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“You have to understand,Max, this has nothing to do with you.” Cynthia tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear, then blinked several times. The sweet smell of jasmine filled the humid Georgia air, along with the clink of glasses and silverware against fine china.
Maxwell Chandler stared at his fiancée—strike that—his soon-to-be ex-fiancée. It said a lot about their relationship, that she said her decision had nothing to do with him. Who says shit like that?
Cynthia Myers, that’s who. The same woman who dragged him out to lunch just to dump him. It would have been much easier and cheaper if she had just called or sent a note. Hell, Max would have been happy with an email or text telling him to fuck off. But then, that wasn’t Cynthia’s style.
She probably worried he’d cause a scene. Max never made a scene. It would be bad for business, and it would also get back to his mama. One thing a Southern man knew was not to upset his mama. Which meant that Cynthia didn’t know him all that well. And as his best friend Anna had pointed out, that wasn’t any way to start a marriage.
He shifted his weight in the chair as Anna came to mind. Just thinking about his best friend left him antsy. She was always there in his thoughts, and that said even more. He couldn’t remember that ever happened with Cynthia. Anna claimed that if you’re going to marry someone, you should know every single bad habit the person had. In her humble opinion, it was the only way to tell if you truly loved the person. He probably didn’t know much more past Cynthia’s surface than she knew past his. Maybe that’s why all he felt was…relief.
“You’re calling off our engagement, so I think it has a little to do with me,” Max said in an agreeable tone. “Have you met someone else?”
Her blue eyes widened. A look of complete horror passed over her face. She probably practiced that in the mirror. “No. It’s not that.”
“So, you’re just dumping me because you don’t like me?” Max tried to sound a little hurt. Truthfully, though, the tension eased out of his shoulders, and the constant throbbing in his head lessened. He’d gotten so used to the pain that Max hadn’t realized how intense it had become. Showing his true feelings would be wrong, like making your fiancé pay for lunch when you planned to dump him.
Cynthia reached across the table and grabbed his hand. A look of acute distress marred her perfect face. Her eyes filled with tears. She spent most of her days with that look on her face. Any tiny thing set the woman off, and not in a pleasant way. Not that she would ever cause a scene. Cynthia Myers never lost her temper or showed an ounce of passion.
What had he been thinking when he’d proposed to her? It couldn’t have been because the sex was great. It was good, but someone who stressed out when she had to pick the color of her car couldn’t relax enough to have fun in bed. He came, but there was no real satisfaction in fucking the woman. She didn’t like wet, hot, messy sex. He’d had to invest in lubricant for the first time. Why marry a woman who couldn’t get wet? He didn’t think it had much to do with him but Cynthia’s hang-ups about sex.
“No, I like you a lot. It’s just that…well, we aren’t suited.” She picked at the linen tablecloth nervously. Her attention was apparently captured by the complexities of the ivory color and the wrinkle she eased away with her index finger. Without looking at him, she said, her voice filled with anxious worry, “I hope there will be no hard feelings.”
In Max’s opinion, Cynthia hoped he wouldn’t take this out on her father. Their families had been doing business for years. It was one of the reasons he’d proposed. And probably one of the reasons—if not the main one—that she’d agreed to begin with. That and her father had wanted the match. Cynthia usually did anything her father wanted her to do. Well, until today. And the fact that Max had been ready to marry her based on a business relationship didn’t say much for him. From the beginning of their “courtship,” Cynthia seemed like a nervous rabbit. Not once had he seen her relax, which explained why she didn’t like sex and probably never would.
Max smiled and did his best not to look too relieved. “No. You should know me better than that.”
Cynthia looked up, worry puckering her brow, but then she returned his smile, albeit warily. “That’s nice to know. I think it best if we tell our parents right away. Daddy is going to be furious.”
“Tell him it’s my fault.”
She sniffled, wiped her nose, and then the tears disappeared. “You are a true gentleman.”
No, he was a true putz, but he knew Cynthia’s father. Max felt like a shit because, for the first time, he realized his heart hadn’t been with her or the engagement. “Just tell him I had second thoughts. We’re months away from even picking out the invitations. No harm done.”
The smile that brightened her face did nothing more than exasperate him. “I truly appreciate it. You know how Daddy is, and he so wanted this”—she gestured back and forth between them with her hand—“marriage to take place.”
She licked her lips and reached for her iced tea. Then, Max noticed her hand shaking as her fingers wrapped around her glass. Being nervous was one thing. Being frightened was a whole other ball game.
When he spoke, he reminded himself to keep his voice calm. One word the wrong way, and she might bolt. Or, God forbid, change her mind back. “Your father will get over it, Cynthia. It isn’t like I won’t do business with him.”
Again, she offered him a guarded look but said nothing more as she took another sip. He understood her wariness because he knew her father. As he watched her drain her drink, his mind moved onto other things. Business mainly. His thoughts wandered to calling one of his distributors, meetings, his parents on vacation in Greece, and…Anna.
“Max.”
Her irritated voice pulled him out of his thoughts to focus on the matter at hand. Which was dissolving their engagement…and gaining freedom.
“Sorry, Cynthia. My mind sort of wandered.”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied his face, a frown tugging down the corners of her mouth. “You do that a lot, Max.” The sharp rebuke he heard in her voice was the first show of gumption he’d seen from Cynthia. Her face flushed before she looked down at the table. Knowing her father, who was a bastard in the first order, especially when it came to Cynthia, she’d been trained never to say a word in defense of herself to a man.
“You’re right, so you’re probably damn lucky to escape my evil clutches.”
She snorted, then covered her mouth, looking around to see if anyone noticed. It took her a moment to compose herself again.
“I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean—”
“No,” he said with a laugh and a wave of his hand, “don’t let it bother you. I would rather we parted as friends, wouldn’t you?”
