“And it didn’t work?” I catch my heel on an uneven bit of pavement and stumble. Max grabs me and keeps me upright. When I regain my footing, I expect him to let me go, but he doesn’t.
“Sometimes we confuse hormones with happiness,” he says. “I was guilty of that. Beyond some basic chemistry, we had nothing in common.”
His arms are strong around me, and looking up into his face makes me think I’m going to stumble again.
“Did she love you?”
He pauses. “You’d have to ask her that.”
“Okay. Can I have her name and number?”
He laughs and makes sure I’m steady before letting go. “You’re tenacious, Miss Tate. I’ll give you that.”
“Yes, I am, and I think it should be rewarded. How about some info on your upbringing? School, parents, friends–” He walks away from me, and I scramble to catch up. “No? Not even a tidbit?”
“You’ve exhausted my supply of tidbits.”
“You know you’re going to have to give me something about your identity eventually, right?”
“Maybe. But not tonight.”
When we get to the river, we walk south. I tilt my head to look up at the sky. As spectacular as the river view is, it’s hard to make out the stars in the city. Too much light. Whenever I’d give Asha shit about her quest for Mr. Right, she’d tell me that her prince is like the constellation of Orion – just because she can’t see him, doesn’t mean he isn’t there. Only my sister could make her girl-boner for true love sound like a creepy religion.
Max follows my gaze. “What are you thinking about?”
“Oh, you know. The Cult of Love.”
“Cult?”
“Yeah. People who are in it won’t shut up about how wonderful and fulfilling it is, but after a while they realize it’s all borderline-crazy, and forever-happiness is a giant con. Getting through life is hard enough without the burden of carrying someone else with you.”
Max gives a soft laugh and shakes his head. “Every time I think you can’t get more cynical, you prove me wrong. I take it you don’t believe in marriage, then?”
“No.”
“Care to explain?”
“Do I even have to? Look at the world. Love fades. Couples break up. It’s part of growing and developing as people. It’s ridiculous to think that you should be attracted to the same person for decades, so what’s the point of standing up in front of your friends and family and swearing to love and cherish forever? Why not swear to stay together for a few years, and then, when the boredom and bitterness sets in, go your separate ways? That’s more realistic.”
He stops in front of me. “What about keeping a family together?”
“What about it? Some families are healthier apart.”
He looks out at the water. “I can’t argue with that.”
He seems to get lost in his own thoughts for a moment, but when an approaching cyclist rings his bell, he pulls me toward him, making sure we’re both out of the way. With his hand still on my arm, he looks down at me, and I see something in his expression. Something needful I’d seen earlier when he was pretending to be Kieran. It makes my stomach curl and my heart speed up, and I’m reminded that I’ve spent my whole life avoiding this kind of connection for good reason.
I step back, pretending to yawn. “Wow, it’s getting late, huh?”
He nods. “Yes. Far too late. I’ll get you a cab.”
I have more questions, but I guess they’ll have to wait for another time. I peel his jacket off as he steps into the street and hails a taxi. When it pulls over, he takes his jacket from me before opening the door and holding out his hand.
I shake it firmly. “Well, goodnight, Mr. Riley. Thank you for your time.”
He gives me a perplexed smile and tenses his arm to stop me from pumping his hand. “I want to hold your hand to help you into the car, Miss Tate. Still, now that I have it ...” He brings it up to his mouth and presses his lips against my skin. I restrain myself from full-on trembling from the rush of sensation that races up my arm. “Goodnight. I’ll see you soon.”
“When?”
“For our next interview? Or our first date?”
“Either. Both.” Jesus, do I sound as hyper as I feel? “I’m talking way too fast, aren’t I?”
He chuckles and helps me into the car, then leans through the door. “I’ll call you. And make no mistake, Miss Tate, by the time I’m done, you’ll have shed your cynical husk and be a romance junkie like the rest of us. Have a good weekend.”
Just as I’m about to tell him how wrong he is, he closes the door. I sigh in frustration and give the driver my address, and when we pull into traffic and head east, I lean my head back and think about tonight’s events.
On the one hand, I know without a doubt this story is going to be as hot as Hades when I get more details. On the other, my resolve about Max’s charms not working on me isn’t quite as rock solid as I thought. There’s no doubt he’s gorgeous, and he can certainly flirt when the mood takes him, but is that him being himself? Or him being the Max he wants me to believe is real?
Whatever the answer, I know I’m going to have to develop a tolerance for how he makes me feel, or I’ll end up as just one more giddy client on his roster. To that end, I conjure up negative thoughts about him all the way home.
EIGHT
Look Before You Buy
The next day, Asha and I are wandering through the bustle and noise of the Brooklyn Flea market while I regale her with the revelation that Mister Romance and Irish Kieran are the same man.
“Holy snapping duckshit, Edie, are you serious?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
She stops dead and whips off her Jackie O sunglasses in dramatic fashion. “So, that whole Kieran ploy was just to scope you out?”
“Seems that way.”
“And you went on your whole anti-love, fuck-relationships rant, and he stills said he’s going to win you over? Was he drunk?”
“He actually said he’s going to make me fall in love with him. Like this is some big game, and my affection is the prize.”
She gives me an incredulous look. “I hope he realizes he’s going to lose. Of all the women in the world to bet on going gooey for him, you’re the least likely. I invested two-hundred dollars into that date, thinking it was a down payment on a potential boyfriend for you. It turns out I was buying a delusional fool. God!” She stomps off while sucking angrily on her organic wheatgrass smoothie.
“To be fair,” I say. “You did get great value for money. I mean, that’s still forty-eight-hundred dollars less than his regular going rate.”
“And he’s not even Irish?”