“How’s Mom?” I asked, trying to concentrate on my father.
“She’s holding up and looking forward to seeing you girls. It’ll be good, you’ll see. You and Ray work well together at the fair.”
I bit my lip. My parents understood why I avoided the event. But I couldn’t continue hiding. “All right, I’ll be there.”
“I’m glad. Ray’s bringing a friend—” He sounded pleased, then his tone turned coaxing, “Invite someone too, Ila.”
I looked up and met Max’s vivid stare, thefriendRay had invited. And here I was on a “date” with him. I had to end this insanity. “Maybe. I’ll see you soon. Bye, Dad.” Without looking at Max, I pocketed my cell. “We should go—”
“Yes, your clients. Can’t have them waiting, can we?” An edge crept into his voice. “Who is it today? The horny bastard, or the silver fox?”
Reveal that Titus was coming back? I wouldn’t put it past Max to go after the poor guy again. “Max, please, let’s not do this here.”
His expression morphed to stone. “So it’s him.”
“Max—”
“I’m not going to apologize for last night.” He cut me off. “Tell me, Logan, how would you feel if I was the one painting nude women who got turned on because my eyes were constantly on them?”
The hot chocolate I’d swallowed curdled in my stomach. When he put it like that, I wanted to find the anonymous slank and tear her face out. No, I didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Unable to answer without opening the door to things best left unsaid, I remained silent.
“Right.” He slid out of the seat and bumped into a guy walking past. Coffee spilled. With a curse, the guy jumped back.
“What the fuck, man!” the dark-haired guy snapped, glaring at his coffee-drenched t-shirt. Then he glanced up. “Well, well, if it isn’t the media’s poor little rich boy! Destroyed anything else lately—”
Max punched him in the face, sending him crashing into a table and tumbling empty mugs. Remnants of leftover coffee flowed across the surface.
“Max!” Shocked, I grabbed his forearm and tried to yank him away, but he remained rooted to the spot.
“Stay the hell away from me, Mitchell.”
“Or you’ll what?”
Fist clenching, Max spun around and stormed out without a word.
Snatching my satchel, I stepped around the cursing man and the curious on-lookers and sprinted after Max.
“Yeah, go with her, asshole!” The idiot yelled after Max. “Maybe she’ll keep you out of trouble.”
“Who is he?” I asked as Max strode toward his Jeep parked farther down.
“From the Conservatory.” Terse. Clipped. He opened the door, his expression shuttered.
“You okay?”
Silence.
Worried, I climbed in. Something I didn’t understand was eating at him. Last night, he’d been furious, but he hadn’t hit Titus. Here, now, the anger bled out of him…so much rage. And pain. The latter was there in his dulled green eyes. And it wrapped around me like a lasso. Whatever was hurting him, was really, really bad.
***
Max was still on my mind when I entered Eastern Couture later in the afternoon to drop off the sketches. On my one day off. It was like walking into a darn booby trap, both potentially hazardous and mind-numbingly annoying. Kate ambushed me the moment I stepped foot into the store.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew the media’s bad boy?”
“Max’s life is private, and I don’t ask questions.” Irritation swelling, I dropped the sketches on Kate’s desk. “You seemed to know him.”
