Trevor
Shana stares at me pointedly as we sit across the table from one another at a quaint little pub near my apartment. Truth be told, I’ve exhausted my repertoire of cooking skills and people can only eat so much pizza. Thankfully, we had Kimbra’s cooking yesterday, and Shana has offered more than once to cook, but my cupboards are bare. And I’d rather spend time with Shana doing things other than shopping for groceries.
“He said you knew. Why didn’t you say anything?” she asks.
“Why didn’t I say anything?”
Shana’s lips come together as her eyes widen.
“You’re asking me why I didn’t say anything to you about Max still being in town.”
“Yes, Trevor, that’s exactly what I’m asking. Now that we have that cleared up, could we move on to your answer?”
I grin as I take a small drink of my beer. It’s a local craft with a dark color and a surprisingly non-hoppy taste. After I swallow, I look again at the feisty lady staring me down. If I thought she was really upset, I wouldn’t take this so lightly. The way she started the conversation with Oh my God, wait until I tell you what’s happening with Stephen... is what has given me this pass. “You know you’re cute when you try to be snippy?”
“I’m not trying to being snippy. One of my best friends had a relationship crisis—”
“Which—may I interject—was never explained to me. All I knew was that the two of you ran out of the bar after you got more than snippy with Max.”
Shana takes another bite of her French fries before answering. “It wasn’t up to me to tell. I couldn’t betray his trust. After all, you were a friend of the enemy.”
“Max and I are still friends,” I say.
“The difference is that apparently now he’s no longer the enemy.”
I think about how Max hasn’t called me today, how I’m waiting to hear from his investors and his firm about McCobb’s proposal. Maybe now he is my enemy? I need to give that some more thought. “Okay, can you tell me now?”
“First, tell me why you didn’t tell me he was still in town?”
“Shana, when did we discuss Max and Stephen before tonight? I asked what happened the night we met at that bar. You mentioned pond scum, and then said you couldn’t talk about it. Yes, I met with Max last Friday, but how was I to know that you didn’t know he was here? He and I talked mostly about business. And, if I need to be perfectly blunt, from the moment you arrived to my apartment last Friday night until you rushed out this morning, talking about business or Max or even Stephen wasn’t high on my agenda.”
Her cheeks rise as she leans forward.
I do my best to keep my eyes on hers. After all, they’re bright and blue and beautiful. It’s just that if I move my gaze slightly down, her blouse has a great neckline that gives me a hint of her perky breasts below. When our eyes meet again, she shakes her head at me.
“What?” I ask innocently.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think your agenda hasn’t changed.”
“I confess, Shana Price, I’m crazy about you, and if we follow my agenda, after we finish this meal, we’ll go back to my place and continue not talking about anyone else. I’m okay with not talking at all. Personally, I like those noises you make when you’re too consumed to talk.”
With each word I say, pink fills her cheeks until they’re both as red and rosy as my grandmother’s—who used to wear way too much rouge. It’s not that I’m an expert on makeup, but I remember the term rouge because my mom always thought it was funny.
“Trevor, I can’t stay at your place tonight. All my work clothes are at the hotel.” She looks down. “As it is, I wore the same outfit I wore to Kimbra’s to work today.”
“Would it be too forward to offer to pack my own bag and accompany you to your hotel suite?”
“I guess I do owe you one night for the night in Indianapolis.”
“Best night of my life,” I say.
“Really? We didn’t do anything.”
I reach for her hand and lift it until her knuckles reach my lips. “Yes, we did, my lady. We met.”
She lets out a long breath. “Of course, you can stay. I need to gather all my things in your apartment anyway. I’m afraid some of my clothes may have gone MIA.”
“The case of the missing panties,” I say with a scoff.
“If you’re thinking of writing romance, I suggest another title.”
“That was a mystery. Speaking of mysteries, will you tell me what’s happening or happened with Max and Stephen?”
Shana sits back, her expression a multitude of emotions as she explains how Max and Stephen met nearly a year ago in London. It was through a mutual friend. That friend was Max’s assistant. The assistant and Stephen were friends since college. The assistant—his name is Charles—moved to London a few years before Stephen and Shana.
“Wait, Charles Mills?” I ask.
“Yes. How do you know that?”
“I met Max through my work. His investment company has financed projects I’ve been directly involved with for McCobb Engineering. I’ve spoken to Charles before when I’ve called Max.”
“At work?”
“Yes,” I answer suspiciously. “I have Max’s cell phone number but not a number for his flat.”
Shana leans across the table. “You’re a smart man. Do you see where this is going?”
“Charles set Stephen and Max up. They hit it off. Charles wasn’t happy?”
Shana shrugs. “When the incident happened, I didn’t think to question. I mean, if you were to walk into my apartment and my assistant was in my shower, would you stick around to ask him why or his intentions?”
“Intentions,” I say, remembering that Max had used the same word when we’d spoken. “What were his intentions?”
“Whose? Max or Charles?”
I savor the question, enjoying the puzzle Shana’s created. “Let me guess,” I say. “From Max’s point of view, he had honorable intentions for having Charles at his flat. But...Stephen didn’t take the time to find out.”
“So it now seems,” Shana confirms. “I don’t know Charles’s intentions. All I know is that Max fired him. There’s no sexual harassment suit pending, so that in itself speaks for Max’s intentions. Charles told him a sob story about a broken pipe at his place. He then purposely set up a message that appeared to come from Max to Stephen.”
I nod my head. “For the record, I’d wait for him to get his ass out of your shower, but then I’d question him. I don’t think he’s your type.”
“Who?”
“Stephen. You asked me what I’d do if I found him in your shower.”
Shana giggles as she finishes her glass of wine. “He’s not. I’m not his type either. Max is.” She sighs. “That’s the thing that made their breakup so upsetting. When they were together, Stephen was so happy. I guess it is the bunny-rabbit sex.”
I tilt my head. “Do I want to know what that is?”
“Just go with it. I promise, you aren’t complaining.”
“Now they’re back together?”
“They are so back together,” Shana says, “that Max went with Stephen last weekend to meet his parents and sister. Stephen’s phone is full of pictures with Max and Landon.”
“Who’s Landon?”
“Stephen’s baby nephew.”
“Max Cantel held a baby?”
“According to Stephen,” Shana says, “he held him a lot. And the baby loved him. If you ask me, Stephen has baby fever.”
I can’t stop my grin as I take in Shana’s excitement for her friend. “You know, you really are a great friend.”
She shrugs. “I have a lot of people who I consider friends but only a few really good friends. When someone makes it to that level, I want only the best for them. Even if that means it’s not the best for me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Stephen and I have a telephone call in the morning with our boss in London. I’ve decided that if by some miracle I get this job here, I’m giving my full support for Stephen to be hired in my previous position in juniors. I’ll miss him like crazy, but he’s good. He’s very good at what he does. I’m not sure how I’ll manage without him. The most important thing is for him to be recognized for his talents. And if you add Max to that mix, my best friend will be happy.”
“What makes you happy, Shana?”
“Right now, it’s you.”
“I like that answer.” I leave cash in the small folder with our bill and reach for her hand. “Shall we find those missing panties?”
Her eyes grow wide as her head moves from side to side, checking to see if anyone heard.
“Think of it as a mystery,” I say in a stage whisper.
“I’d rather think of it as a romance.”
I lean close to her ear. “Is there a lot of sex in those books you read?”
“It depends on the book.”
“With a title like The Case of the Missing Panties, I think there should be sex.”
“I agree, Mr. Willis. How else would they be missing?”