There was silence for a moment, before Max said quietly, “You’re like him, you know.”
Bo laughed under her breath. “Me? No. I’m not. I’m not clever, Max. I’m just, well,this.” She gestured to her face.
“What? Beautiful?” Max finished for her. He shook his head, almost vehemently. “Youareclever, Bo. You’re smart, and observant, and far more perceptive than most people I know.”
Bo stared at him. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
“Maybe I don’t. But I know it anyway.”
For a heartbeat, Bo couldn’t think of a single thing to say back, and in her silence, Max sat back. “So, tell me: which part of my soul would you like tonight, Bo?”
Bo gave him a look. “I don’t really want your soul.”
“In exchange for a night with you, I’d give it,” Max returned easily, and Bo flushed red.
“Where did you get such a way with words?” she asked him, and he raised an eyebrow at her.
“Says the woman who not half an hour ago compared my penis to Chekhov’s gun.”
If anything, Bo reddened further.
“Admit it: that was a reference that could only be made by a writer or a woman with an English literature degree,” Max carried on. “You just told me your family work in publishing, so I’m guessing both could be true.”
Bo shifted. “Neither are true. I’m just the daughter of a man who worked in publishing. I listened.”
Surprisingly, Max smiled. “Good. My university girlfriend was an English major, and there’s only so many Austen and Brontë references my mind can take.”
“You went to university?” Bo asked. “After Eton?”
“Oxford,” Max confirmed.
“Were you a music major?”
“Surprisingly, no. Politics, philosophy and economics. Oh, don’t get me wrong, my music background was probably thereason I got into Oxford in the first place, and I did play piano for their orchestra and sinfonietta.” Max swallowed. “It was, uh, Geoffrey who suggested I study politics, philosophy and economics. It was the degree he did.”
“Oh.” Bo also swallowed. “Umm, you were still speaking to Geoffrey then?”
“He paid for my education,” Max replied, and even though it wasn’t an answer to the question she had asked, Bo knew it was all he was prepared to say. He cleared his throat. “So, where did you go to university?”
“Sydney,” Bo replied automatically, before she shrugged. “But I, umm, didn’t finish.”
Max’s face went still. “Why not?”
Bo felt a dart of embarrassment. Her lack of education bothered her more than she liked to admit. “Well, umm, I was never really that academic in the first place, and Lisa — my sister — she helped me get my place at Sydney. She went there, and so did my brother, and my father. I was terrible at it though. Couldn’t settle. Couldn’t keep to deadlines. Anyway, an opportunity came up here in London, and my mother convinced me I should take it. So, I packed in my studies, packed up my bag and left.”
Max looked stunned. “You don’t have a degree?”
“No.”
For a moment, Max seemed to think, and while Bo couldn’t be certain, she thought she saw a flicker of judgement written across his face. “What on earth did you give your education up for?” he finally asked. “The opportunity you spoke of? What was it?”
“An agent wanted to sign me. Modelling and acting. My mother told me I’d be a fool to turn down such a chance.”
Max looked away from her and towards his hands, which he tapped restlessly on the table. “You’re an actress?”
“Not really.”
“What do you mean by that?”
