“I suppose I’m celebrating,” Arthur replies with a hint of a smile.
Max scrubs his face. Then he turns to me. “Is this guy, like, bothering you?”
The ridiculousness of him attempting to defend my honor from a big, bad man makes me laugh, more hysterical giggle than relaxed chuckle, but Max’s eyes sharpen into points anyway. The laugh dies in my chest as he says, “This isn’t funny. You don’t even like—never did this with—you don’t do this shit, Lilah. I knew he was into you, but why wouldyoube into him?”
His awareness shocks me, guilts me. Gets pretty close to crushing me until I look at Arthur, who gives me anI’ve got this onenod. “We were just dancing. That’s fine, right? You wouldn’t be jealous of someone spending time with your employee, I’m sure.”
“I—no. No.” Max blinks, recenters himself. “Lilah, okay. I get it. You wanted to get me back, and you did. But you can’t—if he’s—if you’re… This is a really bad look for our business.”
Our.
“No, I’m not,” I say.
Max isn’t blinking anymore. He’s staring, unabashedly. “You’re not what?”
I could lie and say that he’s right, I was jealous. I’ve been lying for weeks. I’ve been putting up with Max for longer, though. The memories of our relationship jump into the light again, like they’ve been waiting for me to figure this out, that we were never equals, never creativepartners. He controlled me. He told me to listen to top music playlists so that I wouldn’t embarrass him in front of his friends when I didn’t know song names, so I did. He wanted a girlfriend who loved sports, so I sat on our sofa as he cussed at the screen, withstood his rants, moved to Texas. I started using digital cameras instead of my vintage ones, watched the bubblegum-masculinity movies he loved, memorized the good, funny television references, had fifteen minutes of silent missionary-position sex once per week. I was even okay with him not loving me and me not loving him, because I’m logical, good,calm Lilah Graywood, who sticks to her place in the shadows and has never asked for anything. Not a better life, or a “normal” brain, or people who love me, or understanding from a world that refuses to give it. Even getting revenge had been Arthur’s idea first.
But that isn’t me anymore. Max may have changed into someone else first, but I’ve changed more, and I don’t want to go backward.
“I’m not trying to get you back. I don’t even think I loved you to begin with,” I tell him. And then, because on some level he might deserve it, I add, “I’m sorry.”
Arthur’s eyes swing to me, his body tilting and face thrown in red-alert surprise. “You don’t love him?” Arthur says, right as Max laughs out, “You’resorryfor not loving me?”
Maybe this was the wrong night to go with radical honesty. Arthur is still looking at me, and I’m too overwhelmed to analyze the emotions in his wild hazel eyes. He’s unmasked, shield-free, and if I had an hour to pore over a photo of his face, maybe I could figure out what he’s thinking.
“All right,” he says suddenly. He stands up taller, staring down at Max with a deadly frown. “This conversation is over. We’re leaving.”
Max frowns back. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
“I didn’t. I saidwe’releaving.”
“You aren’t taking her anywhere. She’smypartner.”
As he says that, Max tries to prod his finger into Arthur’s chest. Arthur catches his wrist in the blink of an eye, and Max’s mouth falls open like an airborne catfish.
I hate that his pain still makes my stomach drop. Before I can remember that I’m supposed to be going forward, not backward, I step around Arthur to take Max’s hand from him, hoping to helpcalm him down. “Max. Let’s talk in the morning. This isn’t the right place.”
There’s barely time to register the fist knocking into my collarbone before I’m falling back. I think Max meant to push me away—I hope that’s what he wanted. But his fingers were balled up tight, his cheeks pink and eyes two tight white stars, and I’m crashing into a couple who bravely try to keep me upright. Nope, not a couple. Sarah. She has her arms around my waist, and her big eyes are round and scared. “What the frick, are you okay?”
“Whoa,” Max mumbles, seeming to realize as we all do that he just made the biggest mistake of his life.
I ignore them both. “Arthur, I’m fine. Don’t.Arthur—”
“Sorry, love,” Arthur says, before he grabs Max by his sweaty arms and throws him against the dance floor.
Chapter Sixteen
Max spends an hour behind closed doors with Sarah and Holmes the following morning. I stand in the hallway, silently picking at my hoodie sleeve. When the door opens to Sarah, she shoots me a pointed glare, then saunters wordlessly down the fluorescent-lit hallway of Ignition’s Hungarian office, her long hair swishing behind her. No ponytail today.
The door opens again a few minutes later, and I’m met with a hungover-looking Max and a bright and bushy-tailed Holmes Bianco. “Good morning, Ms. Graywood,” he says with too much enthusiasm for nine a.m.—particularly when, at least for Max and me, the prior evening involved bloody noses and Hungarian bouncers.
“Hi,” I say. “I’m really sorry about all of this.”
“Nonsense. Things happen,” Holmes says calmly. “Arthur’s sorry he can’t join us today. He’s having his own independent review.”
Figures. Since Arthur vanished last night, pulled away from the bar by multiple Ignition staff I didn’t recognize, I haven’t heard a peep from him. No texts to plan what we’re going to say to Holmes, our final boss. No ideas about how to corroborate our stories. No… acknowledging whatever passed between us while we were dancing.
The worst part is, after what Arthur said about respecting ourfake relationship, I’m embarrassingly surprised by the radio silence. And being surprised by Arthurnotfollowing up with me the morning after he had his body pressed against mine, his hands all over me, on my chin, my ribs… it doesn’t feel good. It’s like I lost a bet I knew I shouldn’t have placed. A hundred dollars on the international playboy texting to ask if I’m emotionally okay after we felt each other up on a dance floor.
