Instead, he kept on staring at the wall, his jaw pulsing. “You’re moving in with me.”
“Huh?” Was he still drunk?
He looked over at me. Well, at my neck. “You’re moving in with me.”
I didn’t respond with words, but the “are you nuts?” look on my face was sufficient.
He stood from the bed, rubbing his face and making a little groan as his biceps flexed into half-hard mounds. “I knew about Nancy Little. It was the reason I took a risk on you.”
“So this entire time, you were aware that this journalist was writing a book about you, using testimony from two other women to call you out as a fraud.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I fumed.
“I didn’t want to discourage you from accepting my offer.”
“So you withheld information that could potentially damage my life and drag me through the mud?” How could he fucking do that? “You’re such a selfish prick.”
“I thought we’d established that already.”
Flippant bastard. “No. That’s my answer: No. I don’t want anything to do with your little scandal, and when I clear my head, I’m going to try my absolute best not to fall apart because you’ve hurt me worse than every cruel motherfucker I’ve ever known rolled into one.”
He tilted his head, looking offended. “It was never my intention to get you dragged into this, but you’re part of it now whether you like it or not. That’s Nancy’s doing, not mine.”
Dammit. I didn’t want to argue about this; I wanted it to not happen.
“Can you sue her, or get a judge to stop her?” Defamation of character wasn’t legal, was it?
“My lawyers hit a wall despite my hopes I could make it all go away, so that book is being published in four weeks.”
Stay calm. Stay calm. Do not murder the billionaire. “So what does she want me for?” I asked.
“She probably feels you’d be of value if you spoke publically after the release of her story,” he said.
“This is crazy.” And I wasn’t referring only to this woman’s book, but to his reaction to it. He was so calm, like it was just another business issue he needed to deal with. No prob.
“Yes,” he responded.
“So why not just tell the truth?” It was an honest question. He could come out publically and speak about his disorder. People might understand.
He looked at me. “Tell millions of customers that the sight of unattractive people gives me panic attacks? Or that while I do believe women should be more focused on their self-worth, the number one thing I judge them on is their looks. Yes, I can see how that will work.”
I stood and stared across the bed at him, feeling exposed. “Why will my moving in with you help anything?”
“Accelerated therapy. When the book comes out, I need to be cured of this. I need to be able to look any woman in the face and prove to the world the stories are lies.”
“But they’re not.”
“It’s none of their goddamned business, Lily,” he fumed. “And the relationships I had with those women—years ago, by the way—were private, just like my relationship with you.”
I could understand his point. I mean, if the guy had erectile dysfunction and was trying to work through it privately with a girlfriend, it would be genuinely wrong for her to write a book about it. On the other hand, Maxwell Cole had built his company on a philosophy he physically couldn’t prescribe to. The only way to deal with this was head-on before the book came out and to talk openly about his problem. He could make people understand that he’d been trying to overcome his issues any way he could.
“What happened with the others?” I asked.
He looked down at his black shiny shoes—yes, he’d worn his shoes to bed—my bed. “I guess they lied to me and couldn’t truly handle it.”
“That’s it?” There had to be more.
“Yes, that’s it.”
“So you…what? Tried to work on desensitizing yourself and—”
“I paid them money to spend time with me. I had no progress with one woman and moved on. The next eventually wanted more from me and we quit when I couldn’t reciprocate—she seemed to understand. I broke it off with the last one, Sarah, because she was unstable. She killed herself six months after we ended our sessions, but not because of me. She was depressed. That was four years ago. I gave up trying despite my therapist’s insistence I continue confronting my issue.”
I believed him. I really did. But still. Knowing he’d had other women in his life like this made me feel disposable or cheap somehow.
“Did you fuck them, too?” I asked.
He gave me a sharp look. “No. I just told you, it wasn’t like that. At least not for me.”
“Oh.” I nodded, trying to think that through.
“You’re the only one I’ve been able to make progress with, Lily. The only one in seven years since I started therapy. Which is why I want to move things faster.”
Seven years? He’d been trying to overcome this for seven damned years? “I think you should find a new therapist.”
“The problem isn’t her, Lily. It’s me.”
Yeah, no kidding.
“Well, you should’ve told me before dragging me into all this. And now it’s time for you to go.” What the hell was I going to do? I’d been at C.C. a little over a month, and I didn’t want to leave—I loved working there—but once this book came out, that Nancy lady was going to pull me into all this. I’d never get a job at another company because I’d be known as…whatever…one of Mr. Cole’s ugly women. I honestly wanted to beat the crap out of him. How dare he do this to me?
“Lily, I know you’re upset with me, but you can’t run from this—”
“Yeah. I get that, Mr .Cole, but I need to think.”
“Fine. I’ll go, but think about what I’m asking. Come live with me. No one will know.”
I still just couldn’t make sense of how that made any sense to him. He’d spend more time with me, accelerate his “healing,” and then face the world and tell them what? Was I missing something? Because this man wasn’t stupid or crazy. So for whatever reason he wanted this, I simply wasn’t seeing the rationale.
Or he’s not telling you everything. I shook my head, biting my tongue.
He turned to leave. “One other thing,” he said, stopping in my doorway, “if you think this is really about me or you, then you’re wrong. There are thousands of people who will lose their jobs—and homes and cars and won’t be able to pay for their children’s college—if C.C. goes under because of this.”
“Then resign. Hand the company over to someone else.”
He blew out a breath. “My leaving now would be just as destructive—especially right before we go public.”
I supposed he was right. That man was the face of the company.
“I’ll call you later,” he said. “Please think about it.”
Think about it. Think about it? Think about it! I wanted to run over him with my car.
“Sure,” I replied, just wanting him to go. “I’ll think about it.”
I watched him leave, trying not to get emotional. If I got hung up on getting angry and playing the blame game, it might make me feel damned good, but it wouldn’t save me or C.C., the only place I’d be able to work after this was all said and done.
God, Max. How could you do this to me? On the other hand, I had only myself to blame. I agreed to this arrangement, and I should’ve known something was going to happen.
All right. So when most people find themselves in a position where everything hinges on a single decision, they go to the people they trust for advice. But my situation was already set to destruction mode, only there were two degrees. The lesser degree would be that when the book came out, Mr. Cole would refute the women’s stories and I would end up a footnote of sorts and the center of a lot of tabloid and office gossip. That was the best case. Worst case was no one believed him, the company tanked, and my name still got dragged through the mud. Either way, I was ruined.