“Okay, now why don’t we get you leaning against the window frame, looking right at the camera. Yes, perfect.”

Melissa Hudson, the photographer I’ve been assigned to assist, snaps several photos of the actress. One of Carlisle Publishing’s entertainment magazines is doing a story on Laura London. She drapes herself elegantly against the window, doing an excellent impression of the lady victim of consumption she got an Oscar nomination for portraying. I’m not sure if it’s on purpose, but the romantically frail look is working for her.

Melissa looks equally cool in a totally different way. With her spiky hair and leather jacket, she could have walked out of a punk concert. She takes her shots with a practiced efficiency—always focused, always poised with complete confidence.

I so want to be her when I grow up.

When Melissa pauses to skim through the photos on her view screen, I hop up on a chair to adjust the position of one of the lights. “Oh, that’s perfect, Hallie,” she says when she glances up. “Good call.”

I grin as I hop down. “I was thinking, maybe if she sat on the ledge with her face right by the glass—you’d get that extra glow from outside.”

Melissa nods with a thoughtful expression. “Nice. I’m going to get a few more like this and then we’ll try that. Since it was your idea, do you want to take some of the shots? You might as well get that practice.”

“Oh, wow, thank you!” I say, practically beaming now. I’ve only been working with Melissa for a few days, and I already feel like I’ve learned twice as much as I did assisting guys like Frederico for six months. She knows her stuff and she’s great at what she does—and she’s not at all bothered by lending a hand to someone on the way up. I really couldn’t have asked for my dream job to be any more dreamy.

However long it might last. The rest of the staff has been buzzing about the fate of Carlisle Publishing all week, and it knots my stomach every time I think of it. Not just because of my own job, but because of what Max must be feeling.

Does he still blame me? Is he out there somewhere, cursing my name? Or, worse, is he on a beach with some bikini model, forgetting that I even exist?

“Let’s get some shots on the chair now,” Melissa says, bringing me back to my assignment. “Wardrobe, can you fluff the dress?”

The actress moves into position, and a cluster of stylists help rearrange her outfit. No wonder I can never make my clothes look as good as in the magazines—they have a whole team pinning and tucking to make sure—

My heart stops. A figure’s just appeared in the doorway.

It can’t be . . .

But it is. Max steps into the room, as casual and confident as ever. I haven’t seen him in three weeks, and somehow I forgot how fucking hot he is.

What is he doing here?

I gulp for air. One thing I’m sure of: Whatever he’s got to say, I don’t think I want to have that conversation in front of my new boss. I hurry over to meet him before he can start yelling at me again.

“Max.” I stop short in front of him, and that ache in my chest goes up to 11. I’m not sure I even want to give him a hello. Shit, how’s my hair? I haven’t looked in a mirror in hours and I’ve been scrambling all over arranging the sets. I rake my fingers back through it.

It shouldn’t matter. But it does. But I definitely don’t want him realizing it does.

“Hallie,” he says. His voice is still just as panty-melting too, that low slightly rough baritone. He runs a hand over his own hair, looking as if maybe I’m not the only one feeling awkward here. My nerves settle just a little.

“Do you have a minute?” he asks, holding my gaze with the blue-gray eyes that captivated me from the first time I met him. “I was hoping we could talk.”

A very large part of me screams Yes! The rest of me knows better. He walked out on me—after believing I was a backstabbing duplicitous bitch. I’m not the one who needs to grovel here. And I’m sure as hell not risking my dream job to hear what might just be more accusations.

“We’ve got another hour to go here,” I say, impressed by how steady I keep my voice. “But I might have time after.”

“Whatever works for you,” he says. “I’ll be right outside.”

Well, that wasn’t so hard. I jog back over to where Melissa is at work and try to refocus on the job. But it’s hard, knowing that Max is just a few feet away. But I force myself to concentrate, even when we run over schedule. I gulp, wondering if he’ll wait that long, but after handshakes and goodbyes, I come out of the room to find Max still waiting. He gets up from the bench in the hall and hesitates, like he’s not sure he’s welcome even now.

I’m not sure he is either. I cross my arms over my chest, trying to look fierce. I feel like I need a shield. I thought I’d gotten over the battering my heart took, but suddenly it feels tender all over again.

“It looks like there’s a little courtyard out back where we could talk,” Max suggests.

I nod and follow him out. The yard is small but picturesque, with a wrought-iron fence twined with flowering vines. Max tucks his hands in his pockets as if he’s not sure what to do with them. He looks at the lawn and then at me.

“I don’t know where to start except to say I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry I listened to Artie instead of you. I should have known you wouldn’t do that to me, whatever the price . . . I talked to him,” he adds ruefully. “He had a bug on your phone. That’s how they knew where we’d gone.”

The breath I’ve been holding rushes out of me. Max knows I didn’t do anything wrong. He knows I didn’t lie!

But something in me holds back from celebrating. Apparently, it took Artie’s confession for Max to change his mind. Not anything to do with me. What I said, everything we did together—none of that counted for anything.

“You shouldn’t have needed Artie’s explanation,” I say, fighting to keep my voice even. “Maybe we hadn’t been together that long, but I thought you knew me better than that. But instead, you took his word over mine.”

Max hangs his head. “I know,” he says. “I don’t know what to tell you. I was so caught up in the treasure hunt, I wasn’t thinking straight. I fucked up. You don’t need to convince me of that. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

He raises his head to meet my gaze again. The regret in his eyes hits me straight in the heart. “Losing you was almost as bad as losing the company.” Max confesses. “No, actually it was worse. I can build another company if I want to. But I know I’ll never find another you.”

Oh shit. I curl my fingers into my palms, and try to stay strong. He’s saying this now, but it’s easy to say things. How am I ever going to know he means them?

I clear my throat. “What’s happening with Carlisle Publishing?” I ask. “Am I going to be out of a job soon?”

Max doesn’t look any happier by the change of subject. “Artie’s already taking charge. He’s been talking with the board members, buttering everyone up. There’s a board meeting to take the vote. Then I guess the sale will be a done deal.”

He says it with such finality that something in me bristles. “Are you sure? From what I heard, the other board members don’t even want to sell.”

Max looks surprised. “I don’t know. Artie can be pretty persuasive. And he’s the one in charge, so—”

“That’s the problem,” I interrupt, remembering what Ernest told me. “They don’t want to sell, but they need someone in charge who’s going to lead the way. If you’re just going to let Artie take over, they’ll follow his lead.”

“I don’t really have a lot of choice,” Max protests. “Artie won.”

“He won the treasure hunt,” I correct him, feeling a spark of rebellion. “The board still gets to vote on the sale. And the chairman, for that matter. So why aren’t you in there fighting for it?”

“It’s no use,” Max says. “It’s too late.”

“No, it isn’t!” I exclaim, getting angry now. “This isn’t one of your assignments. You don’t have to just stand on the sidelines observing, then leave when you’ve had enough. If you want that company, you’ve got to get in there and make it happen. Show them they’ve got an alternative. Unless . . .” I pause. “Unless all the things you said about being ready for the responsibility were just bullshit, and you’re happy to get back to your life as an international playboy.”

Max looks annoyed. “Is that really what you think of me?”

“Show me a reason not to,” I counter.

There’s a long pause. “You’re right,” he says. “Fuck. The meeting has probably started.” He heads for the exit, then turns back to me. “Aren’t you coming?”

I pause. Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment, but I need to see this through.

“OK. One last stop on this treasure hunt.”

Before the game is really over.