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Chapter 2
The next morning, Max woke up with a breakfast tray on his new bed. What was wrong with this picture?
It would take a fucking list.
Max stared at the tray full of coffee, toast, scrambled eggs, and a rose—a damned red rose—and honestly wondered if he was in a really lucid dream. Maybe he’d been in the car with his dad and was now in a coma himself. Maybe that was it. A dream would make more sense than his current living situation.
Zander had made good on his word last night. He’d stopped by Max’s apartment, packed all his essentials, and promised he’d send movers to pack and move the rest before the weekend. Then Zander had taken Max back to his house—otherwise known as a mansion—and settled Max into the bedroom across from his own.
The bedroom was the size of his apartment, by the way, and that didn’t include the ensuite bathroom.
The vampire was not what he’d envisioned when coming up with this scheme. Zander looked like one of those made-to-order pretty boys found on romance covers. He was taller than Max by a few inches, standing at six feet, with thick black hair framing his face, and tanned skin that suggested he spent a good amount of time outdoors. (Didn’t vampires avoid the sun? No?) He was stunning, like something sculpted from a wet dream, with those wicked dark brown eyes and full mouth.
Yes, he was exactly Max’s type, thanks for asking. Just, unfortunately, a vampire.
When Max first came upon this idea of selling himself out for a year, he didn’t expect it to be pretty. He just hadn’t known what else to do. His dad’s medical bills already totaled half a million and were climbing quickly. They didn’t own anything worth that much. He could work three jobs and still not come out ahead. Contracting to be a vampire’s blood-and-bed slave for a year was not something any sane person would do. But it was a sight better than Max’s dad dying or being crippled the rest of his life because he didn’t get the surgeries and care he needed.
So Max had sold himself.
He was supposed to have been fed from and ravaged last night. He was supposed to be in pain this morning.
He was not supposed to be served breakfast in bed with a damned rose on the tray.
Max didn’t know what Zander’s game was. It honestly unnerved him. The man wasn’t enforcing his part of the deal so far, which suggested to Max that he might have gotten in over his head even more than he’d realized.
Feeding and having sex with a vampire...Max wouldn’t be comfortable doing it, but he could. Apparently, Zander wanted something else and Max didn’t know what—he wasn’t sure if he wanted to give it, either. He didn’t want to feel indebted to Zander. Sticking to the contract was the better bet.
He’d get the man to confess his true intentions. For now…breakfast, he guessed. Max was honestly hungry. Yesterday’s nerves had left him unable to eat much of anything, and the food smelled excellent.
It tasted good, too. Zander probably had some chef or maid, but still, it was the thought that counted. Max ended up consuming every crumb and then, because it wasn’t the rose’s fault, refilled the glass and put the rose on his nightstand.
Now. Mission One: Get Zander to confess.
Max took a quick shower, got dressed, and gave himself a pep talk. His fear of vampires was better after intense therapy, but this was still nerve-wracking as hell. Max could last a year. He could, for his father. He would be fine. It was in the contract that Zander couldn’t physically hurt him or share him with other vampires; Max could survive anything else Zander threw at him. He’d be okay. As long as they both stuck to the contract, all would be fine.
All right, time to confront the vampire.
Shoulders back, chin up, Max marched out of the bedroom with the tray, heading downstairs. The main floor was an open concept—kitchen on the far-right wall, dining table in the middle, living room on the left side. The master of the house was in the kitchen, sipping on coffee and talking on the phone. Next to him was a stack of dishes, freshly washed and drying on a rack.
Not another soul was present.
Wait a fucking minute. Zander really had cooked for him? And done dishes afterward? What kind of filthy rich vampire did his own dishes?
If the man was trying to confuse Max, he’d done a fantastic job.
“—realize it’s out of character for me, but you should see him,” Zander said to whomever he was talking to. He caught Max’s entrance with a smile so instant, so genuine, Max almost smiled back. “Anyway, I need a few days to settle him in properly, there’s a lot to do. You understand, right? Thanks, Dad. I’ll introduce you to him soon. Love you, bye.”
Max settled the tray on the island and looked at Zander uncertainly. Was he turned recently enough that his family was still alive? “Your biological father?”
“Yeah. I work with him so was explaining why I needed to take a few days off.” Zander looked at the tray, nodding in approval. “You ate it all, good. I’m glad you slept in too; you looked like you needed it.”
Slept in? Max eyed the clock on the oven and mentally cursed. It was half past nine. He’d hoped to be at the hospital before ten, but he’d have to rush to make it.
“While you were sleeping, I had a few things prepared for you. First, hand me your wallet.”
Uhh…what? And why? Max reluctantly handed it over, not sure where this was going.
Zander flipped it open, then stopped as he spied the picture of Max with his father in the inner flap. “Is this your father?”
