Landlord Wars(18)

My date really had been nice. And he was cute. He worked in the Financial District, which I didn’t hold against him. And he’d dressed in slacks and a sports coat for our date, so he’d put effort into it. He’d also pulled out my chair for me at the restaurant and paid for dinner even though I’d offered to split. We’d talked about our respective jobs, and he didn’t look at me like I was crazy for spending my time arranging plants, which earned him bonus points. All in all, the evening had been pleasant, and if the guy asked me out again, I wouldn’t mind.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was I’d found myself comparing him to Max Burrows—more than once!—and that had me wanting to bash my head against the wall.

Why Max? Why?

When my date smiled, there’d been no smirk, and somehow that seemed suspicious, like he wasn’t revealing his true self. Because I’d grown used to an honest smirk, or better yet, a full frown from a man. Then later, when my date stood to walk me out of the restaurant, he hadn’t tucked his hands in his slacks like a certain rich asshole, and somehow that was another strike against him. Because hands in pockets meant… I didn’t even know!

Had I lost my mind? Was I attracted to jerks now? What the hell? And to make matters worse, the jerk in question had stolen my most prized possession while I was on my date.

I was livid. And needed to see a therapist. Or maybe I needed a swift knock to the head.

I let out a slow breath. I hadn’t been on a date in over a year. It made sense that I was comparing the new person to the only male who’d occupied my thoughts lately, even if said thoughts were filled with rage.

Except that wasn’t entirely true, because I’d been around Jack more than Max.

I bit my lip and closed my eyes. I had convinced myself to move out of Jack’s because of this asshole. So why the hell was I comparing other men to him?





Chapter Nine





Max





The dinner party my parents were hosting was packed with people I’d grown up around. All wealthy, and most fairly entitled, though some were cognizant of how the rest of the world lived.

I greeted familiar faces as I made my way to my mother, who did not fall in the aware category. But I loved her despite her shortcomings.

“Max,” she said and squeezed my arm while peering across the room. “Doesn’t Elizabeth look stunning?” A woman I’d known most of my life was walking toward us. I used to steal candy from the front pocket of her backpack when we were kids.

Lizzie looked a little different these days. She’d lightened her red hair to reddish blonde, and she’d replaced her glasses with contacts. Or maybe she’d gotten eye surgery? Either way, she was more polished now compared to our school days, but she still possessed the same mischievous smile I’d come to appreciate.

“Kitty,” Lizzie said, and leaned in to peck my mother on the cheek. “How are you? And Max. I haven’t seen you a decade. You almost look handsome now that you’ve grown into your ears.”

I grinned. Lizzie had never cared that my family was rich. Perhaps because her own was filthy rich too. Instead, she ribbed me at every opportunity. “How are you doing, Lizzie? The East Coast treating you well?”

“I don’t live on the East Coast anymore, Maxwell, and you would know that if you bothered to return my calls.”

I chuckled. “Apologies. I’m not a good phone person.”

“Or a good text person, or an email person.” She shook her head. “You’re a tremendously annoying friend, you know that?”

“In fact, I do. Jack tells me on a regular basis.”

My mother sent Lizzie a look of approval. “I’m glad you’re here, Elizabeth. Someone needs to put my son in his place. You two catch up.” She gave Lizzie’s shoulder a squeeze. “Don’t be a stranger,” she said and walked off, waving to someone across the large foyer.

My parents’ foyer was one of the grandest in town, with a four-story domed ceiling painted by the artist William Hahn in a one-of-a-kind San Francisco street scene. Most of the parties began and stayed in here until dinner was served.

I glanced around to see if my father’s investors had shown.

Lizzie sent me a side-eye. “You don’t deserve Jack for a best friend,” she said thoughtfully.

“This is true.” I lifted my champagne glass in a mock toast. “I’ll be better about keeping in touch. I’ve missed you. Forgive me?”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m immune to your charm, Burrows. Just pick up my calls, dammit.”

Lizzie was the only female who gave me a hard time, and I always deserved it.

But maybe not the only person. These days, Jack’s new roommate was especially triggering.

Something about Sophia had set me off from the beginning, and I couldn’t explain it. My adrenaline kicked in when she entered the room, her pert little mouth taunting me. I’d initially thought Sophia had designs on Jack, which had my hackles up. My best friend had been screwed over by his last roommate/girlfriend. Then Sophia went on a date with another man last night and shredded every theory I had about her.

Sophia wasn’t interested in Jack—it only took me a week or more to figure that one out. Instead, there seemed to be something going on between Jack and Sophia’s sister.