“Nope. He cheated on my sister with some guy.”
Drake tilted his head and asked, “Do I sense judgment?” The question was asked without heat, but there was a tightening in his brother’s shoulders.
“Maybe a little,” she replied. Disappointment filled Max. He hoped she wasn’t closed-minded.
“I’m bi,” Drake said flatly.
Paloma held up her hands. “I’m not judging Henry for sleeping with men. I feel bad for him. His dad’s awful. He’s a pray-out-the-gay kind of guy. But I am angry at Henry for hurting my sister, for pulling her into his lie. Now, at thirty-five, she’s starting over with a toddler. Meanwhile, he left the state, abandoning his son.”
Max nodded, absorbing her words. The three sat in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling around them.
Paloma sighed and glanced at her watch. “What time does Lighting Design close?”
“At 9:30, but we should get moving in case it takes us a while to decide,” Max replied.
Paloma stood up. “Okay, let me get my tablet from my car. I’ll meet you at yours. Nice meeting you, Drake.”
“Wow,” Drake breathed, his eyes following her retreating figure. He leaned in his chair, a slow smile spreading across his face. “I like yourbusinesspartner.”
All the ease and humor drained from Max. He turned to his brother. “Stick to visiting those in your memory lane.”
“Do I sense jealousy? A bit of possessiveness?” Drake drummed his fingers once against his empty glass, then folded his hands like a therapist settling in for a breakthrough session. “And why? You said you’re not interested in her. Are you lying to me or yourself?” The corner of Drake’s mouth quirked, and Max recognized that familiar look—his brother baiting the hook, waiting for Max to bite. The annoying part was that he couldn’t entirely dismiss the question.
The floorboards creaked, and he turned. Paloma stepped into the kitchen. “I forgot my purse,” she said, reaching past him.
Drake tracked her movements with that practiced charm, and something primitive stirred in Max’s chest, and he shifted, angling between them. Theirshoulders brushed as Paloma retrieved her purse, the brief contact sending a current through him that had nothing to do with static electricity.
“Sorry,” she murmured, but her eyes held his a moment longer than necessary.
Clarity struck him like summer lightning. All his half-assed rationalizations about keeping things professional crumbled. He didn’t want a business partner; he wanted the way she bit her lip when she was thinking, the sound of her laugh when he said something ridiculous, and the spark in her eyes when they shared the same vision for a project. He wanted all of her.
Chapter Eight
August 13th, 6:10 p.m.
They walked into the lighting showroom, Max rehearsing his speech one final time. Working together for nearly a month had only intensified his feelings, and he was done pretending otherwise.
“Paloma—”
“Let’s start with the new display lighting.” She glanced at him. “Sorry, you were going to say something.”
Looking into her questioning eyes, his courage evaporated. “I was going to suggest the same.”
They made their way to the lighting showroom’s ceiling fixture section, where dozens of chandeliers, pendant lights, and flush mounts created a glittering canopy overhead. He welcomed the distraction. He spotted a sleek pendant light on display among the forest of display models. His fingers found the metal frame overhead, but the fixture was ungainly and tilted in his grip. He grunted as the weight distribution caught him off guard.
Paloma stepped forward, her hands landing on the metal frame next to his. “Here,” she murmured, her arm sliding across his chest as she shifted the angle.
Her sensual scent heated his blood. The showroom became too warm, too small. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, pupils dilated, the blue nearly disappearing in the dim light. A strand of hair had escaped her pristine updo, and his fingers itched to brush it back. The fixture wobbled slightly as his grip loosened.
“Careful,” she whispered, shifting closer, steadying the light.
Her lips parted slightly, and he leaned in, drawn by her magnetic pull. “I think we should—”
The sharp clatter of the specification sheets hitting the floor snagged her attention. She jumped back, cheeks flushed, and let out a shaky breath. She bent, gathering the scattered papers, but her usual grace was gone, her movements jerky and uncertain.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t hook up that night at The Hill,” she said suddenly, then tilted her head. “Oh, sorry. You were saying . . .”
A startled laugh escaped him, a quick punch to the solar plexus. Damn. Had he been that off base with her signals these past weeks? He stumbled to find an acceptable ending to his sentence that wouldn’t make him look like an ass. “Um. I think we should, um, be looking at those pendant hybrids instead. I’d like to find something functional and aesthetically pleasing. Elodie told me they had a lot of parties, and that combination is important.”
