Breaking the Billionaire's Rules(57)

“—an experience with his book wrecking my life.”

Nathan wrecked your life, I think, but is that me drinking the Max Kool-Aid?

“Max is not his book. He’s not like his book at all. We have this history, and we’ve reconnected so powerfully. I fell for him so hard that summer, and it’s all right there. You know how I fell for him.”

“And he hurt you.”

“It was high school. And we talked about everything that happened and it’s amazing—”

“Nooooo!” She presses her palms to her eyes.

I grab her arms, pull them down. “I’ve felt like such a jerk. I want to be in solidarity with you, but I can’t. It’s so, so good with him. Like I never imagined…”

“Mia,” she says.

“I want you to…at least keep an open mind?”

“Oh my god, Mia. Come on.”

She’s silent all the way to the next corner, thinking. But at least she’s holding onto my arm.

“He was twenty when he wrote it. He didn’t set out to ruin anybody’s life.”

She turns to me at the Don’t Walk. “Look, the book didn’t ruin my life. I’m the one who decided to move in with that asshole. And the jungle kiss, guys have been using lines forever. Though, that’s a diabolically good one. But the thing is, who writes that kind of book? I can get past it on behalf of me. I can’t get past the book on behalf of you. Because you don’t have a complete personality transplant between the ages of twenty and twenty-eight.”

“I know what I’m doing. I know him.”

She rests her hands on my shoulders. “I don’t want what happened to me to happen to you. Some friggin’ player.”

“It won’t,” I say.

“He wrote the book. ‘The last thing you want is a woman you can’t walk away from.’ Remember? He literally wrote the book on being a jerky player.”

“But he’s not like that. Think of how you were at the age of twenty. Personally? I was a basketcase.”

“Excuses won’t unwrite the book for him.” The light turns green and we’re on the move again. “I’m officially registering my objection.”

“This isn’t a jury trial.”

“I’m just saying. I’m not going to harp on this going forward. I want you to be happy, and as your friend, I’ll support you. But if he pulls a Nathan.”

“He makes me happy.”

We go on in silence.

“Okay,” I say, “And what if I told you he invited me to his secret Yogic sex lair for the acrobatic arts of love tomorrow night?”

She whips her gaze around to me. “He did?”

“Will that make a difference? That we get the answer to that burning mystery? You’re at least glad for that, right?”

“What did he say about it?”

“To meet him at that address. And that it’s a surprise.”

“What the hell.”

“Right? Though he did say eight-thirty. Whereas he got there around seven the night I followed him.”

“Did you tell him—”

“That I followed him like a freak? No.” I poke her arm. “So? Are you happy for that at least? To get the answer to our burning mystery?”

She puts on a grumpy face. “You’ll miss drinks for Jada’s wrap. For that Fox in the Henhouse show.”

“Jada has a wrap party every month.”

“Still.” She sighs. “Okay, it makes one percent difference in how happy I am. Because I’m mostly worried on your behalf. That he’s a player.”

“I’ll tell you for two. If you say it makes two percent difference.”

She shakes her head.

“Troll doll full-costume sex fetish film,” I whisper. “You never know.” Though, I do. I know that’s not it.

“You are such a dork. Okay.”

“Thank you.”

“He’d better be a good lay at least. Like amazing.” She looks over and I’m just grinning.

“Jesus.” She sniffs and takes my arm again.





21




Open your eyes. Start seeing what’s in front of your face.

This is an uncorrected proof - you may find typos, but those won’t be in the final version.





* * *



Mia

I’m outside the Namaste Way Yoga building at a quarter after eight. Only the windows on the top floor are lit. A woman comes out the door with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“I’m here to meet someone.”

“Max?” she asks.

“Yeah.”

“Go on up. They should be almost done.”

What. The. Hell.

I swallow.

“I can just go in?”

“Well, you’ll want to wait in the hall until they’re done.” She puts the cigarette into her mouth and cups her hand, shielding the lighter flame from the wind. I add my hand, and the thing finally lights. “Thanks,” she says, blowing a stream of smoke from the side of her mouth.

“How will I know…when they’re done?”