Max doesn’t seem to catch the insult. “No, right, and I really want to make Holmes happy,” he says, starstruck and stressed. “He was my favorite driver. I watched all his races as a kid.”
Arthur’s smile gleams along the edges. I don’t know how Max isn’t withering on the spot, having someone this large and broadlook at him like this. “Me too. He’s also, you know, my uncle, and he really wants this movie to feature me prominently. Favorite nephew. Only nephew, but ignore that.”
Okay, wow. Arthur is really good at talking. I watch as Max nods, eating up the tantalizing brew of flattery and threats. “Sure. Yeah. You need to be the star. And you want to work with… her.”
“I do.” Arthur slings an arm around my shoulders. Somehow, I manage to stay still as my nerves flare. “Who wouldn’t? She’s so…” Arthur pauses. “Charming. Kind of hot, if you’re into librarians. Think I have a bit of a crush.”
My nerves explode.
Max’s startled eyes shoot to my frozen face, obviously searching for confirmation that I have, in fact, charmed Arthur into needing to work with me because I have glasses and look like I’d tell people to put their books back on a shelf. I don’t give him a single inch. No smiles. No frowns. Max doesn’t get anything else from me ever again, and as soon as I can get him alone, neither will Arthur.
“Oh, one more thing.” Arthur lets go of me, and I stop myself from rubbing at where his touch seared my skin through our clothes. “Keep this conversation between us, Max. Don’t need Holmes thinking I gave a pretty, young woman special treatment—I’d hate to have Ignition launch an investigation into the documentary this early into production.”
Those three words make my stomach lurch. Pretty. Young. Woman.
I hate him.
I absolutely, totally hate him.
“Are we done here?” I ask the two of them, suddenly and uncomfortably hot. “Max?”
“Yes. We’ll set your payroll back up. I will.” He gives me a jerky nod. “Sorry. Thanks for—yeah.”
With that, Max seems to realize this is his one chance at a semi-pleasant exit, and he hurriedly walks back to the meeting. Then he scampers past the group, toward the facility, never looking back. He never does, I’m starting to notice. When he leaves me somewhere, he’s never tempted to pull an Orpheus. I’ve always been right behind him, following, faithful, needing him to lead the way.
Funny thing, faithfulness. The more faithful you are to someone, the less likely they are to return the favor.
I close my eyes to stop the ground from swaying.
“Hey.”
Arthur is touching my arm. His body is folded toward me, back slouched so he isn’t a mile in the sky, and I reel from whatever he’s going to say. Whatever snarky turn of phrase about us or Max or him or me, any combination, I can’t take it.
But then he says, “Need a minute? I can tell them you had to head out.” And his voice is gentle. And that hurts. My breakup is so pathetic that I’ve concerned Casanova.
With a pop, my raging emotions are stretched to a breaking point and snap into anger—relieving, simple, protective anger. And I lean right into it.
“You’d like that,” I bite out. “That must’ve been fun for you.”
Arthur frowns, hand dropping. “Defending you?”
My thoughts trip over themselves and I laugh, because what else is there to do when I’m this embarrassed? “Please. That wasn’t defending. That was your plan? Pretending you have acrushon me? You might as well have said I’m your new one-week girlfriend.”
“I did what had to be done,” Arthur retorts, his gaze darkening. Good. Now he’s angry, too. “I thought you’d like having a man stand up for you against your ex. I made him jealous for you.”
“Are you serious? He only hired me back because he thinks you want to sleep with me.”
“And?”
Somehow, I don’t melt into pure rage on the spot. “Oh my God, what is wrong with you? I’m a professional. This is my career. What if he tells Sarah that her documentary subject is trying to bang the camera girl? It is literally, legally unethical for us to sleep together, and they’d pull the plug on the project.”
Arthur’s eyes flash with surprise, then anger. “He won’t tell her. I know men like him. He’s too proud to admit that to her.”
“You don’t know Max,” I hiss. “And you don’t know me.”
“I don’t?” he says sharply. “Then say it. Say you didn’t love me rescuing you.”
“I didn’t love you pretending like my body is the only reason I should have a job.”
