It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(13)

My gaze followed the direction of his stare through the windshield. “Crap.” They were back. Only this time, instead of one news crew, there were six.

“What the hell is going on?” I groaned. Didn’t they have wars and election email scandals to report on?

“Hmmm…this is unfortunate.” Max grinned as if he’d won some giant victory. “I guess you’ll have to come back to my hotel.”

“Nice try.”

“Only trying to help,” he said with smug amusement.

“If you want to help, how about staying away?” The reporters wanted him or Patricio, not me. “All of my clothes are inside, and I have to open the shop in forty minutes.”

Max’s smile melted away.

“What?” I asked.

“Something doesn’t feel right.”

“No kidding. I have a mob of reporters stalking my home.” Well, screw them! I had nothing to be ashamed of and that included my scars, my love life, or my past.

I pulled the handle of the car door, and Max tugged me back by the shoulder. “Wait. Let me deal with them. They’ll probably go away if I give them a statement.” He slid out of his side of the car.

Mr. Fearless. Seriously, aside from his little “issue,” nothing scared the man. It was very hot.

I watched Max’s lean, tall frame make confident strides towards the pack of wolves, who immediately spotted him and swarmed. I could only see the top of his head from my vantage point, but it struck me as odd that he stood there for all of five seconds before returning to the car with the reporters on his heels.

He opened the door and slid inside. “Drive,” he ordered Callahan, who obeyed without question.

“What’s going on?” My racing heart told me I was not going to like it.

Max’s dark brows shrugged, and he let out a breath.

“What!” I demanded.

With a calmness that terrified me, he looked out the window. “I suggest you come back to the hotel with me.” There wasn’t an ounce of flirt, fun, or cockiness in his voice this time.

“Why? What happened?” I growled.

He slid his cell from his shorts pocket, tapped a few times on the screen, and handed it to me.

I took the phone in my hands and gazed at the image of Patricio naked, having sex with another woman.

“What?” I covered my mouth. “This can’t be real.”

“Let’s get you somewhere private, and we’ll figure it out together.” Max reached out and placed his hand on my thigh. “I’m sorry, Lily. This isn’t right.”



As I would expect, Max had the most incredible bungalow at the most expensive hotel in town, the Four Seasons. Private pool and patio with outdoor fireplace, gorgeous furnishings, full living room and dining room. Quiet. Secluded. Perfect. So Max.

Not that I really cared at the moment because I literally felt sick to my stomach.

Max tossed his room key on the marble coffee table in the living room and gestured for me to sit on the sofa. My wobbly knees gave out as I lowered my trembling body onto the gold-embroidered seat cushion.

“Would you care for a scotch?” he said, heading straight for the bar in the corner.

Too frazzled to realize—or give a shit—that it was still breakfast time, I nodded and lay across the couch, crossing my arms over my face. “Fuuuck,” I groaned. Whyyy? I’d been so ready to go all in with Patricio, knowing that we weren’t banana-ape-shit-lust-crazy over each other, but that we had something solid. Friendship. And, yes, attraction. Patricio was a very handsome man—six two, an athletic body, olive skin, short brown hair, and bright green eyes. He was one hundred percent Italian in terms of his slightly longer nose, but it fit his cute face. He was also passionate and spontaneous. He loved his “big fat Italian family,” whom he claimed couldn’t wait to meet me.

Max sat down on the couch, using his firm ass to scoot my legs over. “Here. This will make you feel better.”

I sat up and pushed my back against the armrest, placing my legs over Max’s lap. Max held out a crystal tumbler full of golden brown liquid.

“Thanks.” I took the glass and stared at the thing for a moment. “Why do you think he f*cked her, Max?” As if being cheated on wasn’t bad enough, Patricio had done it with Adeline Taylor—a very hot Hollywood actress who used to date Max. They’d ended things when Max fell in love with me. Needless to say, I had no affection for the woman. The few times our paths had crossed, she’d treated me like a mangy dog.

Max looked down at his own drink and pondered. “You know my answer, Lily. Why ask?”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“All right, then. He f*cked that woman because he’s the true definition of a man-whore. It’s exactly as I told you the night you met him: he’ll f*ck anything that moves.”

I lifted my glass to my lips and nearly gagged from the smell. Ick. I don’t want this. “Got anything else?” I needed something to numb the ache in my heart, but I’d forgotten how much I disliked scotch, aka cinnamon-infused gasoline.

Max’s plump lips pulled to the side. “On second thought, you really should eat. Why don’t I order you breakfast instead? You said you haven’t eaten.”

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry. I’ll take an orange juice if you have any.” If I ate anything now, I’d likely toss it up. My stomach was churning and knotting. How could Patricio do this to me?