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“If she can’t find my phone, you owe me a new one.”
“Sure, Becket. I’ll get right on that.” She finishes her glass of wine and adds it to the dishwasher. “There’s leftovers in the fridge, if you’re hungry, Max.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m going to help look for your phone, Becket.” She walks around the two of us and follows after Madeline.
While I get the leftovers out of the fridge, Becks drops the contract on the marble island. “Everything looks good. Price seems high, but you can afford it.” He thumbs the corner of the pages between his thumb and forefinger like a blackjack dealer would shuffle cards. “You really want something this big?”
I throw a fajita in the microwave and grab two beers, passing one to Becket. “It’s not so much about the size as it is about the privacy. We looked at a few penthouses, but they really weren’t doing it for me. This place worked.” What I don’t mention to Becks is that it’s easy to imagine a life there. A family filling it. A little girl, Madeline’s age, who looks like Daphne.
Becks clinks his bottle to mine. “We, huh? Who’s we? You and the assistant?”
“It wasn’t like that. I brought her with me so we could work in the car.” I grab my plate from the microwave and try to ignore the idiot while I eat, but it’s like those damn ants we couldn’t get rid of after Jace left a slice of pizza under his bed last year.
You can’t get rid of them, no matter what you fucking do.
They’re just there.
Just everywhere.
Annoying you.
“Don’t get wrapped up in this girl, Maximus.” His tone grows unusually serious. “She’s bad news. Her father fucked away his company and all their money. Chick’s gonna have major daddy issues, maybe even sugar daddy issues. It can’t end well. And we’ve both been there before, when they’re more interested in our last name than us. Don’t put yourself through that.”
I bite back the angry response sitting on the tip of my tongue and try to pacify him. “Thanks for the advice, man. But I’m good. I’ve got it handled.”
“Maximus–”
Madeline comes running into the kitchen with Becks’s phone in her hand. That is, until she falls, and the thing goes flying across the floor, coming to a screeching, screen-cracking stop against the leg of one of the counter stools.
He looks down at the broken phone, then at our baby sister who has tears in her eyes, and I take the Get Out of Jail Free card I was just handed and get the hell out of the kitchen. “Thanks, man. Good luck with that.” I nod toward the phone and slink away.
No way Daphne’s that girl. She’s not that kind of person. I know she’s not.
Right?
