Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(39)

“I don’t know,” I say. I’d feel…weird. Even though it would be hugely effective as prize positioning.

“Think about it. Even as friends. Seriously. The prizes are insane.”

“I’ll think about it,” I say, and I give him a silent meow, just because that feels appropriate.





14




Never let them smell blood in the water.

~The Max Hilton Playbook: Ten Golden Rules for Landing the Hottest Girl in the Room





* * *



Max

Parker and I are hosting the Catwalk for a Cause steering committee luncheon over the noon hour.

Laughing and brainstorming with some of the smartest, most fascinating people in the style and design world is something that would’ve been a welcome break from the stress of my routine just weeks ago. But now? I wish I could be back in my office.

I hate missing lunch in my office, or more specifically, I hate missing Mia. I hate missing her smile and her frown and her smartass comments and her outrageous moves.

And god, that kiss. It’s wrong what we’re doing, and I no longer care.

The topic is music. Parker’s at the head of the table with a lot of opinions on the subject. He loves music. Lana’s next to me, bending over the proposed schedule that I’ve worked out, practically on my lap, and Brazilian supermodel Zera Valsano, who hates costumes, is playfully wringing my neck over my suggestion she walk out in a whale costume, and I’m laughing, and that’s when Mia appears.

I stiffen. What is she doing here? There’s usually a caterer for these things.

She manages a tight smile, but I see her. She doesn’t like the photo on my office wall, and she really doesn’t like it being re-enacted in front of her.

I stand. “Hey,” I say.

She pushes her cart to the edge of the room, proud and aloof, with a slight air of danger.

How is she here? Parker’s assistant usually arranges the catering on these things. Did Parker’s assistant put in this order?

“I have seven low-carb salmon bowls, five keto pork, one vegan veggie, two teriyaki steak wraps and a roast beef and swiss croissant sandwich.” This last in a tone dripping with loathing.

Our gazes lock. The sparkle of anger and aliveness in her gaze hits something deep inside me. And I don’t care. I’m just glad she’s here. Mia’s beautiful even in her hatred—so fucking beautiful I can barely breathe.

Zera still has her hand on my shoulder, but it’s Mia I’m watching, Mia’s hand I’m imagining. Doesn’t she see she’s the most exciting woman in the room?

My girl goes through the layout with confident movements, never giving me the satisfaction of seeing her sweat. I’m so proud of her I could die.

Needing somebody more than they need you is for suckers. That was the central lesson in the book I wrote way back when.

It felt like the gospel truth back then. But right now I need for everybody to be gone from here so I can be with Mia.

“Now where were we?” Parker says, squeezing mayo onto his sandwich. “Lindsey, let’s have the media schedule.”

Lindsey launches into a rundown of the schedule in the exciting and slightly confidential way that she has. Mia has everybody’s lunches set out except mine. Making me wait.

She gives me a mischievous look. She’s a lot of sunshine and a little bit devil. She sets a napkin in front of me, and then my croissant sandwich.

I gaze up at her, meeting her devil. “Mustards, please,” I say hoarsely.

Her cheeks go pink. There’s nothing sexier than the real Mia pushing out from underneath her acting skills, like a wildflower through concrete. When she’s really off-balance, the old accent peeks through—just the edges of it.

She sets down the mustards. Energy flares between us. It’s all so wrong, and I goddamn love it. I’m addicted to our dance. To her.

She sets down the cheesy puffs.

“What other chips are available?” I ask.

Her cheeks go pink. “Cheesy puffs were specified.”

“You were out of cheesy puffs the other day and I recall having something else that was really delicious,” I say.

She licks her lips. “That choice is no longer available to you, I’m afraid. It’ll have to be a fond memory. Never to be repeated.”

“No?” I can feel Parker staring at us—probably wondering what is up. I’m so far from caring.

“So sorry.” She opens the chips and arranges them just so, at a specific angle like she does when she’s trying to annoy me, then she positions the mustards.

“Thank you,” I say. At least it sounds like a thank you to the people around the table. It’s really just a tug on the rope between us. Mia spares me a burning glance. Is it possible she’s jealous?

Does she think I arranged this? To get a rise out of her?

She’s doing her fussy repositioning of my sandwich, and all I want to do is kiss her. I want everyone gone and for it to be just us. I’m going mad.

“Wait, it’s not quite right,” she says sweetly.

“It looks good to me.” My breath speeds. “I would go so far as to call it impressive.”

“No, there’s something missing.” She has everybody’s attention now. “Wait, I know what’s missing.”