Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I don’t have a choice, though. If I look at him again, this close up, my face will give me away. He’ll know I want him. He might even figure out he’s been my sexual fantasy for a year and a half. And I can’t let him figure that out. If I do, one thing will lead to another, and I’ll somehow wind up fucking him today. And, really, what kind of person knowingly fucks both a father and son? It was one thing when I didn’t know that’s what I was doing. But now that I do, I couldn’t possibly do it again . . .
Could I?
No, Marnie. Absolutely not.
Although . . .
Isn’t there some kind of statute of limitations in play here that wiped the slate clean regarding my brief and meaningless relationship with Alexander? I haven’t even thought about that bastard over the past year and a half, except the few times I’ve mentioned him in therapy as a cautionary tale. And Max is the last man I had sex with, not Alexander, so it’s sort of like Max’s cock baptized me anew . . . Right?
No, Marnie. Wrong. You’re so wrong, it’s pitiful. Now stop trying to rationalize your way into fucking Max again. Why go through all that therapy if you’re only going to jump into bed with him again?
Shoot. Before seeing Max today, I’d been proud of my progress in therapy. Proud of my progress in all aspects of my life. I’ve become a much better person than I was back then. I’m strong. Clear-headed. Healthy. These days, I know what I want in a man, and Maximillian Vaughn—Alexander’s freaking son—ain’t it, baby.
“What kind of law do you practice?” Jasmine asks.
Max says, “Patent and business law.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Jasmine says. “I remember you mentioned that when we met you before. Back then, you were hoping to make partner at your firm at the end of the year, right? Did that happen?”
“No, not yet, unfortunately,” Max says. “But it’s okay. In retrospect, I was being a bit too ambitious to think I could get there in five years, when it normally takes seven. This year should be my year. The partnership selection meeting is happening in a few weeks, so hopefully I’ll get some good news then.”
The whole table, other than me, wishes him luck. But when I realize my silence has been weird and awkward, I murmur, “Yeah, best of luck to you.” Unfortunately, I’ve made my comment a solid beat after everyone else, so my delay in wishing him well has come across as sarcastic, even though I meant the comment sincerely. It certainly didn’t help that I didn’t look at him when I said it.
“Gee, thanks, Marnie,” Max murmurs stiffly. There’s anger in that tone. Disdain. And I don’t blame him. I’d hate me, too, if I were him.
The conversation shifts. Jasmine talks about her sister who’s a family law attorney in San Diego. She says her sister opened her own small firm after failing to make partner at a big, national law firm. She assures Max that making partner isn’t the only path to a successful law career, and he politely thanks her for the encouragement.
When Max is done speaking to Jasmine, I can feel his eyes on me. But I don’t look at him. Deep down, I know he’s a fire I simply can’t play around with.
Suddenly, Max says, “Excuse me, ladies.” He springs out of his chair and marches away, leaving his disdain for me floating in the air in his vacated spot. And that’s that. He’s gone.
“Jesus Christ, Marnie,” Victoria barks. “Just because you’re not interested in seeing him again, doesn’t mean you need to be a fucking bitch to the poor guy.”
“Leave her alone, Vicky,” Lucy says. “That was awkward for her. She didn’t know what to say or do.”
“She didn’t even look at the man!”
“Why do you care?” I shout. And when I realize I’ve raised my voice a little too much, I look around the party sheepishly.
“I care because he seems like he’d be good for you, actually,” Victoria says. “And I care about you. I think you’re self-sabotaging again, if you really want to know. I think you felt things with him you weren’t ready to feel, and so—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say. I get up. “Excuse me. I need a drink.”
I start walking toward the bartender across the party, but when I notice Max talking to Grayson over there, I shift my trajectory and walk aimlessly in another direction. As I walk, Max’s eyes meet mine, and the smolder he flashes me zings me right between the legs like I’ve been zapped by a Taser gun aimed directly at my clit.
I stop walking and stare him down. And when Grayson unexpectedly walks away, and Max is suddenly standing on his own, I decide, fuck it. I’m a grown-ass woman. And Victoria was right. I was a bitch to Max for not even looking at him. I’m sure he thinks I’m a nut job from the way things ended before. And rightly so. All in all, the right thing to do is go over there and apologize for my behavior at the table just now. Yes. I’ll wish him well and explain that I’ve been in therapy, and he caught me at a bad time in my life and I’m sorry if I’ve treated him badly. And then I’ll walk away. Yep. I’ll say all that to him, and that’s it, simply to set his mind at ease about what happened a year and a half ago. I’ll assure him he did nothing wrong and then walk away with my head held high; and after that, I’ll never speak to, or think about, the sexiest man alive, Maximillian Vaughn, ever, ever again.