside into the cool night air. “We’re circling back to my problem.” I sighed. “The problem that’s been consuming me all week and especially tonight.”

He raised an eyebrow above his glasses, stepping even closer.

“I don’t want to have sex with the guy from the photo,” I whispered. “I want to have sex with you.”

He leaned down so that his lips brushed against my ear. “I don’t see why that’s a problem at all.”