The man’s ridiculous, but I wouldn’t want him any other way. I drag him out the door. Paella or not, we’re both still getting a workout tonight.
* * *
“Max, I need to get out of bed.” I tap the octopus sprawled across my body. “Max.”
He doesn’t budge.
“Max, there’s marble cake with buttercream frosting in the kitchen.”
He stretches and lifts his head. “What? There is?”
I take advantage of his grogginess and slip out from under him. So gullible. As much as I’d love to cuddle with him in bed this morning, I promised Natalia and Paolo I’d meet them at Rio de Wheaton to go over their seating chart for the reception.
Max sits up, one hand stretched behind him and the other rubbing the back of his head, the sheet carelessly draped over his bottom half. “Did you lie to me about cake to wake me up?”
“I did. Sorry.”
He scrubs a hand over his face. “Noted. But vengeance shall be mine.” After fluffing the pillow behind him, he leans his back against the headboard and watches me gather my hair into a high ponytail. “So, you ready to talk about a game plan for dealing with Rebecca Cartwright? Ignoring the issue won’t make it go away, you know.”
I brush a few strands of hair from my face—stalling. I don’t know how to explain my actions to Rebecca without diminishing myself in her eyes even further. Plus, I suspect the chances that she’ll give me a fair shot at the position are slim to none. If I think too much about the opportunity I wasted, I’ll only get emotional about it, and that’s not going to change anything. I guess at this point I should focus on owning my mistake and ensuring neither Andrew nor Max pays for it. Oh, and I should find an alternative office space. “Honestly, I’m not sure what I’ll say to Rebecca yet, but I’d like to speak with her alone. This is my mess, and I’m the one who needs to clean it up.” I clear my throat and rest my butt against the dresser. “Would that be okay with you? I mean, I know you’ll probably want to touch base with her yourself, but I’d like to speak with her first.”
He studies me a moment, then nods. “I trust you to handle the situation. Just let me know how she reacts and I’ll follow up with her afterward.”
“Deal. And now I really need to get ready.”
“Don’t let me hold you up,” he says, shrugging.
Max pretends to have no interest in delaying my progress, but I know better. Out of my peripheral vision, I can see him slowly tracing his fingers over his lips in a circular motion. The bedsheet, which just a few seconds ago blanketed him below the waist, seems to have dipped to his lower thighs. As I dart around the room gathering discarded clothes and searching for fresh ones, I squint at Max whenever he’s in my line of sight. This has the desired effect of turning my view of his body into an amorphous shape with zero appeal. It’s either this or jump his bones and miss my appointment with Natalia and Paolo.
Max gets on his knees, his penis swaying as easy as it pleases, and then he hobbles over to the edge of the bed. “What’s wrong with your eyes? Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, squinting harder. From this vantage, his junk almost resembles a parrot swinging in a cage. And . . . oh God, that’s definitely my cue to go. “I think my eyes are just a bit tired from all that crying yesterday. My vision should improve soon.”
“But why won’t you look at me?” he asks, his voice forlorn.
I blow out my cheeks and face him. “Max, I’m trying to be good here. I need to make this appointment, but you’re kneeling on my bed with your dick swinging.” I chance a glance at it. “When is it going to stop doing that, by the way? Doesn’t a pendulum settle down eventually?”
He laughs and shakes his hips, triggering the pendulum anew. “Stop doing what?”
Oh for goodness sake. I haven’t even had coffee yet. Grumbling under my breath, I take my clean undies and robe and wave goodbye to him. “Tchau, Max. I’m going to take a shower.”
“May I join you?” he asks, looking at me with puppy dog eyes.
I pause at my bedroom door and point a finger at him. “No. You stay there. If you care about me at all, you’ll stay right where you are.”
He puts up his hands as though he’s surrendering and flops back onto the mattress. “I care about you way more than”—he makes air quotes—“‘at all,’ so consider me neutralized.” He plumps the pillow and rests his head on it, closing his eyes. “Enjoy your shower.”
Oh, he’s wily. How am I supposed to resist him when he disarms me with his words alone? It’s impossible. Accepting defeat (or maybe it’s a victory), I saunter back into the room, press my knuckles into the mattress, and lean into him. “I’ll enjoy my shower even more with you in it.”
He steals a chaste kiss. “What about Natalia and Paolo?”
“I’ll shave off some time getting ready.” I tweak his nose. “Just for you.”
As soon as I say the words, it occurs to me that I’ve been doing a lot of things just for Max lately—and that realization doesn’t disturb me as much as it probably should.
Chapter Thirty-One
Lina
An hour into drafting Natalia and Paolo’s seating chart, we encounter a logjam, and her name is Estelle. She’s that family friend who attends every gathering even though no one will admit to inviting her.
Natalia draws a red X over Estelle’s name. “She can’t sit anywhere near my mother. If Estelle complains about the cake, Mãe will smash it in her face.”
Tia Viviane passes the table and adds her own commentary. “That’s right. I’ll smash it in her face and it will feel so good.” Her feet never pause during this delivery, and by the time I look up from the chart, she’s gone.
“Is that before or after Tia Viviane’s had a few caipirinhas?”
“That’s stone cold sober and at her happiest,” Natalia says, jerking a thumb in the direction of our last Viviane sighting.
“Okay,” I say. “What about putting Estelle at table twelve?”
Paolo shakes his head. “Estelle and Lisandro had a thing a while back. A few drinks in, and they’d be all over each other. You have kids at that table.”
“Okay, what about table seven?” I ask.
Natalia groans. “Estelle’s mad at Lynn because Lynn didn’t invite Estelle on a girls’ weekend trip to New York a couple of months ago.”
“I’ve got it,” I say, snapping my fingers. “Give Estelle the wrong address for the reception. Problem solved.”
“I wish,” Natalia grumbles. “Wait. Let’s put Estelle at your table. You’ll be a positive influence on her. Jaslene won’t need a seat because she’ll be taking over the role of lead planner for the day.”
That’s a good point. Jaslene and I don’t often switch roles during a pending client assignment, but I’m taking a back seat for this wedding because Natalia’s my favorite cousin and I’d like to enjoy the time with her and my family. Plus, Jaslene recently asked for more responsibility, and this is the ideal opportunity to give it to her.