“Very well. So, Mr. Riley, how did you get into the business of screwing women for cash?” He opens his mouth to object, but I hold up my hand. “Sorry, let me rephrase – screwing with women for cash.”
I give him a blithe smile. He gives one back. “I didn’t go into this with a business plan, if that’s what you think. It happened slowly, over time. I realized I had an ability to help women feel good about themselves, and –”
“Decided to bleed them dry?”
Unexpectedly, Max leans forward and turns off the recording. “Okay, we’re done here.”
As he gestures to our waitress for what I’m assuming is the check, I start to panic.
He’s leaving? Dammit, Eden, you had to push him. You and your stupid wounded pride.
“Max, wait ...”
He holds up his hand to shush me as our waitress arrives, and then pulls out a billfold and peels off four hundreds before handing them to her.
“I’m sorry, but something’s come up and we have to go. Could you please box up our meals and take them over to the homeless shelter on West 41st Street?”
He’s vetoing our food, too? Goddammit! I’m starving.
“Max, come on. I’m –”
Once again he holds up his hand as the waitress leans down and whispers, “Sir, I can’t take your money. Your meal has already been paid for by Miss Tate’s sister.”
He pushes the cash into her hand. “Then this money is for your cab fare to the shelter and back, as well as your time and the inconvenience to your employer. Please make sure those folks get the food while it’s hot. Thanks.”
As the girl takes the money with a bewildered expression and walks away, Max pushes back his chair and comes over to my side of the table.
“Up, Miss Tate.”
“Max, please sit down. We haven’t finished the interview.”
“And we’re not going to.” He pulls back my chair and urges me to stand. “Not here anyway. Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“Somewhere we can relax. I know a place.”
He puts his hand in the center of my back to steer me away from the table, but I stand my ground. “What if I don’t want to go somewhere else with you?”
He turns to me, and even though there’s tension in his face, his voice is quiet. “Listen, Miss Tate, I’m sorry I deceived you, and I’m also sorry I then baited you. I shouldn’t have been a dick. It was petty and unnecessary, and it put you in a bad mood that you’re having trouble shaking. This was never my intention. I’d like to wipe the slate clean and start over.”
“We can’t do that here?”
“Neither of us is comfortable in this environment. Let me take you to a place where you can kick off those shoes, and we can just be ourselves and talk.” When I continue to hesitate, he moves closer. “Please. You need this interview, and I need to convince you I’m not the asshole you believe me to be.”
He stares at me expectantly as I consider his proposal. It’s true I’d get down on my knees and fellate Satan if I thought he could take away the pain in my feet, and I’m not proud of how I’ve behaved tonight. I never thought I’d be guilty of letting my emotions get in the way of my professional duty, but here we are. Perhaps a change of scenery will help me put my feelings aside and treat this more like a job and less like a ruined date.
“Does this place you’re talking about have food?”
He puts his arm around me again, and this time I let him guide me toward the exit. “Yes. Amazing food. And unlike here, we won’t have to auction off body parts to be able to afford it.”
*
I doubted Max when he said he was taking us to a place where I could remove my shoes. After all, bare feet in a restaurant isn’t usually a thing. However, as a short Greek man leads us down a long hallway of plush carpet lined on both sides by pale, chiffon curtains, I’m indeed carrying my shoes. So is Max. I snort when I notice the tiny pattern on his black socks is a whole bunch of multi-colored jelly beans. It doesn’t gel with his suave, sexy image.
In the middle of the hallway, our guide stops and pulls back the curtains to reveal a spacious area featuring a square wooden table, close to the ground, surrounded by brightly colored cushions. It reminds me of something out of a movie, and even though I can hear the faint murmur of other diners over the gentle background music, the space still feels isolated and private.
And here I thought Verdi’s was romantic. This place makes it look like a tacky shopping mall food court.
“Here you are, Mr. Riley,” the man says with a flourish as we enter. “I hope this is to your liking.”
“Thank you, Georgios.” Max shakes the man’s hand, and I hear the faint crinkle of money between their palms. “I appreciate you fitting us in on such late notice. Would you please organize a serving of all the entrees as soon as possible, followed by the lamb platter? Also, a bottle of the Breakwater Merlot. Thanks.”
After Georgios bows deeply and exits, Max takes my shoes from me and places them in the corner next to his, then gestures for me to sit on one of the cushions. “Make yourself at home.”
I’m grateful the dress Asha chose has a floaty skirt, and I manage to sit cross-legged without flashing my underwear.
“Comfortable?” Max asks, looking down at me as he pulls off his tie and shoves it into his jacket pocket.
“Yes.”
He slips off his jacket and places it on his shoes. Then he pops the top button of his shirt, followed by the second.
I raise an eyebrow. “Did we need to be this secluded so you could perform a full striptease, or ...?”
He gives me a slow smile. “Not at all, but it’s interesting that’s where your mind went. Would you like me to strip for you?” He unclips his cuffs and starts to roll up his sleeves.
The truth is, just watching him reveal his delicious forearms is enough to make me feel warm in interesting places. With the amount of alcohol that’s still effervescing in my system, I may lunge at him if he reveals any more flesh.
“I doubt I could afford your stripper services,” I say with a shrug as I pour myself some ice water from the carafe on the table. “I’m still not sure if I’m going to get a bill from you for the whole Kieran thing.”
I sip my water and try not to stare at his arms.
“No money is going to pass between us, Miss Tate,” he says. “But even if it did, I assure you, my rates for stripping are very reasonable. Lap dances, however –”
I almost spit out my water, partly because I didn’t expect him to admit something like that so freely, and partly because I have a mental image of women throwing cash at him to get a good, hard look at his good, hard body. I saw parts of it at the gym. I know damn well it would be worth the money.