Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136025 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 680(@200wpm)___ 544(@250wpm)___ 453(@300wpm)
Damn.
It hits me again and again. How I could spend hours and hours upon hours doing absolutely nothing with Maximoff Hale. Just this.
Charlie and Oscar drove back to New York after the meeting, and for the first time in a while, there’s no full tour bus, no extra SFO guys lingering, none of his cousins are here.
It’s just us. And the paparazzi, the fans. But they’ve always been set decoration to his world. Now my world.
“Are you?” I ask him. “Happy to be back?”
Maximoff scans the retro diner. April rain starts trickling outside, and paparazzi and fans pull out umbrellas. Noises everywhere. Talking, dishes clattering, the door clings. An old man with a strong Philly lilt complains about the storm. And Maximoff smiles as two girls on bar stools wave excitedly.
He waves back and then focuses on me, but I already see the revere and fondness overtake his gorgeous features. “Yeah,” he says. “I am. This is home.”
Our attention drifts, Ava setting my coffee in front of me. “Ready to order?”
Maximoff and I exchange a look of confirmation.
Then he stacks our menus and hands them to Ava, along with the paper napkin note. I saw that, wolf scout. “I’ll get the breakfast burrito, no jalapeño.”
“Egg, bacon, cheddar bagel sandwich,” I say, “and a side of potato latke.”
Ava leaves again, and I tear open a creamer. I’m about to ask about the napkin note, but he suddenly spills the news.
“I have to cancel the tour.” He pauses. “The board is shutting it down early.”
I process this quickly. “They’re not going to reinstate you as CEO then,” I say with the tilt of my head. He’s calmer than usual. I don’t understand why.
Maximoff takes a swig of hot tea. “There was no reasoning with the board. Charlie and I came in hot, but their minds were made. No one was even pretending to care.”
“You don’t look that upset about it,” I mention, coffee mug to my mouth.
Maximoff leans back. “Oh, I’m fucking pissed. But I’m not wasting my energy on them. I have to move forward, and besides…it may not be over.”
I sip my coffee. “What does that mean?”
He cracks a knuckle and smiles briefly at a boy who calls his name. Forest-greens back on me, he says, “They were vague, but they said there might be a way for me to be reinstated as CEO. They didn’t say what yet.”
I tap my fingers against my mug, my rings clink, clink. See, I don’t like that they conveniently left out what the hell he has to do. It could be anything, and they could tell him to do anything.
“They’re in a position of power,” I remind him. He has almost no leverage.
Maximoff nods. “I know, but it’s all the hope I have. They said they’ll tell me more in the second quarter.”
At least he’s not completely shut out yet. “That’s good,” I tell him.
He dunks his tea bag a few times. “I keep thinking about how tomorrow I’m going to wake up, and I have zero phone calls to make. No emails to send. No employees, no company, and I think about what else I can do. I can volunteer at the rehab center. I can help other charities, but this thing…” He gestures around, but I know he’s referring to H.M.C. Philanthropies. “…I built this thing and it meant something to me. And now it’s gone for I don’t know how long. One day? Two months? Five years?” A beat passes. “Forever?”
I stop myself from stretching my arm across the table and grabbing his hand. We’re in public. My grip tightens on the mug. “It’s okay to feel lost when you’ve lost something.”
Maximoff rakes a hand through his hair. “Have you ever felt like this?”
I recall my past. “When my life alters outside of my control, I usually feel a sense of nostalgia, but I also like change, so…” I raise my brows at him.
He has trouble containing a smile. “Sounds like a superpower.”
I bring my coffee up. “That you don’t have.”
Maximoff growls out, but he blinks repeatedly to glare. And I’ll be honest. He’s not glaring. He’s not even scowling. He’s smiling, and I’m entrapped, unable to detach—do your motherfucking job, Farrow.
I abruptly break eye contact and survey the diner again. As soon as I look at the window, a few girls squeal, “Oh my God, it’s Farrow!”
“Is Quinn with him?!” another shrieks.
“I will die if Quinn is in there!”
“Maybe he has Quinn’s number?!”
Of course I do.
I keep scrutinizing the diner, the people, but I talk to Maximoff. “I wouldn’t have even bet ten bucks on Quinn being the most famous bodyguard.” But it happened.
Girls are obsessed with him.
“Where do you think you rank?” Maximoff asks.
I meet his serious gaze. “I’m the least famous,” I say honestly. “Because I’m taken, remember?” He declared my relationship status to a FanCon panel, which reached the internet and the world. In result, Tumblr and Twitter lost interest in me. Not that I care.