Page 57 of The Romance Line
I refuse to look at Max. I can’t. I can’t afford the brand of trouble he brings to my heart and body. Once the server has left Garrett clears his throat, then looks my way. “Everly, before you arrived, we were all chatting. The social looks great. You’ve done a fantastic job in just a few weeks building it out.”
“Yes. It even looks like you’re having fun, Max,” Zaire remarks with a pleased grin. In addition to the circus, bike ride, and post-game shots, I instructed him to take a picture of the football field when he went to a Renegades game on the weekend, as well as the view of the Golden Gate Bridge from his home. He sent me both andI posted them too. They don’t show his face, but that’s fine.
Rosario sits straighter, shifting toward her client. “And we’ve run some tests and already your likability quotient is ticking up a notch or two.”
“Great,” Max says dryly. “Gotta keep that thermometer at the bank rising higher.”
John smiles. “This is a promising start.”
“It is. We adoreThe Real Max Lambert,” Clementine says to Max. “You’ve done a great job.”
He’s done a great job?Are you kidding me? I did all that. But as a publicist, my role is to stay in the background, to let others shine, so I do my part to praise the star too. “Max has really been helpful at being open and available. He’s made it easy.”
Lies, tell me sweet little lies.
But rather than finding a way to subtly zing me, the man getting the makeover offers me a thoughtful smile, then turns to the others. “Actually, Everly’s the one who’s done a great job. I have to give her all the credit,” he says earnestly. “She’s a delight to work with. She’s come up with every single idea. She arranges the events. She plans the photos. She writes the posts. Any increase in the LQis entirely her doing.”
What???
Am I in a time warp? Did he just compliment me in front of the GMandmy boss? I stare at him like an alien has taken over his body. “Thank you,” I say, thrown off but delighted all the same.
Zaire smiles proudly. “Everly is terrific at what she does. I’m so glad you’re working well together.”
“She’s the one who makes it easy,” Max says, then sighs, a little apologetically. “I know I’ve made a lot of thishard for all of you, but putting Everly on this project is what’s bringing it all together. She deserves all the credit.” He rubs his palms together. “So what’s next?”
Holy shit.
I want to hate him, but I want to kiss him too. What is wrong with me?
We spend the next hour of the dinner talking about the community outreach that I’ll be overseeing for him for the next month—the meat of the makeover. I’ve already planned the first event with a local animal rescue I love working with, and it’s coming up in another week, after a stretch of away games. I’m calling it Dogs on Ice because I couldn’t resist that name. I tell Max the details of the event—we’re hosting the rescue’s dogs up for adoption—and even though it’ll be fun, it’ll also be harder, busier, and more challenging for him than usual since it’s so, obviously, public.
“You’ll have to talk to the press,” I say, reminding him.
Max nods in acceptance. “I’m ready.”
What universe am I living in where Max is being agreeable? I don’t even know.
As the meal nears its end, I push back and excuse myself for the ladies’ room. After I freshen up, I touch up my lipstick in the mirror, then head back into the narrow hallway, stopping short when I spot Max. Hard to miss him. He’s leaning against the brick wall across from the ladies’ room.
Waiting for me. Looking like every sexy mistake I want to make.
“Everly,” he says, like this is important, whatever he’s about to say. “I’m sorry you’re pissed at me, but I’m not sorry I crashed your date.”
I groan. Here he goes again, being infuriating. “Why do you do this?”
“Do what?”
I flap my hand toward the end of the hallway, indicating the table around the corner where we just met with everyone who matters to our jobs. “Do something nice like what you said at the table, then return to saying this stuff? ThisI know what’s good for youcrap.”
“Because it’s true. You and Lucas weren’t even into each other.”
“That’s not really for you to decide,” I say.
He steps closer, his gaze narrowed. “He invited my sister and me to join your date.”
“He was being nice! Ever heard of it?”
Max crowds me, his heated eyes holding mine, his body so dangerously close I catch a hint of the bold and spicy Midnight Flame. Chili pepper and cedar and wild nights. I didn’t smell that at The Spotted Zebra. Did he splash it on while driving over? Did he do it for me? Change for me to look even more tempting? I don’t understand him. I don’t understand myself either and why my body reacts to him. The way he looks at me is unfairly alluring.