CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
REID
It was nearing midnight by the time I finally made it back to the apartment. A part of me was hoping Jordan would still be up, but I knew she had to be exhausted—besides, she’d been acting strange the entire day. Sleep was more necessary than a deep talk where I blurted out my feelings and asked her to live with me.
Two weeks after meeting me.
It sounded crazy.
It was crazy.
I knew it.
And she’d probably laugh in my face.
But I wanted her. I wanted her close. I wanted her damn hair. I even wanted her dog. Waking up without her neurotic coffee drinking just seemed like a horrible way to start any day.
The apartment was dark, which was strange considering Jordan had a ridiculous habit of keeping all the living room lights on even if she was in her bedroom sleeping.
Her bedroom.
Soon to be vacant, because I was moving her ass into mine.
My body trembled at the thought. Was I crazy? To want her to live with me? To want more than just a fling for the cameras?
Sighing, I set my keys on the counter just as Otis barreled toward me, his little body shaking with excitement.
“Hey, Otis, where’s your mom?”
“Not here.” Max’s voice echoed in the large room, bouncing off the ceiling and driving straight into my chest. “She’s gone, Reid.”
“Max?”
A light flicked on, revealing Max as he sat on one of my couches, smoking a cigar and drinking my finest whiskey, the ass.
“Not Max,” he said slowly. “I’m the ghost of Christmas present.”
“Max, listen to me very carefully. Did someone offer you a cookie that tasted funny? Furthermore, did you actually eat it?”
“Who is this Max you speak of?” He stood. “I am here to tell you your present while also predicting your future.”
“All right then.” I rolled my eyes. “Of course you can’t do things normally and just send me a damn text.”
“Ghosts don’t have phones.”
“I’m sure a real ghost could find one.”
“Real ghosts have no need for technology!” he hissed.
“If you’re a real ghost, that means I can punch you in the face and you won’t feel a thing.”
Max’s expression wavered.
“Ah, the ghost is getting a bit . . . scared of its own shadow?”
“Ghosts don’t have shadows, dumbass.”
“Max.”
“She’s gone.” He yawned. “Boxes packed, all because somebody decided to be an absolute ass.”
“Gone?” I repeated. “But she’s moving in with me. We moved her damaged shit into the warehouse, right? She’s . . . there’s no way. Why would she be pissed?”
“Men.” Max took a long swig of whiskey and slammed the glass down on the counter. “They never listen! Only thinking with their dicks and refusing to acknowledge a woman’s need for a little bit of attention after a night of sex!”
“What?”
“See!” Max shouted. “You’re all the same! ALL OF YOU!” He paced in front of me. “Did it ever occur to you that Jordan may have needed a bit of, oh, I don’t know . . . encouragement after your wild night of passion? More than a slap on the ass and a thanks-for-the-good-time note on her pillow?”
“That’s your thing, not mine.” I held up my hands.
“Women like to be appreciated in Hallmark form.” Max shrugged. “Besides, Becca loves my notes.”
“Becca’s also a ghost in this scenario?” I took a seat. Conversations with Max were like all-day marathons where people needed to stock up on Gatorade and protein bars if they were going to make it to the finish line.
“Please.” Max grinned smugly. “Becca, a ghost? What are you? Five?”
I pressed my lips together and damn near sat on my hands to keep myself from strangling him.
“She heard our conversation.” Max’s eyebrows shot up. “And now she’s gone.”
“What conversation?”
“Oh, you know.” Max bent down and picked up Otis and began petting him in the same manner Dr. Evil pets his cat. “The one where you said you two were just having fun, oh, also, the bet was mentioned . . . right, so she probably wants to run you over with a golf cart.”
“Where. Is. She.”
Max kept petting Otis. The little traitor licked his hand and let out a groan. “It’s going to take more than your Carmen Sandiego skills to find her; I’ll tell you that much. This girl, she doesn’t do well with you going behind her back and making decisions. She’s not the type. So now, you have a choice. Prove your love . . . or die alone.”
“Harsh.”
“The ghost of Christmas future was always the scariest one, Reid. Always.”
“But you said you were Christmas present.”
“Now I’m future. I changed like two seconds ago when I picked up Otis and my voice even got gruffer.”
“Hmm, didn’t catch that.”
He deepened his voice. “I am the ghost of Christmas future, and you’re screwed. Better?”
I groaned into my hands. “Max, stop, just tell me where she is so I can fix it.”
“Nope.” Max set Otis back down on the ground. “But I’ll tell you tomorrow once you give me your plan.”
“My plan?”
“To seduce the shrew.” Max winked. “After all, that’s how this all started, right? Seduce the shrew, make her believe that true love conquers all? I mean, the press is convinced. I’m convinced. Hell, I think even you’re convinced, but Jordan? Well, she just might need more convincing. After all, girls like that rarely believe in happily ever after.”
“Girls like that?” I fumed, clenching my fists.
“The invisibles. The ones who spend their life cast as streetwalker number one or dancer number two. After so many failed auditions, they just come to expect the fact that they’re going to be a chorus girl.”
“She’s not a chorus girl; she’s the main attraction!”
“Oh”—Max held up his hands—“you don’t have to convince me of that . . . but Jordan?” He slapped my shoulder. “Good luck with that. I’ll be waiting for your text. And Reid? I suggest you stay up all night and plan. A girl like that doesn’t happen twice.”
“I know.” My chest constricted painfully at the sound of Max’s footsteps as he made his way to the door and slammed it behind him.
Otis pranced around my feet doing his potty dance. I glared at him. My apartment felt empty, too big.
“C’mon, Otis. It looks like we got some planning to do.”
As much as I wanted to seriously murder my brother—he was right. My stomach clenched with nausea the more I thought about what Jordan might have overheard back in Vegas. I thought I was helping by not telling Max all the details of what I was thinking—I mean, it’s Max. I might as well have taken out an ad on every billboard in America. The man didn’t do secrets well.
The man didn’t do secrets well.
Damn it, why didn’t I just torture the information out of him? I was just about ready to run over to his apartment and give him hell when Otis barked.
“You’re right,” I sighed, irritated that I was talking to a dog, and a bit alarmed that his bark made sense. Maybe I was the one who ate the funny cookie? “She deserves more than that.”
Another bark.
“Something that sweeps her off her feet and proves once and for all that she’s not invisible.”
Two more barks.
“Any clever ideas, Otis?”
One bark.
“I’m not giving her a bone.”
Seven barks later and I had a plan that would, in fact, most likely end with . . .
A cape.
And roses.