AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Max’s life couldn’t be any more different from mine. We both may have lost our mothers, but the Steele’s have money—old money. Money that will go to Max whether he works for it or not, same as Preston Tate.
I worked for every penny I have, worked in ways that Max could never imagine.
The hot tea has trouble passing through the lump in my throat. “I see,” I finally say.
He studies me for a moment. “Obviously not, because you think I’m an ass for bringing that up.”
That produces the barest of smiles. “I don’t. I never talked about my mother with anyone so that wasn’t an option.”
“No one?”
“My therapist,” I admit. “It took quite a few sessions.”
“Dead mothers always do. Tell me about Noam, the second person you’ve loved that has died.”
Did I love him? Lying beside him in the bed last night, it was easy to say that I did, but now in the light of day…
I don’t know.
I respected him, and admired his business acumen. He taught me so much about taking risks and covering your back and knowing when to walk away.
I think I should have walked away years ago.
“He liked to think he could control me,” I begin, eyes on the pristine white cloth covering the table. The shining cutlery nestled perfectly in the snowy napkin.
Noam demanded perfection.
When I look up, Max is watching me. “But he couldn’t, because you are the wild bird beyond anyone’s grip,” he says.
“Not exactly.”
“But pretty close. I’m very good at reading people, you know. Now, tell me the best thing about Mr. Tate.”
“He was the first man who ever respected me.”
Max leans back in his chair and studies me like he’s reviewing for an exam. And for the first time, I feel like someone sees me. Really sees me.
I’m not sure I like it.
“I imagine that was what won your loyalty, then. Because a woman like you—a woman who looks like you—isn’t often afforded a lot of respect. Am I right?”
I nod even as I fight to pull myself together. No one should see me like this—vulnerable. Open. Max is reading me like a book and no one does that. Because I don’t allow it.
Seeing me exposed, and knowing what’s going on under the surface is an open invitation to hurt me.
It’s why I don’t do relationships.
“He was a good man, then, even though he wanted to control you. I guess most men want to control you. See you as a possession.”
“Who are you?” I demand.
He tips an imaginary cap to me. “Your new best friend.”
“I don’t have best friends.”
“Which is why you need me. Next question: What was the best piece of advice Noam ever gave you?”
“To respect myself,” I say softly. “And that I needed to have more fun.”
