Max is leaning against the wall like he belongs there. Like he’s been waiting.
My stomach drops so hard it feels like it hits my shoes. For a heartbeat, I’m right back to being that weak girl wounded by his comments about my body. Sure enough, his eyes flick up and down me as if confirming I’m still the same size.
My confidence returns quickly. Not a chance in hell I’m going to let him make me feel small, no matter what he’s doing here.
“Max?” I ask. “What the hell? Are you following me?”
He straightens, giving me another once-over like I exist solely for him to pass judgement upon. “I need to talk to you,” he says.
My pulse throbs loudly in my ears. “No, you don’t.”
He steps closer. “Amalie?—”
I step back and think of Kyle. Not his face, but his training, the way he used to drill me about how to stay safe as a woman living alone in the city. A big thing was his three-step safety rule. I can hear him saying it in my head so clearly.
Step one: Create distance and get other eyes on the situation. Step two: Put a barrier between yourself and the threat. Step three: Get to a safe person or place immediately.
My instinct is to consider Max a threat, but I’m not about to second-guess myself in the moment. I shift back, stepping further away from Max and closer to the hallway entrance.
“Max,” I say, crisp and clear. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you need to leave me alone. Now.”
His mouth forms into a tight line for a moment, as if he’s frustrated I didn’t throw my arms around him as a greeting. “Listen. I’m not here to cause a scene or anything like that.”
“Good. Then leave before you accidentally make one.” I take a few more steps back, but he closes the distance between us.
He glances past me, as if making sure no one else is in the hallway. “So, the new job…”
My expression is ice-cold. “My new job? That’s what you want to talk about? Well, news flash, you don’t get updates on my life anymore.”
“It’s not about that,” he says. “I’m concerned.”
“Oh, how nice of you to say so.” Another step back.
“It’s just that you always had a bit of a talent for getting in over your head. Remember when you did that month-long sub-in for a special-needs art class during the middle of your senior year?”
“I did it because I wanted to.”
“Yeah, I know. And you nearly cracked from the pressure.”
I narrow my eyes. “But I didn’t.”
He scoffs, shaking his head. “This gig you’ve got now? It goes way beyond that. Not sure you’re going to be able to handle it.”
There it is. The same old angle.You can’t handle it. You need me. You’re not enough.
I take another step back, and another until I’m able to put a trash can between us. It’s not much of a barrier, but it’ll do. My heart is banging like a drum, but my expression remains calm.
“You didn’t give a shit about me when we were dating, Max. So spare me the act.”
“Ididgive a shit about you! That’s why I wanted to make sure you only took on things you could handle. And why I wanted you to get into shape.”
“You call it help. I call it control. Not the same thing.”
I’m so mad at myself for getting into an argument with him when all I should be focused on is finding Roman.
Max takes a step toward me. “Mal, listen. These people?—”
And there it is. He knows more than he should about who I’m working for.
