She grabbed her phone, expecting there might be a text from him, but there wasn’t. She wondered how much longer he was in town.
Yap yap yap!
“Yes, yes, okay, sweetie.” She generally tried to get up stealthily and ingest a coffee before Max woke up, because once he was awake, he would not shut up until he got to go out for a pee.
She rolled herself out of bed. She was wearing pajamas she had no memory of changing into, which wasn’t surprising because she also had no memory of Max being here and leaving her a bedside note. Oh, wait. Hang on. An image flashed into her mind.
She went out to the kitchen, and—nope. It was neat as a pin. Still, she could have sworn . . . Even though the rest of the evening after their arrival at her place was fuzzy, she had a memory of buttery bread and—
Her phone dinged.
Max: What are you doing tonight?
Dani: Making fruitcake.
That she still had to buy ingredients for. All right. Dog peeing, coffee, fruitcake-ingredient shopping. She shrugged into a coat and stuffed her feet into boots.
Max: Incorrect.
Dani: What do you mean?
A picture came through. She squinted at it as she clipped a leash onto Max. It looked like a ticket of some sort. By the time they were downstairs and he was doing his business, Human Max had sent another text.
Max: You, me, and your mother. I can send cars for you both. Or one that gets her first, then collects you, if she doesn’t mind the scenic route.
What? Hang on. She zoomed in on the picture and gasped. Dog Max started yapping. It was a ticket to the New York City Ballet’s The Nutcracker.
Dani: You’re inviting me and MY MOM to The Nutcracker?!
Max: Yes. I got three tickets, and I promise not to talk.
Max: I promise to TRY not to talk.
Max: Well, I promise not to say anything untoward.
Max: I promise to TRY not to say anything untoward. Final offer.
She didn’t know what to say to such an unexpectedly kind gesture.
But was it that unexpected? Max had gone out of his way to help her last night, both at the party and in terms of getting her settled in at home.
Dani: Did we make grilled cheese sandwiches last night?
Max: We did. A first for me, but you proved an excellent tutor.
Ha. She’d been right. She could have sworn she remembered bantering with Max about it. She’d had the drunken munchies, and he’d teased her about wanting cheese and carbs for dessert after her dinner of cheese and carbs.
Dani: How did I get into my pajamas?
Max: I ripped off your dress with my teeth and manhandled you into them. I am the Depraved Duke, after all.
Max: I’ll thank you to give me a little credit. You wanted to change into your pajamas. You asked me to unzip you, which I did.
Max: I even averted my eyes.
Dani: You did not.
Max: Fine, I did not. But all I saw was your back. Then I waited in the living room while you changed.
Dani: And then what?
Max: And then we made mad, passionate love. I thought I could control myself, but in the end, I could not resist those plaid flannel pajamas.
She snorted. She was wearing possibly the world’s least alluring sleepwear, a pair of men’s-style old ratty flannel pajamas in navy and dark green.
Dani: What really happened?
Max: Nothing. You went to bed. I took your ridiculous dog out to relieve himself. You were asleep on top of your covers when I came back up. I went back to my hotel.
But not before setting her up with water, painkillers, and her phone. And she had been under her covers, not on top of them, when she woke up.
Dani: Did you tuck me in?
Max: I might have tucked you in.
Well. Damn. Dani could think of a lot of reasons to decline the ballet tickets. She didn’t need charity, for one. Yes, The Nutcracker wasn’t in the budget, which was tight now that she was floating the rent on her own. But if she’d really wanted to go, she could have made it happen. But more importantly, she’d planned to do the fruitcake tonight. She was going to watch holiday movies, too, now that it was officially Christmas according to the Dani Martinez calendar.
She had plans, was the point, and going to the Nutcracker would violate #6 on the Things I will Never Again Do for a Man list: Rearrange my schedule to indulge his whims.
Max had said, “Indulge me,” several times last night, after all, and he seemed like the kind of person who was accustomed to being indulged. She didn’t need to add herself to his army of indulgers.
Her resolve lasted five seconds. She zoomed in on the image of the ticket again. Those were really good seats.
Was it really Max’s whims she would be indulging if she accepted? It sort of seemed more like him indulging hers. Let’s go with that, anyway.
She smiled. She felt that same Christmas break frisson of excitement as last night.
Dani: What time is the ballet? Why don’t you send a car for my mom and I’ll take the subway.
There. She’d accept the tickets but not the chauffeur service. Holding back something felt important.
Max: You can’t take the subway in your fancy dress.
She gasped again, which set off another round of yapping from Dog Max. She had forgotten she’d told Max about the dress. She could barely remember last night, but it seemed Max had absorbed every detail. She didn’t know what to say. She felt sheepish, like she was a little girl wanting to dress up and go see the pretty ladies in the tutus.
Max: Listen. I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a vulgarian, but I am extremely rich. It is not a hardship for me to send a car. But if you want to take the subway, that’s fine. Or if you want to forget it, I’ll find someone to give the tickets to.
It boggled the mind that he could buy three tickets to The Nutcracker—which should be sold out this close to Christmas, so who even knew how he’d gotten them?—then just give them away like it was nothing. Not to mention send a car halfway up Long Island and back. She also thought it was interesting that he wasn’t trying to hide any of this. In her limited experience with rich people—donors at the university, for example, or some of the diplomats she’d met at her dad’s work parties over the years—they were always trying to pretend to be middle class. “The cost of living in New York, am I right?” they’d say, like they had something in common with her.
Not Max, though. He was who he was. A rich playboy. Not her usual type.
Not that she meant it that way. Not her usual type for friendship. Or anything. But somehow, with him, the extreme lack of hypocrisy sort of made up for the wealthy-playboy part. If he was the Depraved Duke, was he also the Blunt Baron?
The music from “The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” started earworming its way through her mind. Well, why not let him send his fancy car? It wasn’t like she was going to date him. Or sleep with him.
Or merge her bank account with his or change her research program for him or do his laundry for him—or anything for him.
Dani: This is lovely of you. Why don’t you send a car for my mom, then have it come get me? It will be nice to catch up with her, and I can lay the groundwork for my forthcoming crimes against fruitcake. Let me make sure she’s free, and I’ll text you to confirm times and addresses.