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CHAPTER TWELVE: ALWAYS WATCHING
“I thought we were going to Donovan’s,” Max said when he led her up the steps to his practice’s office building.
He turned to look at her. Her pert face was averted, busily studying the building’s front. As if she’d never seen it before. As if she hadn’t made barging through its polished doors a practiced art.
She’d been doing that—purposefully ignoring him, finding exacting fascination in everything but him, every tiny detail that wasn’t him—for the last twenty minutes. After a lost argument over driving herself, Max had sat stonily silent in the passenger seat of his car, her granite gaze glaring out the window at the passing cityscape. The short drive from her office had been interminably long, a tense, terse quiet filling the confined space.
“I thought you were taking me to the club,” she repeated, her voice flat and rigidly controlled.
“I am.” He chose to take the break of silence as progress. It wasn’t much, but he’d take it. “I simply thought you would prefer a more,” he hesitated, “discreet entrance.”
She huffed and walked beside him down the empty, late-night corridors. “I’d prefer to not be here at all.”
He’d bet. “I’ve something you’ll want to see,” he told her. “But, for now, I thought we could take this time to discuss a few things.”
He watched her frown. “Such as?”
“The real reason why you’re angry with me.”
Max shook her head, her jaw jutting stubbornly. “I already told you—”
“That I’m an asshole,” he finished when they approached his office. “Yes, I’m well aware. Care to elaborate? I’ve many bad qualities,” he acknowledged wryly while he entered the electronic security code to open the door. “I can hardly be expected to know to which you’re referring.”
He entered the shadowed office, not bothering to flick on the lights before turning toward her. Shrouded in the hall’s darkness, she stood, imposing, with her arms crossed defiantly over her delectable chest, her brown eyes narrowed sharply. She stole his breath. Absolutely arresting.
But something bothered him. While he certainly enjoyed Max when she was full of fire and fight, there was something else behind this tough front.
Her eyes, hot and angry, shone with a sheen of hurt. Of betrayal. And it struck him like a blade to the gut.
“The fact that you can even ask me that question.” Her voice was quiet and cold. “After what you did.” She shook her head, her face fixed into a censorious scowl. “That’s why you’re an asshole.”
He paused, an uncomfortable feeling niggling him, like the ghost of a conscience or a glimmer of guilt. Something like worry had been plaguing him all night and then all day. He’d pushed too far. He knew it. Had probably known it as he’d pushed, but…
It just couldn’t be helped.
There was something about Max that had pushed—had provoked—him first.
Still he’d had no business doing it.
His gaze flickered, breaking from hers for the briefest of moments. He should apologize—a thing he hated and rarely did. But he should. He owed her that.
But instead he just stood there. Silent. Unsure.
She stepped into the office, striding through it while the city lights played over her vengeful form. “Just get this over with.” She pushed past him. “Then give me my goddamned file so I can go home.”
Without a word, he led her into Donovan’s, through its winding insides where few had walked.
She would like this, he thought.
She had to.
He wanted to make things better. After what she’d done for Hallie. After what he’d done to her. He needed to—he would—make things right again.
———
Max’s ears perked up at the sound of a crowd—the muted, muffled sound of many voices—that trickled to her while they walked down long, curving, dimly lit hallways. Where was he taking her? What would he do?
Her eyes kept drifting along the space, craning into corners, spying for cameras hidden in the dark.
He’d taken her picture. When she was vulnerable. When her guards had been down. He’d violated her. She felt used.
And she hated him for that. For making her feel so weak. Duped.
Max looked up when he opened a door, the crowd’s loud rumble washing over her. He stood in the doorway, holding the heavy door open, a slight bow ushering her in.
Come.
Max took a deep breath and entered.
Her eyes widened.
Donovan’s had been completely transformed.
While still stylish, the space had been rearranged. The dance floor, strobe lights, and throbbing music were gone. Replaced by a stage, newly erected and dominating the majority of the room. The leather furniture and leather-clad clientèle were also missing tonight. In their place were demurely dressed tables and chairs that lined the stage and staggered about the rest of the space, seating more than a hundred well-groomed, fine-suited guests.
Startled, Max saw Hallie stand and wave to her, beckoning her forward, and she felt his hand on the small of her back.
Max mentally shrugged and moved through the tables to take a seat next to Hallie, feeling underdressed next to the beautiful woman wrapped in a gorgeous silver sheath dress that hugged her every curve. Max turned around to look for him, but he was gone.
“You got here just in time,” Hallie whispered excitedly. “The show’s just about to start. I can’t believe he did this for me. Put this all together in the last nine hours. He’s just so amazing, isn’t he?”
“Amazing,” Max replied flatly. “What is all this?”
Hallie clapped her hands quietly. “Just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me.” She sighed happily. She opened her mouth to say more, but the already dimmed lights darkened to black and music began to play.
“Welcome to Donovan’s Get Your Fix Benefit, to help our friend and neighborhood entrepreneur Hallelujah Hannings repair her lovely beachside lingerie boutique,” a sultry voice announced over the PA. “After the show, there will be a booth in the back accepting donations and order sales for any of the items seen tonight. And now,” the voice continued, “we hope you enjoy the beautiful creations of Bits ‘n’ Pieces modeled by the buxom babes of Donovan’s own Burle-Q Burlesque Troupe!”
The crowd cheered—none louder than Hallie, who hooted and howled with such unladylike enthusiasm that Max couldn’t help but smile. She sucked in a breath when four women walked onto the stage wearing Hallie’s designs.
A dark-haired Grecian goddess sauntered out in the same deep blue negligee that now hung in Max’s closet. The figure-hugging piece loved every inch of her sensuous body, the lace molding itself to her sun-kissed skin.
An African-American, statuesque queen made her way regally down the runway, looking luminescent in the white satin slip. Her slender, pecan form framed to perfection in the simple, classic clothes.
A raven-haired pixie, with a puckish face peeking out from under an arrogantly cocked fedora, swaggered like a mobster in the pinstripe teddy. She looked sexy and tough, all tattoos and attitude, while she swaggered onstage.
Max turned when Hallie inhaled sharply. Even in the dark, Max saw Hallie’s blue eyes widen and her lips part.
The final woman—a curvaceous brunette temptress in a sleek, glittering black gown—glided down the stage with unspeakable grace. She looked positively stunning in Hallie’s gown. As if every stitch had been meant just for her. It cascaded like living starlight over her, a pour of pure magic across her balsam skin. It caressed every swell and curve of her body, loving it all with every sway. An unbelievable beauty.
The crowd practically cooed, an audible wave of approval, and Max turned to Hallie, grinning at the joy that radiated from the woman. Her perfectly manicured hands were cupped over her mouth and she all but bounced in her seat, a barely contained mass of nerves and elation. Max was so proud of her.
“That was amazing,” Hallie whispered into her hands in awe.
Max clapped. Yeah, okay, this was pretty amazing.
Max saw him standing in the wings, almost hidden in the curtains and shadows. He’d organized all this? In nine hours?
The room was full of energy, all the people enraptured by Hallie’s talent. She’d do so much business tonight. Her sales would boom and the store wasn’t even open yet. For all Wayne’s attempts to stifle her, to chase her out, Hallie’s business would grow.
The crowd erupted into uproarious applause, giving Hallie and the girls of Burle-Q a standing ovation. As the lights came back on, the crowd began to stand, mingling while they made their way to the booth in the back.
“Congratulations, Hallie,” Max said to her as they stood. “Your show was an absolute success.”
“Thank you.” A little teary eyed, she swept Max up into a fierce embrace. Max stilled, shocked by the sudden and unexpected contact, but Hallie just held on tighter, seeming to need someone to hang onto while her emotions overwhelmed her. “Thank you so much for coming and for everything you’re doing for me. For what everyone’s doing for me. I just can’t believe it. That anyone would care about me and my little shop.”
“Of course people care.” Max squeezed her back. “You’re talented, and what’s happening to you is atrocious.”
“She’s right, Hallie,” he said from behind them. Max stepped back from the other woman at the quiet timbre of his voice, suddenly uncomfortable again. “You have a gift and you have friends who will make sure that Wayne won’t win.”
“Thank you.” Hallie’s smile wobbled wetly. “Just thank you. I don’t know what more to say.”
“No need for more,” he assured her warmly. “However, I do believe that you’re needed at the booth. Elin needs you to help them with the abundance of sales already piling in.”
They watched Hallie leave, half-smiling, half-crying, before she was swallowed up by an adoring crowd. “So,” he asked Max, “what did you think?”
“Of Hallie’s show?” She watched the proud boutique owner flawlessly handle the throng of now eager customers. “It was,” Max answered with a slight smile, “amazing. You did all this?”
He stepped closer, his body just barely touching her back while they stared. “Hallie did this,” he said surely. “It was her work on display. Her supporters who flocked to help. Tonight is her success. I merely made a few phone calls.”
Max was sure he’d done much more than that. She’d spent most of the day making a few phone calls of her own. Exhausting her contacts and calling in countless favors. And, while Max thought every second of it worth it, she knew the daunting task of pulling off a miracle.
She snuck a look at him, just a peek out of the corner of her eye. He had such a strong profile, all sure, straight angles held in perfect confidence. Everything about him spoke of power and influence and capability. He was a man who got miracles done.
Whatever else he was—and he was many things—she respected that.
“May we talk for a bit?” He sounded strangely formal. “In private?”
“You’re asking?” She was so used to his usual assured and assuming tone.
“In my office?” he continued, refusing to rise to her bait.
She shrugged and nodded before allowing him to lead her away from the crowd. They were quiet while they walked, but it was a different quiet than before.
When they’d walked in earlier, she’d done her best to fill the silence with every accusation she wanted to hurl at his head, every insult she wanted to stab him with. Every word she fully intended to cut him down with.
But now.
There was nothing but questions between them.
Questions like, who the hell was this man?
———
He hated confession.
Having grown up Catholic, it’d always been his least favorite practice—and he hadn’t been terribly fond of any of them in the first place. As an adult, he rarely wasted his time on sin-listing and self-flagellation, preferring clear, decisive action to such hand-wringing.
But he owed Max. He’d used her terribly and, though he hated the idea of it, she deserved the opportunity to get him on his knees.
He watched her settle herself across from him and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. Then shook her head. “Fine.” She shrugged. “Whatever. It’s fine.”
It wasn’t. Fine so very rarely ever meant fine. Forgiveness was never that easy. “Max,” he said, “I am sorry. I—” His lips thinned. “What I did was...” he paused before saying, “unacceptable. I apologize.”
She sniffed, turning away. “It’s fine,” she repeated. “I just want this finished. I want this done.”
He nodded, reached into his jacket, and retrieved her file from his pocket and put the thin, folded stack of paper on the desk.
“I want the digital copy too.”
He nodded and turned on his computer.
“And the pictures,” she added quickly, “and whatever else you have of me.”
He paused, his hand hovering over the mouse. “What pictures?”
She narrowed her gaze at him sharply. “The pictures you sent.”
Hmm.
He sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest before cocking his head and raising one of his eyebrows. “I never sent you pictures.”
She shook her head, disappointment clear on her face, stood up, and made her way toward the door.
“Max.” He followed after her, skirting the desk before grabbing her wrist to stop her. “Max.”
She turned to him, wrenching her elbow hard. “Let,” she growled at him, baring her teeth. “Me. Go.”
Instinctively, his grip tightened. Not hard enough to hurt, but he would not let go. “Max,” he insisted, “I didn’t send you any pictures.”
Max gritted her teeth. Without warning, she tore her arm back and shoved him away.
Shocked, he stumbled back and stared at her.
For a long moment, they just glared at each other, the challenge thrown, before she pushed past him.
Toward his desk.
She took over his chair and clicked his mouse aggressively. He watched her furiously type and use his computer. “There!” She sat back.
He moved to her side and looked over her shoulder.
He blinked at the screen.
Then frowned.
What the fuck?
He leaned in, a scowl pulling at his face. “Who sent you this?”
She balked. “You did.” She paused. “Didn’t you?”
“No.” He was offended by the accusation—the assumption—that he would. Fuck no would he ever take pictures of them together without her knowledge and consent. And fuck no would he have sent it to her like some blackmailed piece of trash.
He stared at the photos. Of Max stripping off her work clothes, her bared skin shocking in the dressing room’s mirrored space. Her lush curves exposed while she pulled on lingerie over skin as pale and smooth as pearl. Close-ups of Max with her hands pressed tight against herself, caught frozen while she frantically fought for release.
There were pictures of him too. Of him looming over her, looking ravenous and monstrous. Of him touching her, laying his profane hands on the perfect temple of her body. Of him tasting her, feasting on her, gorging himself on her like a glutton.
Tense breaths heaved out between clenched teeth.
Who did this? Took this? Stole this part of them only to flaunt this false twist on reality in their faces?
He swallowed hard, choking on the vengeance clawing up his throat. Someone would pay. For this, he’d tear them apart.
“I,” he stated, his voice clipped crisp and almost cruelly controlled by fury, “did not take these.”
“Yes, you did,” she insisted. “You had to have. It’s your email address.”
He stared at the sender’s name. Hayato@hwrnllp.com.
He shook his head, disbelieving. “That’s not my email address,” he told her. But it was close. Much too close. Reaching around her, he pulled up his own inbox.
Hayato_F@hrwnllp.com.
A little line. A little letter switch here and there. A barely distinguishable difference.
“That isn’t me,” he said, worry warring with his anger. “That isn’t me.”
Max shook her head, wisps of her soft hair brushing his neck. “It is.” Fear tightened her voice until it bubbled up as little more than babble. “It is. It has to be.”
He understood her fear. It wasn’t him. He knew that. She knew that.
But—despicable though it may be—he wished it were.
Because, if it wasn’t him, someone else had these photos. Someone else had them in their possession. And someone else was holding them over her head.
“It was you,” she whispered, an almost mute mutter. “You’re doing this. It has to be you.”
His hand shot out and grabbed the chair’s arm; he knew better than to touch her at this moment. He turned the chair so she faced him, caging her between the safety, the surety, of his arms. “I will fix this,” he told her. “I will find who did this and I will fix this.”
She just shook her head, turning her gaze back to the screen, the helplessness in her eyes hurting him.
He reached out, cupping her chin and turning her gaze back to him, hating that she flinched at the touch. “I will fix this, Max.” He would make this right. “I will.”
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