Max’s jaw tightens. “No. Thank you.”
Henry wets his lips, clearly unsure of what to do next. After a beat, he stands to shrug his coat on, and I immediately sit up straighter.
“What are you doing?” I ask, almost desperately.
Henry offers a small, tired smile. “I think I’m going to call it a night. It’s late and I’m exhausted.” He turns to Max. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Max gives a curt nod in acknowledgment, and I track Henry as he leaves. Turning back to Max, I slam my palms down on the table. “What the fuck was that?”
“Excuse me?” Max asks, his lips curling up ever so slightly.
The arrogant prick.
“You might as well have been beating your chest like a bloody gorilla,” I snap. “You weresorude to him. What the hell is your problem?”
“Me?” he asks, smirking. “I don’t have a problem.”
Liar.
I shake my head, resigned. “Whatever.” I lift my glass to my lips, taking a sip. I watch him over the rim, and it happens again. That relentless riptide, dragging us toward each other.
Sighing, I lower my glass, deciding to take the high road and steer us back to a safer conversation.
“Thank you for choosing Henry and me. We won’t let you down.” I tap my fingers against the stem of my wine glass. “We both really wanted this, and we’ll do whatever it takes to prove that Prestige Partners is the right company for Gray Hotel. We can make this launch extremely successful. I promise, Gray Hotel will be the ‘it’ destination. It’ll be on everyone’s Instagram.”
He clasps his hands. “I have absolutely no doubts about your capabilities,” he says, his voice dropping half an octave. “Anna has told me how clever you are.”
I swallow. His eyes track my movements.
“Well, she’s not often wrong,” I say.
“She’s wrong about some things.”
“Such as?” I ask.
He leans forward, crossing his arms over the table, his expression turning curious. “You never told me why she warned you against me.”
I shoot him an incredulous look. “I’m sure you can put two and two together. You aren’t a complete moron.”
He chuckles. “I have my theories.” His eyes darken. “Tell me, Gemma. Do you always do what my sister tells you to?”
Oh God.
“No. I make my own decisions,” I say finally.
“I was hoping you’d say that.” His smile is subtle but unmistakable, and I feel my professional mask slipping.
“This is a business relationship, Max. Nothing more.” I remind him and myself.
“What if we made it more?” he asks.
I fidget with the stem of my glass, feeling cornered in the most delicious way. This is risky territory—the exact thing I’ve been trying to avoid, because I know that once I give in, I’ll only want more.
“I don’t think either of us want to complicate things,” I say.
“I think we’re both mature enough to ensure things remain uncomplicated.”
The way he says it is so matter of fact, like it’s that easy.
