Taming Lily (The Fowler Sisters #3)(72)

“Our lunch menu is rather simple, but I hope you find something you like, miss,” the man tells me, his gaze twinkling before he turns his attention to Max, giving him a look of—approval?—before he leaves us alone.

“You know him,” I state flatly once the man is gone.

“I knew his son,” he clarifies. “We served together in Afghanistan.”

“Oh.” I drop my gaze to the menu, uncomfortable with talking about his past. So he must have been telling the truth when he told me about his tattoo. “You said … knew.”

“Yeah.” Max keeps his eyes fixed on his menu as well. “He died in combat.”

That nice, friendly man has suffered the loss of his son. I can’t imagine what that must be like. And he’s so cheerful, so upbeat. “I assume the food is good?” I ask to change the subject.

“The best,” Max confirms. “Their hamburgers especially, though you probably wouldn’t eat one.”

“I would love one.” My stomach growls and I realize I’m starving. I never really ate that muffin from earlier and a breakfast of coffee isn’t filling. I set my menu onto the table. “With cheese. And fries.”

He lifts his surprised gaze to mine. “Their onion rings are amazing.”

But then I’d have onion breath … not that I’m going to kiss Max. I still think he’s an *. At least somewhat of an *. “I love onion rings,” I say with a smile.

“Me too.” He sets his menu onto the table, too, and studies me. I feel like we’re having some sort of standoff and it’s weird. “Burgers and onion rings it is.”

“And a Coke. With lots of ice,” I add, getting warmed up.

“Diet?”

“No. Full-tilt.” I doubt I need all that sugar coursing through my frenzied veins but I don’t care. I’m feeling like I need to prove something to Max—what, I’m not sure, but here I am, all bravado and cheeseburgers, onion rings and sorrow over what I could have had with this man.

Sorrow for the man who lost his friend in battle, for the man who lost his son. Sadness for what I lost, too.

Myself.

Max’s mouth curves into a faint smile. “I missed you, Lily.”

His words remind me of what he’s done and I sit up straighter, all the bravery and sadness fleeing me, replaced by anger. “What did you want to discuss, Max?”

The owner reappears and takes our orders, his mood jovial, even when Max asks him for privacy. He promises to bring our drinks but otherwise, won’t return until our lunch is ready.

The moment he’s gone I shoot Max a look, my eyebrows raised. I’m done with the bullshit and I definitely don’t want to take a stroll down memory lane. It’ll hurt too much.

“Where do you want me to start?” he asks, as if he can read my mind.

“At the beginning. When did Pilar come to you?” I want all the dirty details. So I can hate him even more? Possibly.

He blows out a harsh breath, smiling up at our new waiter who materializes out of nowhere, delivering our drinks before he vanishes as quickly as he appeared. “A couple of weeks ago. She said that she wanted me to tail someone, someone who took something from her. And she wanted it back.”

“So you thought the laptop belonged to her.”

“I’m not that stupid.” He sends me a look. “I figured out pretty quick that what she wanted didn’t belong to her. I started investigating, doing my research as I usually do, and then Pilar called me, letting me know you’d left. She wanted me to follow you to Maui, so I did.”

She hired Max within days, if not hours, after I sent her that email. The one from her own Fleur in-box to her personal account, when I taunted her that I knew what she’d done.

Closing my eyes, I grip the edge of the table, remembering what a fool I’d been. How arrogant. What did I think she’d do once she saw that email? Cave in and let me tell Daddy what exactly she’s been up to these last few months?

I’d only been referring to her dalliance with Zachary. The seemingly harmless email conversations with Felicity Winston from Jayne Cosmetics.

She called me, threatening me with bodily harm, accusing me of being a meddling, home-wrecking little slut. And that’s when I ran like a coward.

Opening my eyes, I stare unseeingly at Max as he talks and gestures. I release the edge of the table, reaching for my drink so I can take a calming sip. The ice-cold, sweet soda hits my tongue and I swallow hard, trying my best to listen to what Max is saying, but it’s as if my ears are stuffed with cotton.

“What is it that you do exactly, anyway?” I ask, interrupting him.

He stops talking and tilts his head, studying me in that coolly assessing way of his. It makes me uncomfortable and I want to squirm in my chair. “Are you all right?”

I shrug, trying to play it off. But my head is spinning and I swear to God, I’m seeing spots. Gripping the edge of the table once more, I tell him, “I’m fine. Could you answer my question?”

He doesn’t even protest. I think he wants to stay on my good side. “I’m, ah, a private investigator. I run my own company, do investigative work for a variety of clients.”

“Like Pilar,” I add.

“Yeah. Though truly, she’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.” He shakes his head, his lips quirked into a weird little smile. I like those lips. Especially when they’re kissing me …