“Whoa. I left you a message. I’m not pregnant.”
“I lost my phone weeks ago and had to get a new one. But this does not change that you cheated on me.”
“I did not cheat on you.”
“You did not sleep with Max?”
Errr… “Well, not at that point.”
“Lily! So you are sleeping with him now?”
Oh crap. Why were we having this conversation? “You and I are not together anymore, and the only thing you need to know is that I didn’t screw around on you.”
If anyone had been unfaithful, it was Patricio.
He let out a long sigh. “I miss you, Lily. I really miss you. And I am sorry for the way I yelled at you when we were together last, but you must understand that you broke my heart. So now I ask you for this favor, Lily. I don’t want to risk making my mother upset.”
Crap. I felt my heartstrings tugging toward giving in.
“You are one of the few people I’ve ever met who I trust, Lily,” he added.
He didn’t trust me that much—he’d thought I’d cheated on him with Max.
“Please, Lily. I am begging you. If you ever cared about me, you will do this one last thing.”
Dammit. What was with men and the guilt card? “I’ll think about it, but sooner or later, you’ll have to tell her the truth.”
“When the time is right, I will. But she came all the way from Italy with the whole family to surprise me, and I’ve never seen her do anything like this. She’s so excited to meet you. And Mickey Mouse, of course.”
God, I really didn’t know what to do. On one hand, it felt kind of crappy that he hadn’t called so we could end things like they deserved. On the other hand, he’d never received my messages and I did still care about him as a friend.
“I can do brunch on Sunday, but that’s it.” I could fly in tomorrow night, Friday, after work, spend Saturday in Santa Barbara to check on the store and my mom, and then drive back to L.A. for brunch and head to the airport afterwards. I could definitely use a quick stop at my apartment for some clothes somewhere in all that. I’d borrowed a few outfits from Danny—we’d had dinner a couple times at her place since I’d arrived—and the rest of the clothes I’d worn were quick outfits I’d purchased during my lunch hour at a few boutiques down the block from work. I would’ve taken a trip over to the outlet stores or Miracle Mile for better work clothes, but as it was, my personal budget was tight. No, I was not making a salary at LLL because Max and I hadn’t had time to formally talk about all that.
“Brunch is perfect. Thank you, Lily. I thank you.”
My stomach turned into a mess of knots, and I suddenly felt like throwing up. Strange. Now that I’d thought about it, I’d been feeling great up until now.
Patricio’s back and so is your acid reflux. A definite sign.
“I’ll text you Sunday so you know what time I’ll be there,” I said.
“Good night, Lily. Rest well.”
“Same to you, Patricio.”
I ended the call and immediately tried to get Max. I didn’t want him surprised in any way or to get the wrong impression. It went straight to voice mail.
“Hey, Max. It’s Lily. I know it’s crazy early there in Buenos Aires, but I was hoping I’d catch you. I have to go home this weekend—nothing major, but I need to help…” I hesitated, wondering how I could frame the situation with Patricio in a way that wouldn’t stir up dust. I really didn’t need him worrying. He had enough on his mind with his sister’s health. “Well, it’s nothing important. I just need to do a favor for a friend and take care of a few things back at the store. Call me later when you can.”
The moment I hung up, I found myself staring at the phone. That was the right thing to do. Wasn’t it? I’d tell Max everything later. At the right time.
Still, why did I feel like I’d made a huge mistake?
The next morning, I scraped my body from Max’s cold, but extremely comfortable mattress. My days started at four a.m., so I could answer emails, take care of business expenses, and handle inventory orders for Lily’s Pad. My mother, ironically, was kicking ass. I didn’t know her secret, but she’d been able to increase sales by fifty percent. A damned miracle.
I then reviewed Max’s daily task list—the usual micro-manager bullcrap I used to get when he was my boss, but now included the sort of messages that made me blush. “I jerked off last night, thinking of your tits, Lily.” Or my favorite, “I woke up hard, dreaming of your smile.” And “I fucking love you, Lily. I can’t get enough.”
I found his daily emails to be like these really messed-up love letters I cherished with equal parts of affection and irritation. Seriously? How did he always know what to say to me?
This morning, however, there’d been nothing. Not a peep, not a text or a call.