Page 56 of The Romance Line
“Don’tEverlyme,” she hisses as she orders her ride, then stares me down. “Why did you do that?”
“Because he’s wrong for you,” I say with no remorse. “And I knew it the second he invited me to join you.”
“I guess I’ll never know now though if he is,” she snaps, and seconds later, a red Honda pulls up. She gets inside and slams the door.
On the one hand, she doesn’t just hate me. She loathes me till the end of time. On the other hand, she’s not having a second date with him.
I’ll chalk that up as a win.
18
THE MAX EFFECT
Everly
I’m so ticked off, I'm experiencing the Max Effect. Side effects of prolonged exposure to bossy, overbearing men who think they know what’s good for you might include a rage spiral.
Except I can’t afford to rage spiral. I need to calm down before dinner with my boss and Max’s agent. I have to act like I don’t want to throat-punch the star athlete.
On the ride over, I close my eyes and try to let go of my irritation as best I can. By the time I’m a block away, I feel somewhat human, but my brain keeps playing Max’s words on a loop:Because he’s wrong for you.
I hate that he’s right.
I hate that I didn’t feel the chemistry with LucasbeforeMax barreled into the bar and sabotaged my evening. I already knew there wasn’t going to be a third date before he showed up, but I hate, too, that I was secretly excited when Max arrived.
What is wrong with me? I can hear my father’s voice slithering in my ear with an answer.Well, you’ve always had bad taste in men, honey.
I try to drown out the comment he made when my last romance went south a few months in. My dad’s right though. I don’t pick well. I have the track record of failed romance to show for it. I’m nearly thirty, and I’ve never had a non-toxic relationship.
But at least I’m good at my job, so I vow to focus on that as I arrive at Kitchen Mosaic, an upscale fusion restaurant in the Financial District. It’s the kind of place where the city’s high rollers take clients to seal deals. After I thank the driver, I hop out of the car and go inside, taking a deep, centering breath before I tell the host I’m joining the Emerson party of four.
Except it’s a party of seven, she informs me.
I roll with the change. When I arrive at the table, Max’s agent is here, and he’s brought two people from the agency. He makes quick intros to a woman named Rosario and a man named John. Zaire’s here too. I wasn’t expecting Clementine to come but the general manager’s at the table as well. I really need to stay calm.
“Good to see you both,” I say as I sit.
“I had the night free, so I decided to join,” Clementine says cooly.
Translation: this meeting was too important to miss.
And my job is too important to lose my head over because of a guy. “Glad everyone is here, except for the man of honor,” I say, and maybe I couldn’t resist taking a dig at Max for being late. But he deserves it.
A few minutes later, the troublemaking goalie breezes in, looking stylish and sexy in tailored charcoal pants that hug his strong legs and a royal blue shirt that does unfairthings to his strong chest and thick arms. He’s wearing team colors. Smart move.
At the bar he was wearing jeans and a polo. He cleaned up even more for dinner with all the stakeholders, and I’m annoyingly impressed. He’s striding to the table like he owns the place, all cool confidence and with barely a smile—just his trademark intensity, wild hair, and icy eyes. That’s the way he walks through the corridor in the arena before a game, wearing his game-day suit, looking like sex and strength.
My pulse beats faster. My body is such a traitor.
When he reaches us, he says, “Thanks for waiting. I had to drop my sister at her son’s friend’s house.”
I refrain from rolling my eyes. Of course he’s angling for I-help-with-my-cute-nephew empathy points.
“That’s always lovely to hear,” Clementine says.
“Good to see you, my man,” Garrett puts in, standing and clapping his client’s back.
Max sits, snagging the empty seat across from me. The seven of us make small talk about the restaurant, the weather, and the menu until it’s time to order.