“Yeah, you’ve got it so hard,” I said sarcastically.
Max chuckled. We stopped so he could buy us coffees and carried on.
“So how big is this place?” I asked.
“It’s built on one hundred and seventy-five acres.” Max sipped his coffee and tipped his head in greeting at a cluster of young people with ID badges around their necks as they hurried past us with red cheeks and a chorus of giggles. I watched them over my shoulder as they cast excited looks back at us and whispered amongst themselves.
“That’s him,” one girl whispered. “That’s Max Fisher.”
“No shit it’s Max Fisher, Darcy.”
“Everybody knows who he is.”
“Who’s the girl he’s with?”
I turned back around and fixed my attention on Max, who still walked gingerly.
“The building itself is two million and eight hundred thousand square feet,” Max continued.
“Two million and eight hundred thousand?” I asked incredulously. “I’m going to get so lost here.”
He chuckled. “You’ll get the lay of the land sooner than you think. The design, like our products, is thoughtful and streamlined. It just makes sense. You’ll see.”
I decided to believe him. “How many employees are here?”
“Roughly twelve thousand.”
“And they all know who you are,” I breathed. “You know, when we first met, I had no idea how famous you actually were.”
“I’m not famous,” he said firmly.
We continued our slow stroll through the courtyard, where I noticed all the walls on the inside perimeter of the building were made of curved glass. There were no sharp edges here. No poorly lit corners. No sections that didn’t see sunlight.
“You kind of are,” I insisted.
He shot me a dark look that pressed the creases deeper into his brow. “You haven’t changed.”
I laughed. “Oh? Is that a good or bad thing?”
“You’re as relentless as ever.”
“And you’re not?”
He shrugged.
I smiled and followed him down a set of stairs flanked by flora unique to the Silicon Valley. I missed spending time with him like this. Sure, this morning wasn’t like how it used to be, but it was as close to who we were when we were together than I’d been since he ended things with me.
I thought of the evenings where we used to lounge around at his place, huddled up by the fire in those winter months. I remembered drinking spiked cider and how I loved to drape my bare legs over his lap so he could run his hands over my knees and thighs.
He was the last man to touch me with such affection.
A pang of regret rippled through me. I missed that more than I missed anything else. The closeness. The intimacy. The shared moments with another person I trusted more than anyone else in the world.
We slipped back inside and Max showed me the amenities available to me as an employee, including a gym and showers. There were also plenty of rest areas where one could find quiet and uninterrupted moments.
After that, we moved back toward the main office space so I could finish filling out all my paperwork and registering for my benefits.
As we rode the elevator up to the office floor, I bit my bottom lip. “I’m sorry again about the drunk call.”
Max didn’t look over at me. “Like I said, there’s nothing to be sorry about.”
“It was so humiliating.”
He glanced at me. “Why?”
“Because I was hammered and I spent three hours telling you how miserable I was.”
“But look where it led you,” he said simply.
Back to you. “Still,” I said, “it wasn’t very graceful of me.”
Max grinned.
“What?” I asked sharply.
He ran his fingers through his hair like he used to when he was flustered. “Since when were you ever graceful, Janie Clarke?”
“I’ve been known to have my moments.”
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime and we stepped out into the lobby of Max’s main office. He strode purposefully toward my office, where we stopped outside my door.
“I have a conference call to hop on,” he said. “My assistant is going to kill me if I miss another one. Get settled. Take your time. There’s no rush to hop right into all your duties but they have been added to your calendar. If you need anything, call Shawn. He’ll be your wingman.”
I hated to lose my time with Max already, but I nodded. “Okay.”
He adjusted the sleeves of his suit jacket. “Make sure you’re free for lunch.”
“Why?”
“I’d like to take you out and catch up properly.”
A rush of excitement went through me. “Consider it done.”
“I know a good place. Make sure you’re hungry.”
I stepped into my office. “I’m always hungry, Max.”
He smiled, and for a brief moment, the furrowed brow was gone. “I remember.”
Chapter 8
Max
I purposefully took Janie to a restaurant outside of the headquarters building so we could eat in peace without feeling like people were watching us. I knew a quaint hole in the wall Thai restaurant with exceptional food and quality service, and the owner and I hit it off when I first started coming there to escape the craziness of the office.
His name was Leroy and he ran his business with his family: his wife and his two daughters, both of whom stood to inherit the restaurant when he and his wife retired. For some reason, Leroy and his family reminded me of Piper and hers. Maybe that was the real reason I’d first started coming here after my month with Piper ended. This place felt familiar, and I knew in my bones Piper would have loved it here.
Now I sat at my usual table by the window with Piper’s best friend smiling at me from across the table.
Janie looked more beautiful than I remembered. I wished that wasn’t the case. Her radiant smile and the way her dress hugged her body made it hard not to remember the intimate moments we’d shared when we were together.
I remembered how it felt to have the heat of her body pressed up against mine. I remembered the soft curve of her hip under my hand, the swell of her breasts, the racing of her pulse at her throat whenever I pressed my lips to the soft skin there.
“What do you usually order?” Janie’s voice pulled me from my reverie. She had her eyes down studying the menu, but they flicked up to me when I didn’t answer. “Max?”
“The cashew chicken.” I cleared my throat and took a sip of water. “Either that or one of the curries, but I suspect everything is good here.”
“It certainly smells good.”
This conversation felt safe and forced. Neither of us really wanted to talk about food. It didn’t matter. It was just easier to talk about than everything else left unsaid between us.
Janie closed her menu. “Cashew chicken, it is.”
We put in our orders and sat across from each other, silent.
Janie averted her gaze. “Tell me something crazy that happened to you this year that I don’t know about.”
I arched an eyebrow.