CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Two hours later Max was questioning the wisdom of his decision. What had sounded like a perfectly easy task had turned into an ugly monster. He was thrilled for the break when he heard pounding on his hotel room door loudly enough to wake the dead.
“Christ, I’m coming,” Max called before swinging the door open. His good friend Mike stood there, pulling his right arm back and then throwing it forward. His fist made a horrible thud against Max’s jaw, knocking him off his feet and onto his arse.
Shutting the door behind him, Mike entered the hotel room and skirted around the still sprawled Max and headed straight for the wet bar, shedding his coat and gloves on the way. Max had no idea what had gotten into one of his best friends in the world but he wasn’t averse to throwing a punch or two of his own.
“What the bloody hell?”
Slapping two glasses down on the bar, Mike poured a generous measure of whiskey into both glasses.
“I just talked to Nate who asked me to come over here. I think you know why I hit you and I also think you know that you deserve it. Now come have a drink.” Levering off the floor, Max took the other glass as Mike held up his own. “A toast. To Amy, myself, love, and happiness. Something you’ll never find unless you get your head out of your arse.”
Irritation twisted in Max’s stomach but he clinked his glass with Mike’s before taking a large gulp. “I assume Nate has spoken to Carrie.”
“You would assume correctly, although it wasn’t easy to get her to spill her story from what I heard. She was trying to protect you, but why I have no idea. It’s not as if you earned that right.”
Mike pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed. Before Max could even ask who it was Nate’s voice was coming through the speaker.
“Paige is beside herself, mate, and I don’t blame her. I had to pry the story out of Carrie and I was appalled. Now what else do you have to confess? Get it all off your chest and you’ll feel better.”
Max relayed his side of the story, trying not to gloss over the parts he’d screwed up. He could be fussy, arrogant, and generally pompous when he first met a person. It hadn’t been all that bad before but since his breakup with Alana it was terrible. He found it hard to trust anyone.
“How do you intend to fix this?” Nate asked through the phone.
“I’m not sure I even can. Did Carrie say whether she was staying or leaving? When I left her she wasn’t sure.”
“She’s still not sure. In her head she knows you’re not that bad but you’ve hurt her, Max. Carrie may come off all strong and capable but she has a soft heart, just like Paige.”
Scratching his head, Max sighed. “I tried something that I thought she might like but it probably won’t work.”
Mike nodded encouragement. “At least you’re trying. What is it? A surprise dinner? Jewelry?”
Grimacing, Max shifted on his feet. Nate and Mike were never going to let him hear the end of this. “A list.”
“A list,” Mike repeated, blinking in confusion. “Just how would a list make Carrie like you again?”
“She mentioned something about how she made certain lists and I kind of made fun of her about it. So I decided I would show her that I was open to it and I worked on the list.”
There was silence until it was broken by Nate. “Is this the list about desirable traits in a significant other? Carrie told us how you made fun of her for that.”
“It is,” Max exhaled, his gaze darting around the room, not wanting to make eye contact with Mike.
His smile widening, Mike chuckled and came down to sit next to Max on the sofa, propping his feet on the table and setting the phone between them on a cushion. “Show it to us.”
“Fuck both of you. I’m not showing you something so personal.”
“Show it to me or we won’t believe you. Maybe if we can see it we can put in a good word for you with Carrie. Otherwise, I’m thinking that she might as well end this farce with you right now,” warned Nate.
“Blackmail,” Max hissed through gritted teeth. “You’re devious little shits.”
“Guilty,” Mike said cheerfully. “Now show me the list. I might even be able to help you with it so you can impress Carrie. I’ve dug myself out of a few doghouses with Amy.”
“That’s true.”
“Gentlemen,” Nate’s crisp voice came through the line. “I’m going to hang up and let Mike handle this. Mate, hit him again if you think he needs it.”
“Will do,” Mike said cheerfully as he hung up. “Now let’s see this list.”
Standing, Max went in to the bedroom and came back out with his laptop, handing it to Mike. A quick perusal of the document had him tapping at the keyboard.
“Are you crazy? You make your dream woman sound like Betty Crocker in black leather. That’s not going to get you any points with a woman like Carrie.”
Frowning, Max pulled the laptop from Mike’s grasp. “It doesn’t say that.”
“Sure it does. Your dream woman can make a Baked Alaska and you also want her to play games in the bedroom. You’re a sick man. Baked Alaska? Really? How about a nice cheesecake?”
“What’s wrong with Baked Alaska? It’s an elegant dessert.”
“Is this truly what you’re looking for in a woman? It’s rather an anemic list. Vague crap about optimism and enjoying good books. It’s complete and utter bullshit.”
Max didn’t like his friend’s tone. “It’s not bullshit, and I’ve been working on this all evening.”
Mike rolled his eyes like a thirteen-year-old girl. “You need to completely redo this list. It’s superficial at best, laughable at worst, although I now completely understand how you ended up with Alana. Don’t you ever think about what happens when you get out of bed with a woman? I’ve heard the rumor that you have to talk to them when you’re not fucking them.”
“I talk to them,” Max growled, wrestling for control of the laptop. “Give that to me.”
Mike managed to gain control and stood up with the computer, walking over to the bar. “Enlighten me. What did you and Alana talk about after a lively romp in the sheets? Politics? Football? Climate change? No? Let me guess. Baked Alaska.”
Rubbing his jaw where Mike had hit him, Max groaned in frustration. “I see what you’re trying to get at. I’m simply not in the habit of revealing my innermost soul to the women I sleep with.”
“You can once you marry them, mate,” Mike shot back. “In fact, it’s kind of a requirement. Do you think that you chose Alana because you wouldn’t have to show her who you were inside? She’s not the type to care.”
“You’ve been in therapy too long. Everything doesn’t have underlying meanings. Sometimes a banana is just a banana.”
“Or as Amy would say, sometimes a chicken shit is just a chicken shit. Who or what scared the hell out of you and made you hide who you are?”
“Fuck you.”
“That’s lovely. Really nice. I’m trying to help you.” He opened a new document. “Now let’s work on this goddamn list again and this time try to think about something other than her boobs and whether she can whip up a gourmet meal in the kitchen for you wearing nothing but a sheer apron. For once, stop thinking with your dick and think about the kind of person you want to grow old with. The kind of woman that you’d want to mother your children. In fact, let’s start there. Do you want kids?”
“I’m not doing this.” Max stood and came to the bar, smacking the lid closed on the laptop. “I’ll be sorry to see Carrie leave but if I have to bare my soul to keep her here then I don’t think this was meant to be. I’ll get her a lovely gift for her trouble. I do appreciate what she’s tried to do even if it doesn’t show. I hope she can find it in her heart to forgive my behavior but I’ll understand if she cannot.”
Mike looked like he wanted to say quite a bit but simply shook his head. “Fine. I’ll let her know that you’ll be forwarding an expensive gift that you’ll have your assistant pick out and your thanks. I’m sure she’ll be relieved to face all her family and friends now that you’ve pulled her into all your troubles and had her picture in the tabloids. It’s only made things ten times worse for her but what do you care? You’re a fucking movie star and she’s just a regular person. No one cares about her life or problems. Certainly you don’t if your actions are any indication. You’ll have to live with the fact that she tried to help you with Alana but you’re too much of a bastard to help her in return.”
Turning on his heel, Mike strode toward the door but he didn’t get all the way before Max finally spoke.
“It’s not like that. I really do want to help her but I don’t think I know how.”
Mike didn’t bother to look back. “Then you shouldn’t have started all of this. It was your idea and this one is on you.”
His responsibility. His fault. Just like everything else.