Oh God. The things they would say about me and assume.
I began to cry. Yeah, it was time.
~~~
Around three in the morning, I woke to my cell vibrating on my nightstand. I rolled over, my brain foggy with sleep, and looked at the number. It was Mr. Cole.
“Hello?” I mumbled.
“Open your fucking door.”
He was here? At my apartment? Sonofabitch had some serious explaining to do. “One sec.”
I hopped from my bed and made a quick pass into my bathroom. I looked like shit—even for me—like I’d been crying because clearly I had been. I rinsed with mouthwash and hurried to the door. Yes, I had my yellow ducky PJs, but this wasn’t a time for putting on something sexy like a lace teddy.
Mr. Cole stood there, still in his jeans and black T-shirt, his hair looking even messier than ever. Is that a chicken wing stain on his shirt?
“Nice pajamas. And what the hell took you so long?” he asked with a slight slur to his words.
“Are you drunk?” I whispered, poking my head into the hallway.
“Yeah, so what.” He pushed past me, and I closed the door.
“Did you drive like this?”
He headed into my kitchen and opened the fridge, immediately looking disappointed. “You now make two hundred thousand a year, but you have no food or beer?”
With the light of the fridge, his hazel eyes looked redder than hell. Had he been crying, too? No. Hell no.
“I’ve been traveling and haven’t had time to shop. Let me make you some tea.”
He slammed the door shut. “I don’t want tea.”
“Okay. Can I give you a ride home, then?” Because clearly he was in no state to talk sanely about Nancy Little, and this wasn’t the sort of situation we could resolve by screaming at each other with one of us being shitfaced.
“My driver is downstairs.” He stumbled past me and went into the living room. “God, this place makes me sick.” He plopped down on the floral sofa.
“Thank you. I’ll be sure not to have you over uninvited again.” I sat in the green armchair, leaning forward. His troubled stare really made me nervous. Simply put, he wasn’t the sort of person to unhinge or let things get to him. “Let me get you back into your car, Mr. Cole.”
“You’re going to stab me in the back, aren’t you, Lily? You’re going to turn into one of those backstabbing bitches.”
I blinked at him.
He continued, “She thinks I killed her sister, but I tried to help her. She was more fucked up than me—if you can believe that shit.”
“So you know about Nancy Little’s book?”
He shook his finger at me. “I never promised those women anything, Lily. But I treated them with respect. I was nothing but a gentleman, and when things weren’t working, I stopped.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I just don’t understand why they turned on me. Maybe they wanted more. Maybe they wanted what they couldn’t have or they felt used—I don’t know, but they never said a word. Then they stabbed me in the back—people I trusted.” I tried to pick through his rant and piece together the entire story, but there were too many holes.
“I’m not going to stab you in the back, Mr. Cole. I promise. But I need you sober for this. We can talk in the morning.” Not like this crap is going to crawl into the toilet and flush itself away in one night. No. This was not that sort of problem. And I was absolutely terrified.
“Where’s the bathroom? I’m going to throw up,” he said.
Speaking of toilets… “It’s right there.” I pointed to the door between my bedroom and Danny’s. “Second on the right.”
He staggered to his feet, and when I rose to help him, he pushed my hands away. “I got it,” he said belligerently.
“Fine.” I held up my hands. “Call me if you need any help.”
I waited for a few minutes, and when I didn’t hear anything, I knocked on the door. “Mr. Cole? Are you okay?”
Nada.
I opened the door and found him sleeping with his head on the toilet seat. Yes, I desperately had the urge to take a photo, but lucky for him, I wasn’t a complete bitch.
I gave him a quick shake, but he was out cold. Fabulous. What was I going to do with him? He was twice my size or damned near close to it.
I went over to our living room window and looked out at the street. There was no limo parked there. Had his driver dumped him here?
Okay. What am I going to do with you? Danny was with her boyfriend tonight, so I couldn’t ask her for help—probably a good thing because she’d be molesting Mr. Cole or posing him in compromising positions with herself and posting pics all over the place.
I decided I’d lay down some towels and slide him off the toilet so he wouldn’t crack his head on anything. As gently as I could, I got him onto his side and covered him up. Lying there, passed out on my bathroom floor, I couldn’t help but stare at the man and wonder what was truly going on with him. Had he really been using these women, or had it been the other way around?
I guess it’s going to have to wait until morning.
I left the night light on, in case he woke up later wondering where the hell he was, and got back into bed.
Saturday morning, Danny’s voice whispering in my ear woke me from a vividly sexual dream involving Maxwell Cole’s hard body grinding against my ass while he fondled my breasts and groaned my name in sweet sexual agony as I denied him.
“Lily? Lily?”
I slowly opened my eyes to a grinning, giddy Danny.
“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Is that Maxwell Cole?”
Huh? I looked over my shoulder to the man spooning my body, his strong arm wrapped around my midriff.
Crap. He must’ve gotten up at one point and found me, which meant that hard thing sticking into my tailbone wasn’t a dream.
“Get out,” I grumbled.
“Just one picture? Please, I’m begging you.”
“No,” I hissed, “now get out.”
She obeyed, mock-pouting the entire way.
I looked at my phone. It was seven in the morning—Danny usually went to the gym at this time and her boyfriend did some sort of bike riding—which was why she was up. Mr. Cole, on the other hand, needed to get the hell out of my apartment. What if that Nancy lady was watching me? It would not help me avoid getting dragged into whatever the hell she was doing if my boss was seen doing a walk of shame from my apartment after a night of drinking.
I shoved him off me, sat up, and gave the lump of dead-to-the-world manliness at my side a little shake. “Max, wake up.”
He didn’t move.
“Max? Mr. Cole? Maxwell? You have to go.”
He rolled over, giving me his back.
“Uh-uh. You can’t stay here. You have to go now,” I said sternly.
“You go. My fucking head hurts.”
“Yes. I know, but it will hurt much nicer in the comfort of your own bed.”
“Fuck off,” he mumbled.
Ugh. Fine. I reached down and pinched his ass. “Wake the hell up, Mr. Cole.”
He sat up, his eyes moving around my room and then glancing at my face. “What the fuck am I doing here?”
“Good question. One we can answer later by phone when we talk about Nancy Little’s book and the fact that you’ve fucked me over in a way I never dreamed possible. Time for you to go—I don’t want anyone seeing you leave my apartment.”
“The book.” He stared at the wall for a moment, obviously trying to sort a few things out.
“Mr. Cole, I’m trying very hard not to blow a fucking fuse here, so please just go.”