“You may not realize it, but the part of you that feels so imperfect has gotten you where you are. It’s pushed you to be a better person. So has that part of you that says you’re good and deserve good things.”
Okay. Sure. I understood how not feeling perfect drove me to get into Stanford, pull straight A’s, and become a workaholic—but it also kept me from having a peaceful, fulfilling life. Don’t get me wrong. Most of the time, I felt good about myself. I worked hard, cared about others, and tried to do good. That was the real me. But that ugly whisper of self-doubt held me back sometimes, and I knew it. My relationship with Max being the perfect example. Some woman, who had a huge and very personal bone to pick with Max, had written a book that would expose his disorder to the world. She wanted me to corroborate her story, claiming that Max only planned to use me as proof that he did not have any such disorder. I mean, why would the world’s hottest bachelor, a guy who couldn’t stand the sight of ugly women, date someone like me, right? My heart had known that to be a lie, but my fugly little voice convinced me otherwise. I helped that horrible woman out Max and his secret, and the price had been catastrophic. The CEO of Cole Cosmetics, a company that had built its reputation on telling women that looks didn’t matter and their beauty was “soul deep,” actually couldn’t handle being in the same room with an ugly woman. The optics were devastating. Of course, Max, true to his fearless nature, confronted the media head-on. He admitted to having his phobia and explained that while he’d kept it hidden, he’d refused to allow it to rule his life. He’d also confessed to being madly in love with me and proceeded to berate the press for their cruel comments about my looks.
Anyway, that all happened immediately after my accident. Once I’d heard about it and learned the real truth about his feelings for me, I came out and publicly apologized. Profusely. But it had been too late. CC’s value had already tanked, and the press preferred to focus on bashing Max.
By the time I had the courage to see him and tell him how sorry I was, it was also too late. Or, at least, I thought so. Now I understood that Max hadn’t thrown in the towel on us. He’d needed time to sort some things out, perhaps. As for me, the event made me realize how much work I needed to do on myself.
I stood from my couch to greet Patricio and smoothed down the front of my blue floral dress—a number with a cinched waist and pleated skirt from my boutique.
I went for the door, opened it, and gasped at the tall, stunningly handsome figure darkening my doorstep.
“Max? What are you doing here?”
He held out a dozen red roses, shoved them into my chest unceremoniously, and then peeked inside. “This your place?” His expression held a tinge of disgust.
I took the flowers begrudgingly. “Yes, this is my place, and before you say anything, it’s what I can afford, including the thrift-store furniture you’re about to call horrible.” For the record, it wasn’t horrible. Khaki sofa and armchair, plain natural wood coffee table, a round kitchen table in the eating area, and a few paintings of lilies on the wall. Simple, clean, modest. Affordable.
He stepped past me into the living room area, surveying the furniture with abhorrence. “I prefer the word disgraceful. You can do better.”
“I have to put what I make into the store, not into furniture I barely use.” I shut the door behind him and set the flowers down on the kitchen/dining table. I couldn’t help checking him out as he continued looking around the room. Black jeans to accent his firm round ass, blue V-neck sweater, black leather jacket, his hair a fuck of a mess. God, he looks so beautiful. And yet…I still want to kick him in his beautiful gonads.
Just like old times.
“What about the settlement?” he asked.
He referred to the fact that I’d been awarded half a million dollars in damages because of my accident. I had nothing to do with suing the news station, but Max had seen to it that they’d paid. About forty percent had been taken by the government, twenty went to pay off my student loans from Stanford, and the other forty had gone into opening the store.
“Max? What do you want?” Besides torturing me. I could hardly look at him without wanting him or second-guessing my decision to turn him down.
“Can I sit?”
“No, you cannot sit,” I replied. “Patricio is coming over.”
Max narrowed his beautiful hazel eyes. “Wedding planning, I presume?”
“I haven’t given him my answer yet.”
“Why not?”
“Max, what do you want?”
“I have a business proposal.”
He couldn’t be serious. Those were the words he’d used when we began the journey that would forever change who we were. “No, Max. No proposals. You need to leave.”
“I am going to start a new cosmetics company. And I’d like you to be the face. And my partner.”
I jerked my head back. “Max,” I said in a tone to indicate that I thought he’d lost his fucking head.
“Lily,” he replied, as if to say “look at what I’m offering you.”