Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
I arch a brow, a little dubious. “Never?”
“Never,” he says with emphasis. “I made that up on the spot for you. I was really trying to get you to go home with me that first night.”
This intel thrills me too much for my own good. His undivided attention sends tingles down my chest. The man was relentless when we met. The strength of his desire is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced, and the riskiest. “Why did you do it?” I ask, my voice rough from the heat rising in me.
Zane scratches his jaw like he’s trying to make sense of it himself. “You know how you said that night was the first time you’d ever hit on a client?”
“Yes.”
“My reason’s the same.” Zane steps closer, glances around once more. Here, surrounded by green hills and canopies of trees, the coast is clear. “I know we can’t be together, but you’re so fucking irresistible.” He shrugs helplessly, as if resigned to this fate of wanting but not having. “Honestly, you get more irresistible every day, Maddox.”
I nearly break from his confession. I’m this close to saying fuck it. To asking him to push me up against a tree right now. To asking him to spend the night with me, then the next one, then the next.
“Same here,” I admit heavily.
“I wanted you to know that. Even though…” He doesn’t have to finish the thought.
Even though nothing can happen.
We both know the score. But I know we both felt the same wild connection that first night. We feel it even more now. Knowing that makes it even harder to do the right thing—resist him.
Somehow, I manage that feat as we finish the course and then make our way to our separate cars, going in separate directions across the city.
13
SEX, GARDENING, AND EXERCISE
Maddox
That evening, I hit the hotel gym before dinner with my parents. Exercise soothes me. I need as much calm as I can get, dealing with them. Fifty floors on the StairMaster while listening to a gardening podcast does the trick.
I don’t garden, but I read an article that gardening makes people happy, so I tried the podcast, hoping it’d put me in the right mood to see them.
When I leave the gym, the guy at the desk nods and then returns to his phone call, saying something about a water pipe. But plumbing problems are not relaxing so I put it out of my mind as I shower and get dressed.
I’m meeting my parents at a new Mediterranean restaurant in the Marina. On my way there, I gird myself for the usual subtle jabs about my career choice. After the car drops me off and I head inside, I quickly find them at the bar, and I drop a kiss on Mom’s cheek. “Hi Mom,” I say.
“Hi darling,” she says.
“Good to see you, son,” my father says.
“And you too, Dad.”
It’s weird to call them Mom and Dad. They seem like Paula and David LeGrande, but every time I try to call them by their names, they balk. Mom and Dad is easier, and yet, weirder.
After we order, Mom spreads her napkin in her lap and smiles. “So, how’s everything going with CTM?”
“Great,” I say, with more enthusiasm than the question calls for. But I want them to understand that my degree is still working out for me—and I’ve achieved a lot. “Adriana and I have access to more clients, and we’ve already struck some new deals. You’ll be pleased to know one of the partnerships is with a shoe company that gives a portion of its profits to lower income families.”
My dad perks up. “So one of your athletes is involved in that sort of marketing partnership?”
“Yep,” I say, then give them the details of the deal I arranged for an established football star.
“Interesting,” my dad says, and swirls his wine glass. He takes a thoughtful sip, then sets it down. “Glad they aren’t all selfish pricks. But these superstars should be doing more. They make millions and there are families out there that have nothing.”
Here we go again. “A lot of athletes I work with contribute to worthy causes, to families who need a helping hand, Dad. Actually, all of my clients do,” I say diplomatically.
“Good, but more of them should,” he says, then scoffs dismissively. “Men like that should set an example.”
My mom shakes her head in disgust. “They have a responsibility to be leaders.”
“Those are the type of guys I work with. I don’t rep assholes,” I say, already exasperated.
“Good. You shouldn’t. Don’t ever take on someone whose values don’t align,” my dad says.
Yup. He’s still serving his penance through me.
“Like I said, I rep good guys. I get to know them. Spend time with them. Play golf with them.”
Dad picks up his fork, points it at me. “I played golf with you know who too. I don’t play anymore.”