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Holly, the realtor who missed her calling on the catwalk, has been eyeing him like a carb she absolutely refuses to eat but really wants to lick. She makes yet another note before she leans into him, boobs first. “No problem, Mr. Kingston. I can have another set scheduled for later this week.” I wonder if she sees dollar signs or husband potential when she looks at him because she’s definitely seeing something, and considering he’s barely spoken to her, it can’t possibly be his winning personality.
He takes a step back. “Great. Thank you. Just call Daphne to schedule.” Selling Sunset: East Coast Edition looks like she just sucked a lemon at the mention of my name. She glances over as if just realizing I was in the room and quickly assesses me, apparently deciding with a single flick of her eyes that I’m not competition, before giving me her back.
Oh, honey. Don’t worry your pretty little highlighted head about it. I will not get in the way of you trying to bed Mr. Kingston. But even as that thought trickles in, I take a step back to avoid the impending lightning strike for the tiny little lie I just told myself.
Because seriously, who wouldn’t want to bed Max Kingston?
I don’t bother trying to convince myself I don’t want to know what he looks like under the thousand-dollar suits he seems to live in. I mean, the man is smoking hot, but I also think that there’s more to him than Gucci suits and a Colgate-worthy smile.
And that’s what scares me. I don’t want to like him.
Once Max and I are alone in the elevator, his body relaxes, and he leans back against the wall. “I used to have a penthouse like this.”
My interest piqued, I ask, “Why’d you give it up?”
His eyes close briefly before his shoulders tense. “Family obligations.”
“Have you considered going back?”
“You can’t rewind time. There’s no use trying.” It’s the first personal exchange we’ve had since that initial meeting in his office.
And when Max turns his attention to his phone, it seems to be over.
That’s until my stomach takes that exact moment to make a very unladylike growl, and I cringe and bite down on my bottom lip.
The elevator doors open, and Max surprises me by placing his hand at the small of my back, singeing my skin through my sleeveless red shirtdress and ushering me to the waiting car. Once we’re buckled in, Luka asks, “Where to?”
“Ms. Brenner and I need to grab some lunch before we head back to the office.” He turns to me. “Any place in particular you’d like to stop, Daphne?”
I take a deep breath in through my nose before releasing it out again. He’s never going to call me D, but I appreciate him asking where I’d like to eat. Hmm... So many good places to pick from. “I bet your favorite place to eat is somewhere formal and stuffy, isn’t it?” I can just imagine the black-suit-clad maître d’ greeting Max by name in a posh downtown restaurant where the tip alone is a car payment.
Luka laughs knowingly from the front seat.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re kind of easy to read.” I sit up a little straighter and maybe a little too proud of myself until Luka cuts off my premature celebration.
“You couldn’t be further from–”
Max clears his throat. “Dim Sum & Noodle.”
“What?” I am so confused.
“That’s my favorite place. It’s not far, if you want to try it. But it’s far from fancy, if that’s what you’re in the mood for.” I can tell from his waiting expression I’m about to be judged by my answer, but now it’s my turn to surprise him.
“That sounds great. I don’t like fancy.” I consider myself quite the foodie. It doesn’t need to be expensive to be good.
“Oh yeah?” When I nod my head, Max smiles. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”
I don’t even have to think about it. It’s been my favorite place to eat forever. “Fat Jack’s.”
Judging by the set of his eyes and the crooked smile I’m rewarded with, he approves of my choice of food truck. “My brothers and I have never agreed on which fat sandwich is the best.”
Seriously? He likes my favorite food truck?
I really didn’t want to like my new boss, but he’s making it hard for me. “It’s definitely the Fat Jack. You can’t go wrong with his signature dish. It’s a classic for a reason.”
Max laughs like I’m absolutely dense as he loosens his tie. “Luka, can you swing by Fat Jack’s for lunch? I’ve got to school Ms. Brenner.”
“You can try to school me all you like, Mr. Kingston, so long as you feed me first.”
Max’s eyes hold mine for a moment, his dark pupils dilate before he looks away and goes back to scrolling through his phone. And just like that, the moment’s gone.
When we grab our order, Jack, the owner of Fat Jack’s, greets Max by name, and he asks about Becket and Scarlet.
Yet another reason not to hate my new boss.
If I’m being honest with myself, I kinda like him.
Maybe a little too much.
