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“Do all of the girls live there?”
“No. Gianni was kind enough to offer me a place to stay for a while.”
Looking up, Max’s posture is rigid. His jaw tight. “Are you… are you staying with him?”
“No!” I splutter. “My personal circumstances required me to move. He was kind enough to offer temporary accommodations as part of my compensation.”
He practically glares at me. What did I say?
“Do you work the upper floors?”
“No. That’s not something I’m interested in.” His question feels like an accusation. “But given you’re a member there, I’m not sure why it would bother you if I did.”
His shoulders seem to relax. But sharing this has made my spine stiffen. He looks in my direction, concern etched upon his features. “I… I’m sorry, Cassidy. It wasn’t my place to pry.”
“I need to go.”
Max follows along behind me as I make my way to the door. “Thank you. For your help.”
“You’re welcome.” My tone is admittedly flat. Not sure why this conversation has set me on edge. I reach for the doorknob, and Max places his hand flat on the door above my head.
“I’m sorry.” His warm breath tickles the shell of my ear. “The thought of you with anyone up there…”
The warmth of his chest against my back combined with his admission is melting the chill in the air his previous line of questioning had brought on.
“Why?”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t know.”
My eyes close. His words carry an honesty I appreciate. Yet again, it’s essential I don’t allow myself to read into this. This man clearly doesn’t know what he wants. Or if he does, he won’t allow himself to admit it.
I pull the door wide, not risking making eye contact with him. “Have a good day, Mr. Wilde.”
I’m back working at the club, the bright lights of the main level feel less like the security blanket than they once had. It’s been a week since the presidential suite, a week of replaying every irritable word. My brain is a continued loop of it’s not like that with us when I replay the way he looked at me over a plate of steak fries.
“Cassidy, what did you do to my brother?” Fern asks, snapping me out of my trance as she leans against the railing next to me.
“What do you mean? Was he sick after I left or something?”
“No, nothing like that.”
“Whew. I just let him have a cake pop before we went back to your place and watched Marvel movies.”
Fern laughs, a bright, genuine sound. “Well, he’s completely in love with you. He asked this morning if the beautiful pink superhero was coming back over. I think he’s already planning your wedding. Apparently, there will be a lot of capes involved.”
I laugh with her, but it feels hollow. I can’t stop thinking about Max. This is so dangerous. Not just for my job, but for the resilience I’ve worked so hard to build since I was attacked.
Even though we came up empty on those phone records again, I can’t shake the feeling that I was close to a breakthrough. It was something in the way the packet sizes were lighting up. A pattern hiding in the noise.
I’m contemplating this when a familiar warmth settles in the air behind me. I turn, and there he is.
Max.
He doesn’t look like his usual Type-A overachiever today. He looks tired. Has he been burning the midnight oil trying to solve this puzzle on his own? Is he afraid to ask for help after the way we left things recently?
“Hi,” he greets.
“Good evening, Mr. Wilde.” I’m honestly not sure how to talk to him. Part of me considers him a friend. The crazy part. The one who longs for there to be more with a man where it’s forbidden. I can’t allow that part to infiltrate my brain. He’s made it very clear this is a business-only relationship. Even if he does seem to have a weird fixation with my personal life.
