Chapter 8 - Naomi
Sunday dinners at my mom’s house are a tradition. I walk out my door just after noon, still feeling slightly groggy from last night. I drank more than I usually do, but mostly all I can think about is Max. I keep replaying our conversation over and over in my head. I still don’t know if turning him down was the right decision.
Professionally? Absolutely.
Personally? I’m not so sure.
My mom lives halfway to Ithaca, in a little sleepy village on her own. She grows her own vegetables, and spends her days making art. So basically, she has the opposite life to mine. How I ended up at one of the busiest physical therapy practices in New York City is beyond me.
Maybe the sleepy little village was a little too sleepy for me.
It takes a couple hours to get there, so maybe the drive will clear my head. Maybe by the time I get there, I’ll have forgotten about last night. About Max.
Ariana calls me as I’m heading out the door.
“How’d your night end up?”
“It was fine,” I answer, pinning my phone between my shoulder and my ear as I lock my front door. “Got home about midnight.”
“Party animal,” she says sarcastically.
“That’s me,” I laugh.
“You still happy you turned down Mr. Westbrook?”
“Define ‘happy’.”
Ariana laughs.
“What about you?” I continue, heading down the steps towards the front door of my building. My car is parked on the street.
“Oh, I was home about three. I actually had a lot of fun! You wanna go out for a late lunch today?”
“Can’t, heading to my mom’s.”
“Oh, right, Sunday. Will she be disappointed in you that you were celebrating someone’s wedding?”
“She’s not that bad,” I laugh. “She just doesn’t want me to get married.”
“Too bad for Max.”
“Stop it,” I laugh. “Gotta go, just got to my car.”
“Call me tonight, maybe we can meet up when you get back.”
As soon as I say goodbye and hang up the phone, it rings again. I frown when I see the screen blinking with an unlisted number. Usually, I wouldn’t answer phone calls from people I don’t know, but something makes me move my thumb over the green circle.
“Hello?”
“Naomi! Hi. Hey. I, uh… it’s Max.”
“Max?” I frown. Max Westbrook? “How did you get my phone number?”
“You gave me your business card.”
“Oh. Right.” I lean against my car, frowning as I press the phone into my ear. Why is Max calling me? Butterflies explode all over my stomach.
“Sorry to call you on a Sunday.”
“That’s all right, is everything okay with you knee?” I ask the question, hoping that he’s not calling me about his knee. A part of me wants him to be calling me for me.
But that would be ridiculous… right?
“I’m not calling about my knee.”
The butterflies go nuts. I open my car door and slip inside, closing myself in against the noise and the cold of the street.
“Oh.”
“I was calling…” He trails off and I hear him sigh. “I’m calling…”
“Is everything okay?”
“Are you free right now? You want to meet for a coffee?”
“I…”
“I won’t ask you to come back to my place, I promise.”
I laugh despite myself. “Damn, I was hoping for a second chance.” I blush as soon as the words come out of my mouth, and quickly cover it up by continuing: “I’m supposed to meet my mom, but I can probably spare an hour.”
“Great, is there a coffee shop near you? Where is convenient for you?”
“Yes, there are coffee shops near me,” I laugh. “This is New York City.”
“Right.” I can hear the grin in his voice.
“I’ll send you the name of one nearby. Meet you there in fifteen?”
My heart thumps as I drive towards the coffee shop. Why does Max want to meet? What could he possibly want to talk about?
Does he want to apologize for last night? Does he want to ask me out again?
Somehow, it seems more serious than that. His voice was strained. He seemed tense. He wasn’t his usual confident self.
I consider calling Meg or Ariana, but I decide to hold off. I want to see what he says first. They’d probably just tease me and make me more nervous than I already am.
Parking the car, I check the time. I have about an hour before I need to leave for my mom’s. That should be enough to hear him out… right?
I order a couple coffees and wait at a table by the window. It doesn’t take long for Max to arrive. I see him pull up in a sleek black sports car, walking out as if he were a movie star.
I mean, he might as well be. His family is ultra-rich, and he’s basically New York City’s golden boy. Or New York City’s favorite bad boy, whichever way you want to look at it. He closes the car door and I watch his biceps bulge with the movement. His clean white t-shirt stretches over his chiseled body, and I wonder for the thousandth time what he looks like unclothed.
He sees me right away and a smile breaks over his face. My heart flutters.
“I got you a regular black coffee, I don’t know what your drink order is.”
“Venti soy latte half foam half sweet extra hot, with whip” he rattles off as he slides into the chair.
“Oh, I…” really? That’s his order?
“I’m joking,” he laughs. “Black coffee is my drink order.” His eyes sparkle as he grins, and my heart melts.
I laugh, shaking my head. “I was worried for a second.”
“Why, can’t handle a man with a complicated coffee order?”
“I don’t think I can, no.”
“That says a lot about you, I’m afraid.”
“Call me old fashioned, but coffee is where I draw the line.”
Max laughs, and his perfect smile sends spears of warmth through my body. I squeeze my legs together, swallowing a sip of coffee to cover my blush.
“So, what’s up?” I ask when I’ve regained my composure.
Max’s smile melts off his face and he stares out the window. His fingers pay with the edge of his coffee cup, and his chest heaves as he takes a deep breath.
“First of all, I’m sorry about last night. I thought… I shouldn’t have…”
“It’s okay, Max. Under any other circumstances I would have been all over you.”
His eyes swing back to mine and I see the desire darken them. I lick my lips, wondering if I should have said that. What is our next physical therapy appointment going to be like? Can I still be a professional after this? Even meeting him here is probably inappropriate.
His appointment is tomorrow. I’ll be massaging his glutes, thinking about what he looks like naked.
Great.
Max leans his elbows on the table, staring at the space between us. Before I can stop myself, I reach over and put my hands over his. His skin is warm and smooth, and I can feel the strength of his broad hands underneath mine. He twists his fingers into mine and looks up at my face.
“I have a favor to ask of you.”
“Okay…” I reply. My heart is thumping from the contact of our hands. I’m not sure I can handle much more of his intense gaze without wetting my pants with desire.
Right now, I’d do anything he asks.
“There were photos of us in the papers.”
“What?” I stiffen.
“In the Post. They saw us outside. I’m sorry.”
“I… what kind of photos?”
“Nothing bad. They caught us hugging.” He pulls his hand away and I yearn for the contact again. He reaches down and pulls out his phone, spinning it around to show me. My jaw drops as I take it from him.
“This says we’re dating. I could be fired! ‘Max Westbrook canoodles with mystery girl’?” I look at him. “Canoodles?!”
“I know.” He takes a deep breath. “I need—I would love—” He sighs. “It would help me out a lot if you pretended like we were engaged.”
You could hear a pin drop. My jaw falls open, and my eyes widen.
“What?”
“I know it’s crazy. I know. I’m not a psycho, I promise. It’s just…” His eyes go up towards the ceiling and then he closes them, taking a deep breath.
“My parents saw the photos. They told me that they were coming to meet you, and if this turned out to be another girl that didn’t matter, they would fire me from the company.”
“What?!”
“I’ll lose my job, my inheritance—everything. You don’t have to pretend forever! I just need to buy a little time until I can figure something out, until I can talk some sense into them.”
I stare at him, mouth agape.
“I’ll pay you for your time. I’ll talk to your boss. We can keep it quiet. I just…” His face crumples as his eyebrows draw together, and I already know I’m not going to be able to say no if I stay here much longer. “Please, Naomi. I’m desperate.”
“Let me think about it.”
He catches my hand before I can stand up, and drills his eyes into mine. “Naomi, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it. If I lose my job… I’ll lose everything. My family will cut me off and shut me out of their entire network. I’ll have nothing. Those people—they’re ruthless.”
I can hear the desperation in his voice. I swallow, and squeeze his hand.
“I just need you to pretend to be my fiancée for a month, maybe two. That will give me enough time to figure out my next move. I’ll give you a quarter million per month.”
I freeze.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars?”
“Per month.”
“Let me think about it. I’ll call you tonight, give me your number. Yours was unlisted.”
Max nods, scratching his number on a napkin and handing it to me. “Tonight?”
“Tonight.”