It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(30)
“Uhhh…so I hear you sold this building.”
“Not exactly. I transferred the title to LLL.”
This was a huge building in the middle of downtown Chicago with views and premium office space.
“The entire thing?” I asked.
“Lily, I was dead serious when I said I wanted us to start this company.”
“But you went ahead and started all this without ever consulting me.”
He cleared his throat and scratched his scruffy jaw. “Yeah. Well, this was supposed to be a wedding present. A surprise.” His tone was sharp.
“Oh.” I honestly didn’t know what to say. I could see how if he’d thought I’d say yes to his marriage proposal the other day, that this might be the next logical step for us. Still, it was a bit presumptive. Okay, really presumptive. And also touching.
The doors chimed, and we exited on the top floor. Like the storefront downstairs, the space had been overhauled and turned into an oasis with sage green walls and khaki burlap-upholstered furniture. Potted palms and a small water sculpture in the lobby area by the elevator gave it the appearance of a waiting room for a world-class spa. The floors, once polished cement, were now done in small river rocks to make it feel like you were outside in a meditation garden. Jesus, who wouldn’t want to come and work here every day? “Boohoo, I have to go to the office and feel peaceful.” Today was Sunday, so the office staff wasn’t working, but I could genuinely imagine the place filled with smiling, peppy employees. Me included. This was so not the Maxwell Cole I’d met eight months ago—that man had been cutting edge, high-concept fashion, with sharp edges and an even sharper tongue. His office of stainless steel and minimal decorations had been a reflection of his icy disposition.
“What do you think?” he asked.
“What do you think I think?” I pointed to my smiling face.
“I wanted you to feel at home here, and I know how much you love being outdoors.”
If he’d done all this as a wedding gift, I couldn’t imagine what he might do if I had a baby or got his name tattooed on my ass. Or maybe our baby’s name tattooed on my ass?—something big and permanent.
“It’s really nice, Max.”
He lifted a dark brow. “Nice, huh?”
I grinned. “I said really.”
He chuckled with a tinge of cockiness. “All right, Lily. Let me show you something else that’s ‘nice.’”
We walked past a reception desk that held a few personal effects—coffee mug, framed photo I couldn’t see, and a name plate that was really an etched rock. I immediately recognized the name.
“You hired Keri back?” I asked.
Max nodded. “She’s been asking about you.”
Keri was a gorgeous tall redhead with an eye for fashion and a hot boyfriend who lived in New York and worked for a top dress designer, Babs Levine. When I died, I wanted to be buried in one of Bab’s hand-stitched sequin dresses, like the one Max had bought for me in Milan during our first weekend together. It was the same dress he’d torn off my body right before taking my virginity and f*cking me against a wall. I’d never, ever be one of those women who wished for a do-over on the virginity-loss thing, unless you were talking about doing it over with Max. Goddamned stud.
My core began to ache and tingle with the thought, my skin sparking with hypersensitivity and increased blood flow.
I made a little cough. “Uh…tell Keri I said hi and that I’m still waiting for her to dump her man so I can snatch him up.”
Max glared with intense hazel eyes.
“I want him for the free clothes,” I said facetiously. Keri always had the nicest couture, compliments of her man, who received tons of freebies at work.
“Why the hell would you need free clothes?” Max asked judgmentally.
“Because I’m a girl?” Poor or rich, we all liked free.
“Anything worth having is worth paying for.” He stopped in the doorway of his office and gestured for me to enter.
I behaved casually, but my insides felt like the guts of a clock—wheels turning and cranking and spinning.
I walked three feet inside and stopped, covering my mouth. “What is this?”
Max ran his large hand through his messy hair. “This is supposed to be your new office. The desk reminded me of the furniture you used to have in your bedroom.”
Ohmygod. Once the sterile, masculine-looking office of the infamous Maxwell Cole, this newly decorated corner space overlooking downtown Chicago had light pink walls with etchings of white lilies. There was an overstuffed white couch with lily-shaped pillows and several armchairs, all surrounding a natural wood coffee table. Even the desk—a whitewashed antique-looking thing—was totally laid back and outrageous wonderful.
It was all so…incredibly thoughtful. I wanted to cry.
He continued, “But given you told me last evening you came to Chicago to say goodbye—”
“Max, let me explain—”
“No. Let me. As you pointed out, I was foolish to assume you would be waiting around six months after I gave no indication whatsoever of a reconciliation. But it took me thirty-three years to find you, Lily, and it never occurred to me that you’d fall in love with someone else. So now I see that I’ve made two errors since we met: one, not telling you how much I loved you before the scandal, and then taking six months to tell you where my head was at. So please don’t see all this as some sort of scheme meant to pressure you to come back. I simply never doubted we’d have a future together and, true to my flawed nature, I wanted everything to be perfect—for you, for us. This was all meant to be a new life and fresh start for us.”