To Have It All(8)

Taking a deep breath, I braced myself. “All you need is Max’s signature,” I mumbled quietly to no one. As I approached the table, he stood quickly almost knocking his chair back. Swinging an arm back, he caught it just in time and righted it, giving me an embarrassed smirk.

I stared at him blankly. “Max,” I said, giving him a curt nod.

“Waverly.” When he said my name, it sounded odd like he was questioning it more than stating it. We stared at each other for a moment before he widened his eyes and sighed loudly as if he felt awkward. “You look . . .” he paused and haphazardly waved his hand up and down my body before clenching his eyes closed and grumbling, “nice?” Again, it sounded like a question. Once again, I stared at him blankly. Nice? I looked nice? Was he serious? I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be kind or if maybe he was . . . nervous? But why would he be? He’d ignored me and made it clear he hadn’t wanted anything to do with me in years, so why bother being nice now?

Narrowing my eyes at him, I pressed my lips together, stopping myself from saying something shitty. Snarkiness was a forte of mine; a double-edged sword as it had proven useful to me in moments of discord with others. However, it could also leave me looking like a giant ass with my foot in my mouth, too. I’d learned to reel it in as I’d aged, learning there was a time and place for it. Besides, I refused to stoop to Max’s level. He was the kind of man that could easily get you caught up in a pointless argument. He knew how to push people’s buttons. I’d spent a great deal of time choosing the right outfit and doing my makeup and hair to meet him tonight, a classic I look amazing while not looking like I tried too hard. Trying to look good before meeting him felt like a low point for me because he didn’t deserve it, but the last time I’d seen Max I’d looked like a train wreck, and I felt the need to erase that image from his head as much as possible. I wondered if he could tell the effort I’d put in. You look nice? He probably thought he was being funny, complimenting me. Asshole.

“Allow me.” Moving around me, he pulled my chair out and waited for me to sit.

It was a kind and gentlemanly gesture. Max was messing with me. Keep it together, Waverly, I told myself. Just get his signature, and you never have to see him again. Barely containing the eye roll I so badly wanted to make, I sat and waited until he sat again.

“Merlot,” I told the waiter when he approached.

“Would you like another whiskey, sir?” he asked, Max.

“Yes,” Max practically groaned, almost as if he were desperate for one. “Keep ’em coming.”

I gritted my teeth, but kept it together. Was seeing me that stressful for him? I hadn’t bothered him in almost two years except to set up this meeting. When the waiter walked away, I gave Max a sideways glance. “Since when do you drink whiskey?” Hello snarkiness, my old friend. I nearly bit my tongue off for asking, but the words flew out of my mouth before I had a chance to stop them. I didn’t want to ask him personal questions. I didn’t need to know anything about him. Now I’d asked, which made it seem like I cared, which was the farthest from the truth.

His gaze shifted down as if he wasn’t sure how to answer, his hand holding the highball glass. Clearing his throat, he gave a slight shrug and wheezed, “Trying it out.” Before taking the last sip. “My throat’s a bit sore. Heard whiskey helps.” He was so ridiculous I wanted to laugh. His voice had been completely normal moments before, now he was hoarse and had a sore throat?

I refused to comment further on it. I’d already asked more than I should have. If he felt the need to feign a sore throat, why did I care? Pulling my large purse into my lap, I took out the folder containing the papers I needed him to sign.

“I won’t take any more of your precious time than I need to, Max. Once you sign these papers, you’ll never hear from me or us again.”

His blue eyes shot up and met mine. “Us?” he questioned.

I wanted to reach across the table and smack him across the face with the folder—sometimes my snarkiness felt like getting physical. “Pimberly and me,” I clarified.

His gaze never left mine, and my anger ebbed for a moment as his facial features contorted to something that looked like shock.

“Pimberly?” he questioned.

Now I knew he was messing with me. Why did he always have to act like such an asshole? “Yes, Max,” I replied, my words clipped. “Our daughter. Pimberly. Remember? The little girl you didn’t want?”





Oh shit. Max had a daughter.

I stared at her dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open, as I tried to digest the fun fact she’d just dropped on me. Max was a father. As if this situation couldn’t get any worse, now this. I’d have given anything to switch with him right then and there, no matter what that meant. This guy had a kid, and I was in his body. That was just so messed up I didn’t even know how to process it.

“I just need your signature,” Waverly continued after clenching her eyes closed as if she were frustrated and using every bit of her strength to keep her composure. “Just sign them, and we’re done.”

When she slid the paperwork toward me, the waiter just happened to be placing our drinks on the table. Mutely, unsure of what to do or say, I dropped my gaze to the folder and opened it. At first glance, my eyes caught on one line amidst the massive amount of verbiage, leaving me unable to thank him.