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  Mr. Cole: Come see me.

  “Everything okay?” Mike asked, noticing that I probably looked like a ghost.

  “Oh. Um. Yeah.” I stared at my phone, deciding not to reply and placing it face down on the table. I was in the middle of something, so Cole would just have to wait.

  Several minutes went by and my phone began to vibrate. I could have sworn it sounded angry, too.

  “Sorry,” I said apologetically to Mike and took a look.

  Mr. Cole: I know you’re with Mike in the corner conference room downstairs. Get your ass up here, or I’m coming down and you won’t like it.

  Shit. It sounded like I was in trouble.

  Me: be right there

  I looked up at Mike. “It’s the boss. And he sounds angry.”

  “Doesn’t he always?”

  “More than usual,” I clarified. “I’ll be right back.”

  I marched upstairs, past Keri, who wore a bright orange dress and was on the phone—probably with her boyfriend because she had a naughty little smile.

  I knocked lightly on his door.

  “Come in,” Mr. Cole said.

  I cracked open the door and found him talking on his headset, staring out the window, wearing a dark T-shirt with the C.C. lips logo on the back and a pair of extremely sexy jeans. His tall, lean, but muscular frame accentuated by those broad shoulders was just as breathtakingly delicious as the first time I’d laid eyes on him. I’d honestly forgotten how damned good he looked and what he did to my pulse. Okay. No, I hadn’t. But I’d been working hard on it.

  He looked me over, making a pit stop on my breasts, which were highlighted by my fitted, button-down khaki dress.

  I cleared my throat, and his gaze snapped up to my face.

  He pointed to the table and chairs.

  “Yep. Sounds right,” he said to whomever was on the phone. “Look. I’ve got an important meeting, but I’ll have Keri follow up with you on Monday.”

  I’m important, am I? I sat, and he turned to look at me, removing the band over his “don’t give a fuck” messy dark hair that left it looking even sexier.

  “So. Miss Snow, how are things going?” He folded his arms over his chest, but didn’t join me at the table.

  “Fine. I’ve gotten out to see all of my clients, have forecasts started for next quarter, and have begun working through all of the promotional plans.” Honestly, it was hard work, but I liked it—especially the customers, who were more like members of the Maxwell Cole cult. One lady, a senior buyer for Lacy’s department store, had a Ken doll on her desk with a tiny photo of Maxwell Cole taped to the face. It was pretty mind-blowing how much they worshiped him and wanted to come to our offices for our quarterly meetings just so, on the off chance he was around, they could catch a glimpse. It was almost comical, except that I could relate.

  Anyway, there wasn’t anything I’d come across in the role I didn’t feel I could handle. And being back in the office this week also gave me a chance to meet two more ladies on the sales team who reported to directors but were at my level. We all seemed to click. So I guess…things were moving ahead.

  “Good to hear,” he said. “I want you at my place tonight at nine.”

  My stomach fell through the floor in a rush of nerves and shock and…confusion, frankly. “For?”

  “Why do you think?” he asked.

  Honestly, I had no idea, but my heart sped up and did a little flip. “I don’t know.”

  “I haven’t seen you for weeks.”

  For a moment, it sounded like he missed me. But obviously, that was ridiculous. “You mean…for therapy.”

  “What else would I mean?” he said stiffly.

  Just when I’d begun to feel like life was getting into a normal, manageable groove, he threw this at me. Well, I didn’t want this anymore, whatever “this” was.

  “I can’t. I have plans,” I said. “And I have to get back to work; Mike’s waiting.”

  “I don’t give a shit about Mike having to wait. And whatever plans you have, you’ll cancel them.”

  “No. I won’t. I’m not your dog who comes when it’s called. I have a life. And a date tonight.”

  His eyes narrowed. “With who?”

  “None of your business.” I stood and fully intended to leave, but then he said something that reopened a few too many fresh wounds.

  “Why did you kick me out of your hotel room that night?”

  I froze, and my mouth sort of moved, but no words came out. There was way too much emotional content contained in the answer. “I…I…don’t want to talk about this right now.” Or ever.

  “Is it because you have a boyfriend and you cheated on him?”

  “What? No. I’d never do that.” And Mr. Cole knew he was my first everything—I’d told him that. There were clearly no other men.

  “Then why?” he demanded.

  “I told you; I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “I do,” he replied firmly, in that deep authoritative tone.

  I gave him a pleading look. “You promised me we’d be professional.”

  “No. You promised me. And I’m not asking for anything other than an answer. There’s nothing inappropriate about that.”

  I stared at this beautiful man, wondering why the hell he even cared. Was it some ego trip he just couldn’t deal with?

  I shook my head. “If you want ‘therapy,’ it’ll need to be through our normal interactions, during office hours. And discussing anything having to do with that night is off the table.”

  He laughed.

  “What? You think playing with me like this is funny?” I asked.

  “What’s funny is your goddamned sense of humor.”

  “I’m pretty sure I don’t have one anymore.” I noticed he’d gone back to looking away again. No real eye contact except for a few brief flits here and there. Otherwise, the eyes were back on my chest, hands, or feet.

  “Of course you do,” he said snidely, “because you believe you’re in charge.”

  Damn him. “Even if you’re my boss,” I hissed quietly, paranoid someone would overhear us somehow, “I am in charge—of me, my life, and my body. And right now, I’m telling you that having this conversation here in your office is crossing the line, Mr. Cole, and making me feel uncomfortable.” I turned to head out before I blew my top.

  “Be at my house at nine o’clock, Miss Snow. And bring your running clothes.”

  I huffed and slammed the door behind me, returning downstairs to the conference room where Mike waited.

  Sonofabitch.

  “How’d it go?” Mike smirked, blinking those big blues at me, noticing my flustered face when I entered the room.

  I let out a frustrated breath and took my seat across from him. “Fine. He just…never mind. Let’s get back to work. I don’t want to end today feeling like we fell short.” We still had a few more hours of work do to in order to be ready for the monthly staff meeting on Monday where we’d be giving an update. And I really, really needed not to do any work this weekend.

  “Don’t worry. We can stay late and still go for that drink after.”

  I immediately thought about how late that would be—would it be later than the time Mr. Cole wanted to see me?—but then I pushed the undermining thoughts from my mind. I was not going to see Mr. Cole tonight. “That sounds great.”

  “I’m sure the others won’t mind if we show up late,” he added.

  Others? “Oh, who else is coming?”

  He shrugged. “There’s a big group of us in Sales. We try to meet up once a month.”

  “That’s…cool.” I sucked at reading men. Seriously sucked at it. I swear I’d gotten the “date” vibe from Mike.

  “Actually, it’s one of the things most of us like about C.C. We work our asses off and compete like hell, but when office hours are over, we all check our crap at the door and have a little fun. Blowing off steam keeps us sane.”

  “Yeah. That’s pretty great.” Maybe they
offer classes on this stuff—Speaking Man 101.

  Mike looked at me. “Oh. Wait. You didn’t think that I…?” He toggled his index finger between us.

  “What? No. God no. A lot of people prefer to do creative work offsite.” I shrugged. “That’s what I figured you wanted.”

  “Oh good. Because I know how uncomfortable women get sometimes with all that.”

  If you only knew. “Nope. I’m good.” Which was a complete lie. I wanted to go to Mr. Cole’s house now more than anything. Maybe I still felt I owed him a little gratitude.

  You’re not going, Lily. You deserve better.

  I took any thoughts about seeing Mr. Cole, mentally tossed them to the floor, and stomped them to a pulp.

  The awkward moment passed, and Mike and I wrapped up the work faster than I’d expected. We were on schedule, prepared to present our recommendation Monday—we were going with recommending the shimmery pinks and light orange pallets so in style at the moment—and I had nothing but a relaxing weekend ahead. The more I thought about it, the better I liked the idea of a little Sales department after-hours fun. It was a great opportunity to get to know a few more people.

  Around eight o’clock, I pulled up to the Rusty Bucket, a beer and wings sports bar, in downtown Chicago about ten minutes from the office. The people in Sales were eighty percent male, so I wasn’t surprised by the venue.

  When I walked in, probably lagging Mike by about ten minutes because I’d stayed behind to freshen up, I immediately spotted our group amassed around the corner of the bar, most of them standing and talking, a few seated along the wall at several small tables.

  Even though his back was to me, I recognized Mike’s black hair, but one of the guys—I couldn’t remember his name—waved to me. Mike turned to see who’d come in and that’s when I caught a glimpse of another face his body had been blocking.

  Fuck. Mr. Cole. Mr. Cole. Mr. fucking Cole. I hid—pretty poorly—my shock and approached with a smile.

  “Hi, everyone. And Mr. Cole, I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “I never miss beer and wings night with my sales team—besides, who do you think pays for it?” he said.

  I swallowed. “It’s ummm…great that you make the time, Mr. Cole.”

  “Call me Max.” He held his eyes to my face, and I noticed a slight strained look in his eyes.

  Mike elbowed me. “But only when we’re off the clock. Unless you want your ass chewed out.”

  I’d had sex with this man. I’d had his cock in my mouth. But had he ever asked me to call him “Max”? No. But apparently beer and wings night was an appropriate occasion for that.

  Of course, even if he’d asked, I still didn’t feel comfortable using his first name. Barriers were good.

  “Okay…Max,” I croaked out his name.

  “So, Miss Snow, I’m surprised to see you here. What happened to that date?” he asked.

  Kill me right now. Someone please. Because while “Max” thought the date thing had been an excuse to blow him off, right about now Mike was figuring out that I had thought we were going to go out on a date.

  “Date?” I said innocently. “Oh. You mean this? Didn’t I say I had plans?”

  “No. You said you had a date.”

  I tried not to look at Mike, but I couldn’t help it. Thankfully, he’d put on a poker face.

  “I misspoke, then. I’d meant to say ‘plans.’ Which I did. Being here with you guys.”

  Max bobbed his head and then continued on with his conversation with Mike and the two other guys. I spotted one of the gals I’d met earlier in the week—Maureen, a middle-aged brunette with a degree from Northwestern and ten years of sales experience—so I decided to go say hi and pretend like I wasn’t hiding.

  Soon, the waiter came around and I ordered a beer, which I only pretended to drink because I needed to drive home and one beer was enough to put me to sleep. The entire time Maureen and the other lady sitting with her—Nelly or Nadine or some name starting with an N—talked about kids and the latest episodes with their husbands, Mike kept looking over at me and smiling.

  Yay. Just what I need. Another awkward relationship at work. Finally, after about an hour, I made my pleasant goodbyes to everyone, who probably assumed I was retreating early like an antisocial coward.

  I passed by Mike and “Max,” who stood in a circle, talking football with four others.

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “Nice seeing everyone, but I’m heading home. That beer—woo—made me so sleepy.”

  “You okay to drive?” Mike asked.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Just one beer.” And not even that. I’d taken two sips.

  “I’ll walk you out to your car,” Mike said. “It’s not a crime-free zone around here.”

  “No,” I objected. “It’s fine. I’m just one block aw—”

  “Then I will take you, Miss Snow,” Max said, his voice stern and fatherlike.

  Damn him. Why did he have to be such a dickhead?

  I shot him a fast and furious look and then turned to Mike with a smile. “Mike, thank you for the offer. I’d love it if you’d walked me safely to my car.”

  He flashed an uncomfortable look between Max and me. “It’s no problem.” He shrugged.

  “Thank you, Mike,” Max said. “We wouldn’t want Miss Snow here getting into any trouble.”

  Oh. Because I was such a reckless woman? Jerk.

  Mike followed me out, and I felt the awkward vibe spike through the air.

  “I’m just over here.” I pointed to my little red car sitting at the curb and stopped to unlock it.

  “Lily, I’m really sorry about tonight. I should’ve been clearer,” he said, standing a few feet away.

  The sun had just gone down, but a warm orange summer glow remained in the sky, casting a light on Mike’s black hair.

  “What?” I flicked my hand at him. “I told you. I really didn’t think anything about it.”

  He smiled. “Well, now that I know you would’ve said yes, maybe we should have dinner next week?”

  I looked at him. I was about to say that I didn’t need a pity date, but then I remembered how bad I was at reading men. Was it a pity date or real date?

  “I’m…” I needed to think about it. “I think I’m in Houston part of next week, but why don’t I let you know on Monday?”

  “Sure.” He reached out and gave my hand a little squeeze. “Drive carefully.”

  I got into my car, wanting to rip out my hair. Holy hell. Why did men have to be so confusing? And why was I so bad at dealing with them?

  When I got to my apartment, I looked forward to a hot bubble bath and some quality me time with my laptop and a movie. That’s not what was waiting for me. It was a shock I couldn’t have been prepared for in a million years but should’ve seen coming. And no, it wasn’t Mrs. Jackson’s trash. But it was something equally dirty.

  ~~~

  She was an older woman with short silver hair and glasses and wore plain beige slacks. Her expression reminded me of the kind of person who’d had a rough life once upon a time, but now devoted her energy to saving orphaned kittens and eating organic vegan cuisine. Yeah, it was strange that she made me think that, but whatever.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, thinking maybe she was at the wrong apartment.

  “My name is Nancy Little.” She extended her hand. “I’m a journalist.”

  I shook her hand hesitantly. “Okay. And you’re here because…?”

  “Can we go inside and talk?”

  “About?” I asked.

  “Maxwell Cole and that arrangement you have with him.”

  I felt a sharp drop and roll in my stomach. How the hell did she know? Whatever the case, it didn’t feel like it was in my best interest to talk to her. Play dumb.

  “Sorry?” I said.

  “You don’t have to pretend with me, Lily. You’re not the first.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I partially lied—I honestly di
dn’t know there’d been others. It had to be a mistake.

  “Lily, he’s had three different women—that I know of—try to help him with his disorder. One of them was my sister.”

  This was information that hit me like a barbed baseball bat. “Okay,” I said in my bitchiest tone ever. “I’m going to ask you to leave now. Because whatever you’re talking about doesn’t involve me.”

  I moved past her, trying to keep my cool. How was it possible he’d had three other women try to help him? How long had this been going on? And why the hell did I feel like the inner sanctum of my relationship with him had been violated?

  Just as I was about to slam the door shut, she blurted out, “My sister killed herself, Lily. That’s why I’m publishing a book.”

  Whoa. Already standing inside my apartment, I looked at her, wondering how this tragic event was connected. “What happened?”

  “He used her and tossed her aside. That’s when I found out there’d been others he’d recruited for what he likes to call his ‘therapy.’”

  I was shocked. And disgusted. She made it sound like we all belonged to some dirty sex-cult. But before I went into a full-blown rage with Mr. Cole or discarded what she said, I needed to talk to him.

  “I’m very, very sorry to hear about your sister.” And I meant that. I really did. If anything ever happened to John, I’d be a mess. “But I don’t understand; you’re publishing a book about my boss and telling the world what exactly?” Whether I liked it or not, I needed to hear this.

  “Don’t act stupid, Lily. I know he’s hired you to help him. What did he promise you? A new life?”

  My blood rushed inside my body, feeling like it was darting all over the place. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, but please leave and don’t come back.”

  I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. Oh God, this is bad. Really bad. My brain was beginning to see all the ways this could turn ugly for me.

  “I’ll leave my card,” she yelled from the other side of the door, “in case you change your mind.”

  I picked up the card, threw it in the wastebasket in the living room, and then called Mr. Cole’s cell phone. It rang twice then went into voice mail. Dammit.