“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Eros,” Carrie, the new secretary says with a nervous smile. She looks every part the secretary, from her blonde hair pulled back with two pencils, to her smart skirt.

But she’s no Max. She’s giving me this coffee way too willingly to even come close to Max.

“Thanks,” I grumble. She sets it on the corner of my desk, a paper cup with coffee she made in the waiting room. I pick it up and frown at it. She put too much creamer in it. Again.

“And here’s your coffee, Miss Galloway,” Carrie says, setting down a cup on Max’s brand-new desk that sits adjacent to mine.

Max takes it and blows on it, giving the new secretary a warm smile. “Thank you, Carrie,” she says.

“Can I get you two anything else?” Carrie asks, pausing between our two desks. She clasps her hands in front of her like an expectant, waiting puppy. Max never did that. If she ever did ask if I needed anything else, it was always as an afterthought.

Shit, I’m in such a bad mood. It’s only been a week since I promoted Max to “partner” and I’m still all discombobulated. She still stops by my apartment every morning, and we still walk to the office together, along with many of her previous duties. But there’s something different between us now.

So, sue me.

I’m an ancient god, and I take change very hard. I just want things to go back to the way they were. I want this awkwardness between Max and me gone. I want to get rid of this feeling. I want to be back in control of my life.

And I want my damn coffee the way I like it.

“That’ll be all,” Max says, interrupting my thoughts. “Thanks again.”

She gives me the side-eye as Carrie leaves us alone in the office. It’s been incredibly hard working with Max a few feet away from me. I can smell her rose vanilla perfume and the mint toothpaste she uses after every meal.

It’s damned distracting.

Max drums her nails on the smooth polished wood of her desk. She watches me with intent. “You need to lighten up.”

“What?”

“If you frown any more, you’ll have to get a facelift to look happy in photos.” Max sits back in her chair and crosses her arms. “Which is exactly the opposite of what you’re going for.” She winks at me. “You’re supposed to be happy, remember?”

“I am happy.”

She lifts a brow, and I pointedly ignore her.

In fact, I cannot remember a time when I’ve been more miserable. And it’s not that I’m wallowing in my despair—quite the opposite. It’s because I can’t think straight when I’m spending so much time with Max.

We’ve been on a few dates since that first one, all at places where we are guaranteed to be seen by the right people. An art opening in Soho. A charity event with the mayor of New York. Dinners at the chicest places. Every time with Max at my side, grinning and looking her most beautiful.

And that professional line between us keeps blurring. Whether it’s her hand on mine, her eyes shining in delight, or her full, luscious lips pulled up into a radiant smile, I have to fight my own urges to take it too far. I can’t tell if she’s acting or—impossibly—if she’s covering up her own feelings for me.

Like I’m doing for her. I think. Gods dammit, I have no fucking clue these days.

All I know is that I’m swinging from bliss to self-loathing and getting whiplash in the meantime. I could use my powers to test the waters with her and get a read.

But that feels like it’s cheating against Max. And I don’t want to violate her privacy in that way.

But, I guess Steven earns his money well. The media is alight with glowing news about Max’s and my blossoming “relationship.” Tentative publications have started to embrace the idea that I could change my ways. And true to Steven’s word, they love Max’s role in everything. With any other woman, she may be ripped to shreds and shamed for essentially “sleeping with her boss.” But her exuding confidence has helped her reputation skip over gold digger and land firmly into hard-earned territory. Everyone thinks she belongs in her position as a high-profile partner of my firm.

And, if I admit it myself, she should have been promoted a long time ago.

Maybe it’s my arrogance. Or maybe I’m just an asshole. But putting Max into this new role has made me realize that she deserves this. She’s brilliant.

And I’m so damn lucky to have her in any capacity. As a fiancée or as a partner. Hell, even as a friend.

I took her for granted, I know.

But…I so wish I could have a decent morning coffee with the change. Begrudgingly, I get up from my chair and toss the full cup into the trash before walking over to the Keurig machine. I shove a coffee mug underneath it and press the button with a little too much gusto.

“That’s the third day you’ve done that,” Max calls to me. I stiffen at her voice, refusing to look back at her. “And it’s wasteful.”

“It’s terrible.”

“So have her stop getting you coffee then.”

“We should find a new secretary.” Someone like you. “One who used to be a barista.”

I hear her exhale slowly and glance back at her, curious. “You’re not firing Carrie,” she says in a low voice. “You may have been born with a silver spoon in your mouth, Damien, but I know what it’s like to live paycheck to paycheck. And I think she needs this.”

She crosses her arms and waits. Because she’s right. I am keeping Carrie. Because I don’t want to disappoint Max.

“Fine,” I say with a pout as I take the now-steaming mug out from under the spout. I blow on it and take a sip. It’s better. Only marginally so, but at least I can blame myself.

“Shoot,” Max exclaims, getting to her feet. She grabs her purse and her blazer.

I frown back at her. “What?”

“I have to leave. I have this stupid hair appointment in twenty minutes, and—”

My frown deepens. “Hair appointment?” It sounds very un-Max-like, and judging from her expression, she’s not looking forward to it either.

She lets out an exasperated breath as she puts her laptop away in her briefcase. “You fucking forgot, didn’t you?”

“No, I didn’t,” I lie.

But she knows me too well even to play. “The Met Gala is tonight. We have tickets to it. Remember how much you complained about paying $30,000 for each ticket?”

Even my stomach takes a tumble at that, and I sigh. “Right. Yes.” I had a tuxedo pressed for the occasion. Max used some money to buy a dress for it and has been preparing for the last week. Most of the celebrities and socialites will have been planning for months—or had people to do it for them.

Max has been flying solo through most of this. Admirably so, since she’s competing with the 1%.

She smirks. “You at least need to pretend that you’re excited.”

“I am.”

I sound defensive. The truth is, I’m terrified. With every date that Max and I go on, we’re under the public’s scrutiny. And I’m not worried about not looking like a man in love. I’m worried about looking too much like one, and her catching on to that nuance.

I think about the velvet box in my coat pocket with the engagement ring nestled in it. Since Max won’t let me propose to her, I’ve been keeping it on hand in case the moment feels right. Maybe I’ll pop the question to her at the Gala.

Nothing more public. Nothing more surprising.

She’ll look both excited and mortified. She’ll probably hate it.

Serves her right for blackmailing me like this.

Max pauses at the door and looks back at me, curious. “What?”

I hide my smile. “Nothing. Just had a funny thought.”

She still looks perplexed as she leaves. I take another sip of my coffee and grimace again. Maybe I can go ahead and get ready for the event too. I head back to my desk and look at my schedule for the rest of the day.

No more appointments. Business may have stopped backsliding since this whole arrangement began, but it hasn’t picked up again. Maybe I should be worried about it. Then again, I haven’t heard of any of my clients dissolving their relationships since then.

Maybe things are looking up.

But I’m still in way over my head.