Check out all the chapters by clicking HER(fix)E
CHAPTER FIVE: AT A SECOND GLANCE
What was she going to do about that man?
She didn’t have time to deal with this! Max shook her head and blinked at her office monitor. Damn it, she had work to do—emails to send, calls to make, more than a few manuscripts to look over. She did not have time to dwell and daydream about some heavy-handed, pushy peeping tom.
Except, if he was a peeping tom, what did that make her?
She’d watched Kat and Peter. She’d watched and…wanted.
Not Kat or Peter, per se, but she’d wanted…something. That kind of connection. That level of intensity and intimacy.
Something.
Even if it didn’t really seem like something she could realistically have.
As much as she hated to admit that seeing that scene in the mirrored room had turned her on—aroused and excited her—Max hated the fact that, afterward, it had left her feeling lonely.
Max leaned back in her office chair, swiveling to look out her sixth story window at the busy city morning below her.
Damn it, she wasn’t lonely! She didn’t do lonely. She was too busy for it. She had a great life. She had a great job—a dream job. She had great friends. She had a slew of great guys she saw on occasion, any of whom she could call for a date, or a quickie, if she wanted to.
But when was the last time she’d wanted to? Really wanted to? Not just for a socially expected plus-one at a function or event. Not for an accessory she could show off at a party like a new pair of shoes or use like a sex toy she could take out of the box for a night. But for real, honest human connection.
Max sighed and smoothed her hands over her bound-back hair. Stop it! She was not thinking about this right now. Not at work. Not now. Not ever.
Concentrate!
“Max?”
She turned around abruptly, struggling to regain her composure. “Diane,” she greeted her boss, gesturing her into the office. “What can I do for you?”
The older, fifty-ish woman walked in with the grace of a classic Hollywood starlet. Tall, willowy, and with near-perfect bone structure, Diane Withewood had the kind of beauty laugh lines and gray hair wouldn’t dare disturb.
But no one could claim Diane was just a pretty face. A true pioneer of the industry, she’d worked and ruled in several of the biggest and best houses in the field before starting her own in Elysia Publishing.
The woman was quite literally Max’s hero, a true testament of what could happen when one put in the time, put in the work, and never took no for an answer. At twenty-nine, Max still thought that, when she grew up, Diane was who she wanted to be.
“I just wanted to know where we are on the latest Valdez manuscript,” Diane asked, her voice clear and clipped.
Max swallowed hard. Kat’s book.
She hadn’t even thought about it all day.
She took a deep breath. Never let anyone see you caught unprepared, she told herself. “I have the first half of the book. I’ve taken a first pass and it looks great.”
“Wasn’t she supposed to send you the last chapters more than a week ago? Weren’t we scheduled to have the full piece by now?” Diane asked. “What happened?”
Max inhaled, holding that breath for a moment. She nodded. “Kat had sent me new pages,” Max admitted, “but she’d said that they were still a little rough and that she needed more time to…” She paused, considering. “Rework them.”
“Rework?” Diane raised a shrewd eyebrow. “I’ve heard what’s in those last chapters; she’ll need to do more than that if she wants that book published here, Max.”
Shit.
Diane let out a resigned sigh. “You were an intern when I brought you into this house, six years ago. Unpaid. Still finishing up your degree. The bottom of the corporate food chain. But you had big ideas. I took a chance on you and your ideas because it was time to revamp the way we do business.” She gave a considering nod. “And you’ve done great things for us, Max. You’ve uncovered voices and artists, like Valdez, that we would have dismissed as unsellable before, opening us to an audience—a professional, educated, enlightened audience—who we had no idea even existed.”
Diane’s perfectly painted lips pursed thoughtfully. “And I won’t have all the work you’ve done—the work we’ve done—undone because of a personal relationship you have with one of our authors.” Diane leveled a censuring look at her employee, making Max feel like just another intern again. “Are we understood?”
Max straightened her spine and nodded stiffly. “Of course.”
———
“Thank you,” the lawyer heard Hallie Hannings say to him over the phone, gratitude making her voice wobble wetly.
“It’s going to be okay.” He knew how hard life had been for the sweet seamstress in the past few months—hell, the past few years. Almost from the minute she’d gotten word that her downtown boutique—Bits ‘n’ Pieces—was going to open, her troubles had started.
Hate mail, hordes of it, both electric and paper, had piled in, burying her in recriminations and threats. Then came the vandalism of both the shop and her home. Then the protests with sign-carrying criers lining up outside her store site, stalling construction. All with Lionel Wayne at the head of the campaign to tear Hallie’s dreams down before they’d even begun to build.
He wouldn’t have Wayne and his stuck-up, hypocritical sense of morality hurt her or her business. Not when he could do something about it.
He hadn’t told her what he was doing. Though he suspected that she knew the majority of his tactics weren’t exactly above-board—his small, private firm was known for their underhanded, barely legal trickery.
But that was different than knowing her dreams were being buttressed by the thin, filmy edges of blackmail photos featuring Wayne and his mistress. It wasn’t a pleasant reality but it was the one he’d learned to live in and one he was determined to shield his client from as much as possible. And, if it would buy Hallie her dreams, it was a price he was willing to take on for her.
“I feel like I owe you something,” she said, her drawling accent deepening. “Please, you have to let me pay you back somehow.”
He shook his head, even though he knew she couldn’t see it. It was a familiar argument. They’d been having it since the minute he told her he was taking her case. Hallelujah Hannings was an overly kind, sincerely polite woman with a core of sheer pride. She didn’t believe in taking charity. Didn’t believe in taking something for nothing.
But he wouldn’t take a cent from her. Not when she was just hanging on, with little more than her goals and grit sustaining her until her store got up and running. Hell, after hearing her story, he wouldn’t have taken a fee from her even if she’d had the money to pay.
“I’ll call you once I hear back from Wayne or his lawyer,” he told her, changing the subject. He knew his reasons would fall on deaf ears. “I doubt he’ll give you any more trouble. If he does, call me. Whatever the time.”
He waited until she agreed before he hung up his phone, his eye on Peter as the man checked the elaborate security software on his computer, running updates or downloads or whatever else it needed to ensure his clients’ and his own privacy and safety.
Peter nodded toward the phone. “How’s Hallie doing?” Having met her through some mutual acquaintances, he’d put her in contact with his long-time friend and his firm when Wayne’s harassment had started.
“If we’re lucky,” he said with a shrug, flicking his long hair off his shoulder, “this will all be done in a matter of days.” Sure and confident, he laid a hand on his desk. “So how’s my system?” Well, at least his monitor was no longer blinking error messages at him.
“It should be all right, just don’t fiddle with the settings,” Peter scolded him before keying in more code. He coughed. “So Rand tells me that you have a new girl.” He paused, letting an awkward, knowing silence linger. “A fiery redhead who sauntered into the club like she owned the place, started a fight, and slapped Rand right across the face.” He snorted. “So how’d you like meeting Max?”
The other man sat back in his chair, his lips curling into a wicked smile. It’d been three days since Max had crashed Donovan’s and he’d yet to get her out of his head. She was a walking mass of contradictions. With wild hair all tied back and tidy. Outrageous curves all covered up in classic, conservative clothing. Wearing that damned, costume-jewelry collar while she looked down her prim, pert, little nose at all that it represented. Strong, domineering, and so argumentative it bordered on ridiculous, she was something he hadn’t really encountered in a long time.
A challenge.
As he’d told her Friday night, there was no shortage of women at Donovan’s, many of whom were willing to do quite a bit to get his attention. Successful, more than reasonably well-off, and powerful, he was hardly in want of women.
And, though he could hardly say that he objected to it, for the past several months, it’d begun to leave him less than satisfied. The ready eagerness and easy subservience that used to please him had begun to chafe.
As an attorney, he was a man who appreciated the fight. A heated argument, filled with clever words and razor-sharp points, could be finer foreplay than fellatio. The women he saw now—Pip, Lynn, Sara, Simone, and Reena—knew what he wanted and gave it before he even asked. There was no struggle anymore. No real sense of surprise.
And while, yes, a part of him was pleased—very, very pleased—with his experiences with them all, a part of him missed the thrill of the chase. Missed the challenge in bending a wily woman to his will.
And Max Wells had wiles.
Imagining her curvy hips and full breasts, he could think of few things he wanted more than to watch her bend for him.
“I know that look,” Peter muttered, taking him from his imaginative thoughts. “Tell me you’re not interested in her.”
“I find her interesting,” he answered mildly. “Why? Do you object to it?” Peter—and Kat, for that matter—was a friend. Max may intrigue him, but there weren’t many things he’d throw away friendships for.
“Object?” Peter scoffed. He shook his head. “No. Hope one of your little lawyer underlings can handle your sexual harassment case when she sues your ass.” He cocked his head, the corner of his lips lifting in amusement. “Hell yeah.”
The lawyer gave a bark of laughter, imagining Max, all suited-up and soldiered at the prosecution table. It made him hard and hungry for a trial. He thought about what it would be like to cross-examine her, to feel her acerbic tongue lash at him before he took her down in that witness box in front of a courtroom full of people.
He wanted to bend her over the defense table and lift the hem of her suit’s skirt—the way Peter had with Kat—exposing conservative stockings, lacy garters, and naked, wet woman. He wanted to touch and tease and taste the incriminating evidence of her arousal.
“Seriously,” Peter said, interrupting his thoughts again, “are you really going to pursue Max?”
He shrugged noncommittally. “What can you tell me about her?”
“That you don’t already know?” Peter had been the one to install much of the background check and investigatory software on his computer. Not to mention all the griping he’d shared with his friend over Max and her ludicrous vendetta against him and his relationship with Kat over the past five years.
Peter shrugged and adjusted his glasses a bit on his nose. “I don’t really know her well.” He frowned. “She’s Kat’s best friend, but she never really liked me—that much I know—so Kat’s sort of been forced to keep a wall up, separating her time with me and her time with Max.” He rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “It sucks, but I can’t exactly make Kat choose sides. I won’t do that to her.”
“So was that why Kat made the dare with Max?” He settled back in his chair and filed that bit of information away. “To try to tear down that wall?”
Peter cocked his head to the side and nodded. “I suppose. I think she just wanted Max to get a good look at it. You know, see the lifestyle in action. See that it’s not the nightmare that she’s read about.”
He understood that. He could work with that. He let a small smile spread across his lips, plans already coming to mind.
———
“This has nothing to do with me, Kat.” Max stabbed her pasta with her fork. She and Kat had been arguing out on Cafe Bein’s outdoor patio for the past hour. “I wish it was just about me and my,” she paused and twirled her fork, hedging her words, “stance on S&M, but it’s not.”
She took a bite, tasting nothing, before she patted the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “This is about Elysia’s publishing standards. We’ve rebuilt ourselves on the ideals that women do and should have active agency over not only their love lives but their entire lives.” She pushed around the remains of her lunch. “How can we then turn around and publish a novel where the smart, savvy, independent heroine’s deepest desire is to be bent over and spanked by some big, strong man?”
Max jabbed her fork in her friend’s direction. “It’s tantamount to saying, ‘A good job, professional success, and adventure isn’t enough, ladies. You’ll never be truly happy until you let some man treat you like his domesticated, disobedient pet.’ ”
Kat stopped, her sandwich half-way to her mouth. She set it back down on her plate before frowning at Max, her dark eyes hardening. “Is that what you think I am? Peter’s pet?” Max winced at the anger and hurt in her friend’s voice. “His good, little Kat who he smacks around and spanks so he can feel like some sort of alpha male?”
Max was just trying to look out for her friend; she was tired of everyone treating her like some kind of bigot! “That’s not what I meant and you know—”
“It is what you meant.” Kat sat straighter, pushing her food aside. “And you know it.” She shook her head, loose strands of her long, dark hair fluttering around her face.
Sighing, Max set down her silverware and pushed her own plate away. She honestly didn’t know what to say. Not without being either dishonest or hurtful.
Kat lifted her chin stubbornly, her lips hardening into a chastising frown. “I’m not changing the end of the story.” Her eyes flashed with a fierce determination Max wouldn’t have thought her capable of. “It’d be one thing if you thought the ending didn’t work or wasn’t written well, but this is about content. It’s censorship.” Kat sat back in her chair and leveled a pointed look at her friend. “You talk about women being active and assertive and in control of their lives and their desires.” She narrowed her gaze. “But only if those lives and desires mesh with your principles, right?”
Max pressed her lips together, speechless—a state she rarely experienced and never liked.
Kat pierced her with a confused, mystified glare. “God, Max, when did feminism become a trap? When did female empowerment start stripping choices away from women?”
Shutting her eyes for a moment, Max shook her head wearily, more than tired of this fight that they’d been having for five years, before opening her eyes. “Look, it’s not like I’m saying or doing this to hurt you. I just want to—”
“To protect me,” Kat said as she relaxed a bit. “I know.” She sighed. “But you don’t have to. I don’t need anyone protecting me—I appreciate the effort, but I can take care of myself. What I need is for you to understand. I’d like to be able to talk to you about this part of my life, to share it with you, without you bristling or rolling your eyes at it.” She bit her lip and shrugged. “You’re my best friend and I need you to at least try.”
Max nodded, reaching for her glass. “I’ll try.” For her friend, she could try.
“So you’ll still come to Donovan’s with us?” Kat asked hopefully.
Max choked on her drink.
“Didn’t like it so much last time?” Kat flashed a mischievous smile.
Max grabbed her napkin as she continued to cough. “Excuse me?” Kat knew about last Friday? Knew that she’d been at Donovan’s? Had that sneaky blond bastard told them that she’d been there? After he’d told her he wouldn’t? An icy worry wormed through her. Had he told Kat about their watching her and Peter?
“We ran into Rand that night.” Kat smiled cheekily. “You, uh, made quite an impression on him.”
She let out a small, relieved breath. Rand. Not the other man. Much easier ground. “Yeah.” Max snorted. “A handprint-sized one.”
Kat giggled. “Yes, we heard all about that.”
Speaking of hearing all about things, Max couldn’t help but think about the other reason why she’d asked to meet Kat for lunch. Max picked up her glass again. Playing with the straw, she bit her lip before asking, “What did you tell them about me during those reference interviews?”
Taken aback by the change in subject, Kat shrugged. “Nothing much. Just who you are, how I know you, that kind of thing.”
“Did you tell them about John and Nick?”
Kat stopped for a moment, thinking. “No, not that I can remember.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah,” Kat answered, “I think. Why?”
“Then how the hell did that guy know?” she wondered aloud.
“What guy?” Kat picked up her sandwich to take another bite.
Max paused, not sure what to say. That guy. “I don’t know his name.” She tapped her finger on the table, irritated at just the memory. “Tall, lean, Asian, but with blond hair and blue eyes,” she described. “The lawyer.”
“Hayato?” Kat asked, her mouth full as her eyebrows shot up.
“Is that his name?” She had his name now. It shouldn’t be too hard to find an attorney in town with his name and reputation. It was definitely time to do a little digital tit-for-tat.
She shook her head. “Rand said that you’d left with him.” She gave her friend a knowing smile. “That you’d said that you were one of his.” She made it sound like a joke. Which boggled Max, that, with one breath, her friend demanded to be taken seriously on the matter and, in the next, would make light of it. “Not that I’d believed him, of course.” She leaned forward. “It’s not true, is it?”
Max shook her head, not understanding any of this enough to comment. “What did you tell him about me?” she asked, forcing the conversation back to topic. “Why would you tell him anything about me?”
“What are you talking about?” Kat frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever really talked to him about you. Not specifically. I mean, he’s one of Peter’s really good friends—has been for years, since college—so we’ve gone on a couple of double dates, sometimes at the club. Just idle small talk stuff.”
Reaching into her purse, Max took out the file he’d given her and slapped it down on the table. “Then how does the man have a file on me?” Opening it, she began to flip through the contents. “He’s got all this personal information about me. Written down and kept in his office.” Where anyone could find it. Where anyone—including him—could use it against her.
“They do that with everyone.” Kat waved dismissively. “But don’t worry. Donovan’s likes to know their clients inside and out. Make sure there’s no one reckless or dangerous in the mix.”
“It has things in there about my work habits and my past dating history.” She couldn’t believe her friend was brushing this off like it was nothing. “It’s pretty much stalking.”
Kat rolled her eyes. “Welcome to the age of the Internet. Anyone can find that kind of stuff out just by entering your name and face into a search engine.”
“Where would he get my dating history?”
Kat snorted. “I helped you create most of your online dating profiles; I know what you put in there. That coupled with your social media and networking profiles, it’s not that hard to connect the dots.”
Well, that was a horrifying thought. Max swallowed hard.
Kat just shrugged. “But, like I said, it’s not that big of a deal. I mean, maybe it wasn’t to the same extent, but we’ve pretty much done the same to every guy you’ve dated since college. Plus, Donovan’s is really discreet. Part of their business is to keep everyone’s secrets secret, everyone’s private lives private.”
“Except from them.” It’d felt so strange to have so much of her personal information in someone else’s hands. To have it out there like that. That knowledge—hell, that whole night—had left an uncomfortable feeling inside her. She remembered tucking it under her arm that night, feeling vulnerable with her private affairs out in the open under the vast and shadowed night. She hadn’t felt truly safe until that folder and all its questionable content had been locked away in her glove compartment.
And, even then. The club—that man—still had the original and digital copies. He could do as he pleased with them.
She really didn’t liked the idea of her dirty laundry in someone else’s hamper. With a disgusted snort she turned another sheet of paper. She didn’t need anyone servicing her secrets, thank you very much.
“Really,” Kat assured her, “you have no reason to worry. Donovan’s, and especially the founders, would never let that information leak out of the club. They have a reputation to maintain too, you know. It would hurt them much more than it would ever hurt you.”
Max snorted, less than willing to test that theory.
No, she’d take care of all this before tonight. She needed those files back and he—Hayato, or whatever his name was—was going to give them to her.
Whatever it took.
Looking back at Kat, she leaned forward. “So, what can you tell me about him?”
READ CHAPTER SI(fix)X
WANT MORE?
No comments:
Post a Comment