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It was wrong.

So wrong.

Still…

I took in the angle of his chin, the challenge in his eyes.

I knew dicks. With Max Donovan, no amount of bowing and scraping was going to work. The only way to survive was to meet him head on.

Instead of pulling back, I leaned in, close enough to smell his spicy scent.

“I don’t give a shit what my boss thinks,” I murmured, thrilled to see him flinch. “This is between you and me. Unless you delegate this file to someone, you are required to see me every two weeks. So if I have to get my updates while you’re walking your dog, getting a haircut, or taking a leak? I will.”

I expected Max to drop my arm. Or maybe to tighten his grip, an indication that he was losing his cool too.

What I didn’t expect was to feel his thumb drag up the inside of my wrist over my hammering pulse.

Slow.

Deliberate.

His gaze never left mine, and I let out a trembling breath.

“Um. Do you want us to leave you two alone?” one of the girls asked. It took me a moment to realize they’d both stopped dancing.

“No!” I managed just as Max released my wrist, his nostrils flaring.

But not before a shocking visual of him touching me somewhere way more personal branded my brain.

I was getting a lap dance next to the guy who was everything that pissed me off. The last thing that should have happened was getting seriously turned on.

Max seemed irritated too, his attention going back to the dancers. “You got what you came for, Payton. I’ll send you the rest of your update tomorrow.” He glanced over when I didn’t move. “You can go now,” he prompted.

I made a decision, shifting back in my seat.

“What are you doing?” Max demanded.

“I’m enjoying the rest of my lap dance.”

I tried to ignore Max’s presence for the final few minutes. It shouldn’t have been hard when a practically naked woman was rubbing herself against me.

But even though I wasn’t looking at him, I could
feel
him next to me. Hear his low breathing over the music. See his arm, tensed, out of the corner of my eye.

Think of unsexy things. Taxes. Christmas sweaters. Spiderwebs.

When both dancers finished, I murmured a thank you as they rose gracefully and disappeared in a flash of skin and glitter.

“Don’t forget your folder,” I said to Max as he stood, brushing off his clothes like he might have stripper dust on them. He raised an eyebrow but tucked the folder under his arm.

We made our way out of the room to find Riley reclining on a couch just outside. His half-filled drink rested lightly in one hand while the other worked his cell phone.

“Where the hell have you been?” Max ground out.

Riley finished whatever he was doing on the phone before looking up. “Just waiting for you. What took so long?”

“Payton wouldn’t leave before finishing her lap dance.”

“Yeah?” The redhead flashed me an easy grin. “I like this girl. She’s sassy.”

“You know each other?” Max’s expression shifted from irritated to bewildered.

“We met a few minutes ago. Hey, she’s from the bank. Maybe she could help us with the rest of the financing.”

I frowned. “What financing?”

“Ry…” Max warned.

I held up a hand, not caring anymore that we were in the middle of a strip club. “Wait a second.” I rounded on Max. “The paperwork you signed didn’t say anything about you needing extra money. Please tell me this isn’t for Phoenix.”

Riley’s eyebrows shot up his face. “Max, what did you put in those documents? You know that when you go all rogue, I can’t protect you.”

Riley McKay
. The guy Charlie’s article said was Titan’s lawyer. It clicked.

“Turns out we need a little more than twenty mil,” Max answered finally.

“How much extra are we talking about?” I asked tightly. “One? Two?”

“Ten. Maybe fifteen.”

Lights exploded behind my eyes.

I was going to get fired for this. On top of which it was just insane.

“How could—what did—you lied on your documentation!”

“By omission,” he insisted.

“A bigass omission,” I sputtered. “That’s like…proposing to a girl and forgetting to mention you’re already married!”

Max started to protest but Riley held up a hand. “My friend Max here underestimated the project cost. It was an honest mistake. As I see it, Payton, you have two options. One, you can call the deal off. We give back the money. Or,” Riley said, shrugging, “two, you use your masterful people skills—which I’ve already seen in action—to help us land a second funder. Titan gets Phoenix, you get your money back, everyone’s happy.”

But before I could react, Max interjected. “She’s not working with us, Riley. She doesn’t bring anything we don’t already have.”

“Do you see people lining up to hand us cash? Maybe I should’ve worn a G-string. Worked up a dance for that stage over there.” The humor had fallen away and Riley and Max stared each other down until a server approached with the bill.

“I already paid for him,” Riley told the server.

“This young lady asked me to put her service on your tab.”

Max’s startled expression shot to me but Riley barked out a laugh. “Oh, yeah. I like this girl.”

I peered over Max’s shoulder as he took the bill. My jaw dropped. “Those lap dances cost two hundred dollars?”

“Yours was two hundred,” Max clarified. “Mine was a gift.”

“Come on, high roller, we’ll walk you out,” Riley said as Max signed the check and pushed me toward the door.

When se stepped out the curb, I clutched my arms around me against the cool air.

“Well, Payton, it was a pleasure,” Riley declared. “I hope we see more of you.”

Before I could respond, he was already into a cab and gone. 

I stifled a yawn as I turned back to Max. “Jeez, what time is it?”

“Past your bedtime.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, watching me.

“Only because I’m catching up on my work from all those hours playing Oasis.”

“Yeah?” His expression held more satisfaction than annoyance. Like he enjoyed the idea that I’d been up all week playing something of his design.

“You know, I do have other clients. Ones who don’t falsify documents.”

That got rid of the smugness. “What’re you going to do about that?”

“I don’t know, Max!” I shoved a hand through my hair. “Believe it or not, this doesn’t exactly happen to me every day.”

He took a step toward me, his face cast in shadows by the glow from the streetlight behind him. “You know,” he started, “of all your clients, how many are as entertaining as me?”

“Entertaining? You don’t return my calls or respond to my emails or texts. You lie on your forms, and you threaten my job.”

“So…none?” He raised the brow with the piercing.

I could only shake my head. “No other clients make me feel like I’m Wile E. Coyote and they’re the Roadrunner.”

That sexy mouth I wished I hated twitched. “You wanna blow me up with dynamite, Payton? Drop an anvil on my head?”

“Maybe.” I flushed, glancing down at the pavement. My emerald shoes and his Converse sneakers clashed, another reminder of how different we were.

When my gaze ran back up, Max’s smile had faded. The tension sprang up from nowhere, and I wondered if he was still thinking about the pink room. I cleared my throat, turning to look back over my shoulder at the club sign.

“So, is this a typical night for you? Half-naked girls and free lap dances?”

“It’s actually my first time here. But Riley was set on it and he’s hard to dissuade. Plus, today was a special occasion. “

Curiosity got the better of me. “What are you celebrating?”

“My divorce.” He flashed a wry smile. “And on that conversation killer, goodnight Payton.” Max sauntered away down the sidewalk, the folder still dangling from his fingertips.

Chapter 8

Like a rash

“Mrs. Rathnally left her dentures in my bag again.”

“What is that, three times now? How does that happen?”

“She’s blind, Payton. She mixes up my purse with hers.”

Sunday brunch with my mom had been our ritual since I went to college. She cooked, I brought wine. Even though the apartment she lived in was smaller than the house we’d grown up in, it still felt like coming home.

“How’s Alliance?”

“Armand hired a new assistant. Charlie had to show her how to turn on the computer.”

“Tits?” my mom asked sympathetically, fishing in a drawer for salad tongs.

“And ass. We tried to get her to make a break for it, you know, get out before it was too late, but she wasn’t getting the message. I think they might be sleeping together.”

“How’s that client you were having trouble with?”

“I think he’s come around. Probably realized he has other hobbies besides being a pain in my ass.” Since I’d jumped him at Stack Friday, Max had been shockingly true to his word. He’d emailed me yesterday morning to thank me for the files, and texted to provide times for biweekly appointments for the next two months.

Probably a bribe for me not to report him. Which I still hadn’t decided to do. I’d figure it out by tomorrow.

“Good. So now you can stop wasting all your time worrying about him.”

“Uh-huh.” I opened a bottle of wine, still thinking about Max. My mind transported me back to Stack with startling recall.

Guys came in all types. Avery was a Poker, prodding you relentlessly until you lost your mind. Armand was a Blusterer, throwing his weight around to remind everyone how important he was.

Max Donovan was a Ducker, the guy who’d evade, and subvert, and shirk responsibility. The kind who’d be slippery as hell and bluff all day long, but never really back up his claims. In other words: irritating but harmless.

I’d been so sure I had him pegged.

Until he’d grabbed my wrist. Held on while my stomach did somersaults. Then dragged his thumb down my skin until I was practically shaking.

Riley might have the bigger personality, but Max was the one who’d gotten under my skin Friday night.

Yeah, like a rash.

“Whoa, honey. It’s barely noon.”

I blinked, realizing I’d filled my mom’s glass with Riesling until it was spilling over the top. “Sorry.”

Taking it to the sink, I carefully poured half of it into my glass.

“Daydreaming, huh? That’s not like you. You must have had an exciting Saturday.”

“Absolutely. I ran some errands. Got my Pilates membership reinstated—”

“Did you go to a class this time?”

I made a “pffft” noise.

“You know that if you pay for it and don’t go, you could have just used that money to support a charity instead. Then at least you’d get a tax receipt.”

“Yeah, but I’m paying for the guilt. And I’ll go next week, for real.”

“Mhmm.”

I might’ve done one other thing last night.

One thing I’d never tell my mom or anyone else.

After my apartment was spotless, three new playlists were on my phone, and everything was done for my clients?

I’d eyed my nightstand with a mixture of eagerness and trepidation and broke out Jorge the Nightstand Boyfriend. In a moment of shame, or desperation, or both, I’d busted out the vibe I hadn’t touched in a month. Laid back.

And thought about the last person I should ever,
ever
, think about while rubbing one out.

A big sip of wine burned down my throat. My skin was prickling all over as I stood in the middle of my mom’s kitchen.

I forced my attention back to the present, away from how it’d felt when I touched myself, picturing those dark eyes moving over my body, that smug mouth put to use doing some very dirty things.

Enough.

My mom took her famous leek quiche from the oven while I grabbed cutlery to set the glass-top table in the dining room. The surface was already clear except for a stack of papers, which I moved to a hutch in the corner.

I couldn’t resist skimming the computer-printed letter on top. “Hey, Mom? What is this?”

She walked into the living room, her oven mitts still on her hands. “What? Oh. Nothing to worry about, Paybear.”

My eyes scanned the page and a knot formed in my stomach. “It says you’re behind on your mortgage payments for the condo.”

“I’ve been back to work, but because of my hours, things are a little tighter at home.” I could’ve sworn I heard the edge of strain in her voice. “I think I’m going to look for a smaller place.”

Alarms went off in the back of my head.

“But this place is perfect! We’ve—I mean you’ve—been here for years.” Mom had bought the place when I was in high school. Before then we’d rented.

She smiled. “It’s fine, sweetie. I don’t need this much space.”

“Mom. This says they could foreclose in three months. Did you try refinancing?”

She nodded. “I had to take so much time off work being sick. And then insurance paid for only some of the medications…”

“How much do we need to come up with?”

“We don’t need to, Paybear. This is on me.”

My mom loved this place. It was where I’d lived through school. Where we’d had all our memories when she’d gone through our hardest times.

I scanned the letter to find the payment amounts. Sweat broke out on the back of my neck.

I couldn’t believe there was so much I hadn’t known. I’d done everything I could to help but hadn’t realized the extent of the hardship on her, the burden she’d been carrying, and that despite our attempts to make ends meet, they were still hopelessly far apart.

“I have some extra cash coming to me with the promotion,” I heard myself say. “I don’t have anything to spend it on. I won’t have it right away, though.” It was true that I’d gotten a bit of a raise, but the promotion wouldn’t cover this. But my mom never asked for help. She never asked for anything.

Her gaze moved back and forth on mine. “Sweetie, you don’t need to do that.”

“I know. But I want to.”

The hallways of the tenth and eleventh floors of Max’s building looked identical, I realized as I emerged from the elevator. Two suites, one on each side.

My heart thudded like I was about to jump off a cliff as I stared at the door of suite 1001.

You’re in way over your head. You don’t know anything about gaming.
And you don’t have time for this
.

Yesterday after brunch, I’d spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about how I could bring in enough money for my mom to keep her house.  My list was short.

When the monthly new business report had hit my email inbox this morning, I’d been shocked to see my name at the top of the list of associates.

With the loan I’d signed with Max, I was leading new business. Not client satisfaction.
New business
.

I’d never led new business, even as a junior associate.

Sure, it was early in the quarter. But something occurred to me that hadn’t before.

Not only could I keep pace with the other associates, using my people skills to work my way up while I paid my bills and helped my mom where I could.

I could actually
win
the dev award.

Which came with a big, fat, mortgage-paying bonus check.

I just had to stay ahead of Avery for six weeks.

It also meant there was no way in hell I could report Max about the loan documents.

Hope and guilt warred inside me. Bending the rules a little didn’t bother me, but it was the principle of it all. Doing my job meant protecting Alliance’s interests and making sure the Phoenix launched and the loan got repaid.

There is a way to do that
, a tiny voice said. Just because Alliance couldn’t authorize another ten million for Titan didn’t mean someone else couldn’t. If I was involved, not only could I make sure the project moved forward, but I could keep an eye on Max and Riley—who seemed like they had a world of brains and zero sense between them.

I knocked on the door.

Nothing.

I turned the handle, stepping inside as it gave way. My jaw dropped as I entered another world.

This suite had a similar layout to Max’s, but a few walls had been knocked down. Beyond the foyer, where the living room should’ve been, was a massive open space. Computer workstations ran the length of two walls. A glassed-in meeting room with whiteboards claimed the third wall, and the fourth held a giant screen and some other tech I didn’t recognize, with two beanbag chairs and a bright yellow chaise lounge. One corner held the only nod to games—three pinball machines, the first in use by a short kid with jeans and a muscle tank. I took a few awkward steps into the room when a voice behind me made me jump.

“Coyote.”

I turned to find Max behind me in the hall.

I’d pictured him mostly right in my little daydream Saturday, but his hair was messier. His eyes warmer, his shoulders broader. He looked completely at home in Converse sneakers, jeans, and an olive t-shirt that set off his hair and dark eyes.

I tried to force down the hot flush taking over my face and neck.

“Where did you come from?”

“Stairs.” He leaned against the doorframe, hands in his pockets. “At the risk of being predictable, what’re you doing here?”

“I wanted to thank you for being so cooperative this weekend. The emails and the text,” I added at his blank expression.

“You’re welcome. Why are you really here?”

Was I so transparent? “Well, I’ve also been thinking about your situation. And I want to help you. Here are my conditions. First, I will help with your pitch, your request, and prep for meetings. You do all the face-to-face and correspondence with prospective funders. Second, I do this outside my normal hours at Alliance. And for one month, tops. We don’t get the money you need to finish the game, or I have any concerns about your ability to execute this project, I’m reporting that you lied on your forms.”

“You want a bowl of orange M&Ms every day too? The thermostat set at seventy-five-point-five degrees?” he drawled.

“I’m not being difficult. I’m saving your ass.”

Max took a step toward me and I nearly took one back. “You’re saving
your
ass, Coyote.” He rubbed a thumb over his lip. “Tell you what, just land the money to finish my game, we’re good. All I care about is making Evolve—and Phoenix—blow anything in existence out of the water.”

So much for gratitude
.

I should’ve known better than to expect any.

“Deal. When do we start?” I asked.

“Now.”