What were they going to do, fire me?
It was unlikely. They were going to want to keep me around so they could watch me.
I went the office gym and checked the locker that Max kept there (I told the attendant I lost my key so they cut the lock off and I bought a new one), but the only thing in the locker were gym clothes and a towel.
Next, I went to the bank to inquire about my safety deposit box, figuring Max had one. He didn’t.
Frustrated, I went back to the apartment and searched it. It was tedious because I couldn’t just toss things around. I had to be careful, not wanting Charlotte to realize I’d been going through everything.
I spent the entire day sexually frustrated, irritated, and practically watching two assholes plot my murder. Oh, and I didn’t find the damn drive.
I needed a beer. I needed several beers.
And then I ran into Charlotte.
She looked as exhausted as I felt. Even so, my cock hardened in my dress pants. I should have made up an excuse and left her there alone. I should have gotten the hell away from there fast.
But as I looked at her, I recalled when Wallace Jr. inquired about her safety. A fierce surge of protectiveness coursed through my veins. The thought of those bastards coming after her made my stomach sick. Men who hurt women deserved to rot in hell.
And I personally would escort them there.
I couldn’t leave her alone tonight.
Next thing I knew, we were walking into a piano bar and I was teasing her about her name. Hell, it was a freaking miracle I even remembered her name.
I glanced at her across the round table. She was wearing one of those damn suits and had her hair pulled severely away from her face. Her wide hazel eyes roamed the bar; it was like she was seeing everything for the first time. She was timid, but deep down she was curious; that much was obvious. She had an inner wild child just waiting to be unleashed.
A waitress wearing a black spandex top and a pair of skintight jeans approached the table with a small tray in her hand. “What can I get ya?” she asked in her Jersey accent.
I ordered a longneck and Charlotte ordered a glass of red wine. Yeah, maybe I should have ordered something more Max-like, but goddammit, I needed a beer.
A few minutes later, the waitress returned and I grabbed the beer and took a long pull. Both women were watching me. It was like they’d never seen a guy drink before. “Keep ‘em coming,” I told the server.
Charlotte studied me over the rim of her glass. I knew her brain was working overtime and I wondered what the hell she could be coming up with now.
She set the glass down in front of her like it was some sort of shield. “Are you trying to break up with me?” she asked, point blank.
I choked on the beer I was in the process of drinking and yanked the bottle from my lips. A trickle of the beverage ran down my chin and I used the sleeve of the jacket to wipe it away. “What?” I said, incredulous.
“You’ve been acting weird. Sometimes it’s like you’re angry. Sometimes it’s like you’re a whole different person. And now we’re here, in a bar, and you’re chugging beer like it’s liquid courage.”
What would be the appropriate answer for this situation?
I drank more beer.
She leveled those green-flecked hazel eyes on me. “If you want out, say you want out.”
I respected her approach. I was used to women who would try to sleep their way into a relationship, who would try to use sex to hang on to a man. Never had I ever once been with a woman who actually called me out on my behavior and gave me an out.
I set the beer on the tabletop with a thunk. “I don’t want out.”
“Then what the hell is going on with you?”
The waitress chose that moment to deliver another beer and glass of wine. I accepted it gratefully. “Better drink up,” I told Charlotte.
“Are you having problems at work? Is that what this is about?”
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I said, knowing those words would make her practically foam at the mouth for answers. It was my way of actually keeping the conversation going without having to give up information. I wanted her to give up what she knew.
“Max,” she said, reaching across the table and taking one of my hands. An electric charge zapped through my body, like I was a completely dead battery that someone plugged in for a recharge. Sexual tension and desire threatened to take over my brain.
I used my free hand to deliver more beer into my system, hoping it would chill me out. The way she made me feel was unsettling. I didn’t like it.
“You know you can talk to me. You mentioned before about some stuff going on at the firm. Is that still going on?”
So Max tried to talk to Charlotte about this?