“Yeah. I’m fine. Just one beer.” And not even that. I’d taken two sips.

“I’ll walk you out to your car,” Mike said. “It’s not a crime-free zone around here.”

“No,” I objected. “It’s fine. I’m just one block aw—”

“Then I will take you, Miss Snow,” Max said, his voice stern and fatherlike.

Damn him. Why did he have to be such a dickhead?

I shot him a fast and furious look and then turned to Mike with a smile. “Mike, thank you for the offer. I’d love it if you’d walked me safely to my car.”

He flashed an uncomfortable look between Max and me. “It’s no problem.” He shrugged.

“Thank you, Mike,” Max said. “We wouldn’t want Miss Snow here getting into any trouble.”

Oh. Because I was such a reckless woman? Jerk.

Mike followed me out, and I felt the awkward vibe spike through the air.

“I’m just over here.” I pointed to my little red car sitting at the curb and stopped to unlock it.

“Lily, I’m really sorry about tonight. I should’ve been clearer,” he said, standing a few feet away.

The sun had just gone down, but a warm orange summer glow remained in the sky, casting a light on Mike’s black hair.

“What?” I flicked my hand at him. “I told you. I really didn’t think anything about it.”

He smiled. “Well, now that I know you would’ve said yes, maybe we should have dinner next week?”

I looked at him. I was about to say that I didn’t need a pity date, but then I remembered how bad I was at reading men. Was it a pity date or real date?

“I’m…” I needed to think about it. “I think I’m in Houston part of next week, but why don’t I let you know on Monday?”

“Sure.” He reached out and gave my hand a little squeeze. “Drive carefully.”

I got into my car, wanting to rip out my hair. Holy hell. Why did men have to be so confusing? And why was I so bad at dealing with them?

When I got to my apartment, I looked forward to a hot bubble bath and some quality me time with my laptop and a movie. That’s not what was waiting for me. It was a shock I couldn’t have been prepared for in a million years but should’ve seen coming. And no, it wasn’t Mrs. Jackson’s trash. But it was something equally dirty.

~~~

She was an older woman with short silver hair and glasses and wore plain beige slacks. Her expression reminded me of the kind of person who’d had a rough life once upon a time, but now devoted her energy to saving orphaned kittens and eating organic vegan cuisine. Yeah, it was strange that she made me think that, but whatever.

“Can I help you?” I asked, thinking maybe she was at the wrong apartment.

“My name is Nancy Little.” She extended her hand. “I’m a journalist.”

I shook her hand hesitantly. “Okay. And you’re here because…?”

“Can we go inside and talk?”

“About?” I asked.

“Maxwell Cole and that arrangement you have with him.”

I felt a sharp drop and roll in my stomach. How the hell did she know? Whatever the case, it didn’t feel like it was in my best interest to talk to her. Play dumb.

“Sorry?” I said.

“You don’t have to pretend with me, Lily. You’re not the first.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I partially lied—I honestly didn’t know there’d been others. It had to be a mistake.

“Lily, he’s had three different women—that I know of—try to help him with his disorder. One of them was my sister.”

This was information that hit me like a barbed baseball bat. “Okay,” I said in my bitchiest tone ever. “I’m going to ask you to leave now. Because whatever you’re talking about doesn’t involve me.”

I moved past her, trying to keep my cool. How was it possible he’d had three other women try to help him? How long had this been going on? And why the hell did I feel like the inner sanctum of my relationship with him had been violated?

Just as I was about to slam the door shut, she blurted out, “My sister killed herself, Lily. That’s why I’m publishing a book.”

Whoa. Already standing inside my apartment, I looked at her, wondering how this tragic event was connected. “What happened?”

“He used her and tossed her aside. That’s when I found out there’d been others he’d recruited for what he likes to call his ‘therapy.’”

I was shocked. And disgusted. She made it sound like we all belonged to some dirty sex-cult. But before I went into a full-blown rage with Mr. Cole or discarded what she said, I needed to talk to him.

“I’m very, very sorry to hear about your sister.” And I meant that. I really did. If anything ever happened to John, I’d be a mess. “But I don’t understand; you’re publishing a book about my boss and telling the world what exactly?” Whether I liked it or not, I needed to hear this.

“Don’t act stupid, Lily. I know he’s hired you to help him. What did he promise you? A new life?”

My blood rushed inside my body, feeling like it was darting all over the place. “I really don’t know what you’re talking about, but please leave and don’t come back.”

I stepped inside and locked the door behind me. Oh God, this is bad. Really bad. My brain was beginning to see all the ways this could turn ugly for me.

“I’ll leave my card,” she yelled from the other side of the door, “in case you change your mind.”

I picked up the card, threw it in the wastebasket in the living room, and then called Mr. Cole’s cell phone. It rang twice then went into voice mail. Dammit.

“Mr. Cole, it’s Lily—I mean Miss Snow—whatever—I need you to call me back. It’s important. A Nancy Little came to see me, and I…fuck. Just call me when you get this.”

I went into my room, plugged in my cell, and left it charging on my nightstand. I don’t know how long I lay there staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with some explanation that could possibly justify why Maxwell Cole had been recruiting these women and discarding them or why he hadn’t told me.

Nothing.

There was no reason under the sun for that. But what I did know was that I felt betrayed and afraid. This private affair, I naïvely believed existed in an insulated room that only Maxwell Cole and I could enter, wasn’t so private. There were others inside with us, and soon the world would get a peek.

Oh God. The things they would say about me and assume.

I began to cry. Yeah, it was time.

~~~

Around three in the morning, I woke to my cell vibrating on my nightstand. I rolled over, my brain foggy with sleep, and looked at the number. It was Mr. Cole.

“Hello?” I mumbled.

“Open your fucking door.”

He was here? At my apartment? Sonofabitch had some serious explaining to do. “One sec.”

I hopped from my bed and made a quick pass into my bathroom. I looked like shit—even for me—like I’d been crying because clearly I had been. I rinsed with mouthwash and hurried to the door. Yes, I had my yellow ducky PJs, but this wasn’t a time for putting on something sexy like a lace teddy.

Mr. Cole stood there, still in his jeans and black T-shirt, his hair looking even messier than ever. Is that a chicken wing stain on his shirt?

“Nice pajamas. And what the hell took you so long?” he asked with a slight slur to his words.

“Are you drunk?” I whispered, poking my head into the hallway.

“Yeah, so what.” He pushed past me, and I closed the door.

“Did you drive like this?”

He headed into my kitchen and opened the fridge, immediately looking disappointed. “You now make two hundred thousand a year, but you have no food or beer?”

With the light of the fridge, his hazel eyes looked redder than hell. Had he been crying, too? No. Hell no.

“I’ve been traveling and haven’t had time to shop. Let me make you some tea.”

He slammed the door shut. “I don’t want tea.”