by Tara Wyatt
As if she didn’t already fully own every single part of him, including his damaged heart.
She slowly withdrew, looking up at him as she wiped at her lips. A rush of warmth washed over him, and he hauled her to her feet, kissing her.
“I’ll pay you back tonight,” he murmured, kissing her cheek, her forehead, her jaw.
She laughed softly and shook her head. “No one’s keeping score, Max. But if we were, I think I’d be miles ahead of you in the orgasm department.”
He chuckled, because she had him there. He loved making her come more than he had a right to love anything. Loved the way her eyes fluttered closed and her lips parted, a pretty pink flush blooming across her cheeks and chest. Loved the breathy moans and shaking screams she made. Loved the way she gripped him and milked him when he sent her over the edge.
But most of all, he loved the way she looked at him like he’d hung the moon when she opened her eyes again, bright and sated. He’d do anything to have her look at him like that, like he wasn’t broken.
Although, he had to admit, he’d been feeling a hell of a lot less broken lately, and he knew it was because of her.
Willa retreated into the bathroom to freshen up, and he tucked his still tingling dick back into his suit, carefully arranging himself. He still felt ridiculous in the costume, but for Willa he’d walk through Times Square wearing whatever she wanted if it made her happy.
“Don’t forget the bag with our clothes,” she said from behind him. “We’re meeting my brother and his boyfriend for lunch.”
“Right.” He nodded and picked up the backpack from the corner of his bedroom. “Ready if you are, Cupcake.”
She grinned and slipped her hand into his.
“So, what did you think?” asked Willa, her small hand in Max’s as they walked down East 67th Street towards 1st Avenue. Max didn’t spend much time in the Lenox Hill area, to the east of Central Park—he lived in SoHo, and Lucian lived on the Upper West Side, so it was rare for him to travel further north than the West Nineties, or further east than Park Ave. But it was a pretty area with beautifully maintained historical buildings interspersed with newer ones, all glass and steel. The new world meeting the old. A surprising number of trees lined the street, making it feel cozy and fresh in a way he wasn’t used to.
He traced his thumb over her delicate knuckles. “It was…different,” he said carefully, still processing the morning.
“Different good, or different bad?” she asked without any recrimination or judgment in her tone.
“Different good, I think. Any of the volunteering I’ve done over the past decade has been in the form of sitting on boards or attending charity galas. This was a lot more hands on than I’m used to.”
She squeezed his hand as they turned on to 1st Ave. “You were awesome. The kids loved you.”
“Yeah?” Pride suffused him at her compliment. He’d tried to stay in character while he’d read them stories, played games, and told them how proud he was of how strong and brave they were being.
“Absolutely. You were a natural.”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. I kept getting distracted watching you.”
“Because I was being such a dork?”
“Because you were so warm and engaging and sweet. The kids all clearly adore you.” His pulse picked up a little as he remembered the sight of Willa with all of the kids. As soon as they’d stepped onto the ward, the healthier ones had swarmed her, excited to see her. And then watching her with them, with her gentle humor and warmth, had tugged at something deep inside Max’s chest. Something he hadn’t even known was there. But once he’d uncovered it and examined it, he hadn’t been surprised.
Did he see himself marrying Willa and having a baby or two with her?
Hell, yeah he did. Not tomorrow, but someday. Someday in the not-so-distant future.
She blushed a little. “I like making them happy.”
Something stuck in his throat, a cold, hard knot, and he swallowed around it. “Is it hard for you? Being around them, knowing how sick they are? That some of them might not survive?” He’d never dealt with cancer in his life, and he’d found it absolutely gut wrenching seeing how sick some of those kids were. Knowing that some of them wouldn’t beat their disease because life wasn’t fair.
She shook her head, a stray fleck of glitter on her cheek catching the sunlight. “No, it’s not hard when I’m with them. But it’s devastating when they die. It’s happened a few times now.”
“How do you cope with that?”
She gave a little shrug. “You grieve. Because that’s what cancer is. Even among the survivors, there’s grief. Grief for the treatments and trauma endured, grief for what could’ve been that was lost, grief over a future tainted with a giant what if.”
His chest went cold and tight. “Is that how you feel?”
“Sometimes. Sometimes I feel angry that I had to deal with something so scary at such a young age, when all of my friends were partying and backpacking across Europe and having fun. Sometimes I feel sad that when I’m ready to have kids, it won’t be a simple, straightforward process. Sometimes I feel scared that it’ll come back and I’ll have to do it all again. And that anger, that sadness, that fear, it’s all grief. Because grief is like water, and it takes on the shape of whatever it’s filling. It looks different depending on where it is, and how much of it. Sometimes it’s a puddle. Sometimes it’s an ocean.”
He’d spent a lot of time thinking about grief, but he’d never thought of it that way. For the first time, he wondered if all of the blame and guilt he’d felt over Sophia’s death was just grief taking on the twisted shape of him.
“But it’s not going to come back,” he said quietly, tucking her against him as they wove around a man with a dolly unloading a truck.
“Probably not, no. My long-term prognosis is good. But like I said, there’s always a chance.”
He stopped walking and pulled her against him. People filtered in and out of the Duane Reade on the corner that they’d just passed, completely ignoring them. “I want you to know that if it does, I’m not going anywhere. No fucking way. I would be there for every single treatment. Every single appointment. Every single test. Not only that, but I’d make sure you had the absolute best of everything—doctors, treatments, hospitals. Whatever you needed would be yours, and I’d be there right beside you the entire way. I’m not some punk ass twenty-three year old who’d bail on you when things get hard. I’d be there, Willa. I promise.”
She arched up onto her toes and pulled him to her for a long, sweet kiss. The city buzzed and hummed around them, matching the vibration in Max’s blood at the feeling of Willa’s mouth, her body pressed to his. When she pulled back, her eyes were bright with emotion, and she stroked her fingers over his cheek.
“I don’t think you know what that means to me.” She sighed and they continued walking. “The fear is always there, way in the back of my mind. Not just that the cancer will come back, but that it’ll drive away people I care about if it does.”
“Anyone who’d bail on you because you got sick and that was inconvenient for them doesn’t deserve you in their life, angel.”
She squeezed his hand and looked up at him. “I love you, Max.”
He pulled her into his side and kissed the top of her head. “Love you, Willa.”
The idea of her getting sick again was terrifying. It made his stomach heave and cold sweat prickle along his hairline. But he was telling her the truth. If they ever had to face that, he’d be right there, by her side, looking after her.
And if he ever met the guy who’d bailed on Willa six years ago, he’d probably punch him in the face.
“Tell me about your brother,” he said, leaving his arm around her.
“Elliott’s three years older than me and lives in Brooklyn, where he makes custom furniture. He’s also dating my friend Brandon right now, which is a little weird for me. They’re so, so different that I kind of kee
p expecting them to break up, but they’ve been dating for weeks now and it seems to be going well, so…” She shrugged. “Elliott has always been kind of a lone wolf. He’s quiet and can come off as standoffish, but really he’s just kind of shy and doesn’t people well.”
“And Brandon?”
“Lauren, Kayla, and I have been friends with him since college. He’s an aspiring writer who works at Saks. Max, I read his book and it was so beautiful. I cried so many times while reading it, not just because of the story, but because I was so proud of him and what he’d achieved. He just signed with an agent and they’re getting the book ready to submit to publishers, so it’s all very exciting.”
As they walked the remaining couple of blocks to the pub where they were meeting Elliott and Brandon, Max couldn’t help but feel that today was a gift, and not just because it was a gorgeous May day in Manhattan, with the sun shining and a light breeze blowing and the city alive and vibrant around them. Willa was letting him into her life—taking him volunteering, introducing him to her brother and her close friend.
The pub was on the corner of 1st Ave and East 63rd, and they were greeted by the welcoming smells of French fries, searing meat, and beer as they stepped inside. The pub was brightly lit, with large windows that looked out onto East 63rd, giving everyone a view of the steady stream of pedestrians and traffic. An impressive bar lined the wall to the left, heavily stocked with bottles of Jamieson and decorated with little Irish flags and Guinness logos. Booths sat tucked against the opposite wall, separated from each other with dark wood dividers topped with shamrock green glass. The atmosphere was casual and homey with a soccer game playing on the TV above the bar. It was nearly full with the lunch crowd, the sounds of conversation and clinking dishes mingling with the rock music playing from the speakers.
Weaving their way through the pub, they found Elliott and Brandon already seated in a corner booth at the back, where it was a bit quieter. When they spotted them, the man Max assumed was Elliott slid out of the booth and pulled Willa in for a hug. He could see the family resemblance between them. They had the same shade of light brown hair with subtle bits of gold mixed in, the same enormous hazel eyes. Apparently Elliott had gotten all of the height in the family, though, because he was nearly as tall as Max, towering over Willa.
“Elliott, this is my boyfriend, Max Prescott. Max, my brother Elliott and his boyfriend—and my good friend—Brandon Abrams.”
Max shook both of their hands and could already see what Willa meant about the two of them being very, very different. Where Elliott was dressed in a gray Henley and worn jeans, Brandon was wearing a silk shirt with a busy blue and white print on it. A beer sat in front of Elliott, while Brandon sipped on some kind of brightly colored cocktail. Elliott’s hair was short where Brandon’s was longer and meticulously styled on top of his head.
“Okay, I can see why you were losing your mind over this man,” said Brandon, giving Max a thorough once over. “Good for you, honey.”
Willa’s face turned the most adorable shade of red and she cleared her throat. “I’m just going to go use the ladies’ room. If the server comes, order me a Coke, okay?”
Max nodded and slid into the booth opposite Elliott and Brandon, two pairs of eyes locked on him.
“So,” said Elliott, taking a sip of his beer and then crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re Willa’s boss.”
Ah. So it was time for the brotherly interrogation. Fine.
He nodded. “I am.”
“And do you often date your employees?” asked Elliott, his eyes narrowing slightly.
Max smiled and shook his head. “I’ve never dated someone who works for me before your sister. In fact, I was reluctant to get involved with her because of our working relationship.” It was a half-truth, but he wasn’t about to unpack everything with a man he’d just met. A man he’d like to make a good impression on, given his feelings for Willa.
“You were reluctant to get involved with her?” asked Brandon, one of his immaculately groomed eyebrows arching. “Why? Is there something wrong with Willa?”
Max shook his head again, a prickle making its way across his scalp. “That’s not what I meant. I’ve been attracted to her for a long time now and—”
“So you’ve been leering at her? As her boss? Even though you didn’t want to get involved with her?” Elliott frowned at him, those hazel eyes so like Willa’s boring into him.
Max took a breath and folded his hands in front of him on the table, preparing for battle. He just needed a little more time to think, to organize his thoughts. If they wanted to grill him, that was fine. He did have some shit to answer for, and he didn’t know how much Willa had shared with them. “No, I wasn’t leering at her. You’re twisting my words. I—” He cut himself off when a wide grin broke out across Elliott’s and Brandon’s faces.
Elliott shook his head, rubbing his hand over his mouth. “We’re just messing with you, man.”
Relief trickled through him, and his shoulders started to come down from somewhere around his ears. “You are?”
“Yeah. Willa’s nuts about you, and that’s good enough for me. She’s a grown woman. She can make her own decisions.”
Max chuckled as more relief made its way through his system. It mattered to him that the people Willa cared about accepted him as a part of her life. “You had me sweating there for a minute.”
“I know,” said Brandon, grinning at him. “It was fun to watch you squirm. It’s not every day I get to do that to a billionaire.”
Max laughed and shook his head. “I’m not a billionaire.”
Brandon pursed his lips. “Sorry. A several hundred millionaire?” he asked, obviously fishing.
Max shot him a smile and shrugged. “Something like that.”
All five Prescott kids had received a two hundred-million-dollar trust fund from their father. Probably because he felt guilty for the shit job he’d done of raising them, seeing as he’d been too busy cheating on their mother over and over again and driving her to booze and pills to cope. He’d taken some of the money to start Tapp, which was doing well. He also had other investments, real estate. Last time he’d checked, he’d been worth around four hundred million, which gave him bragging rights as the wealthiest of the Prescott siblings. Although with Aerin’s new agency and how well she was doing, she was probably giving him a run for his money.
“But seriously,” said Elliott, leaning forward, his expression earnest. “Don’t hurt her. She’s been through a lot, and I really just want her to be happy.”
Max met the other man’s eyes. “I know. She told me about…about everything. About the cancer.”
Elliott’s eyebrows rose. “She did? Wow.” He sat back in his seat, shaking his head slightly. “She doesn’t usually talk about it. Especially with someone she’s only been dating for a few weeks.”
Max pulled that information deep inside him, cherishing it. Guarding it. “All I want is for Willa to be happy, too. I’m just lucky that she picked me to be happy with.”
“Aw,” said Brandon, pressing his hand to his chest. “Okay, I like you. You’re in. Even if I do kind of hate you for being rich and hot.” Max laughed, able to see why Willa liked Brandon so much.
Contentment settled over him as Willa returned to the table, sliding into the booth next to him, and he tucked her against him, his arm slung over the back of the booth. He was officially a part of Willa’s world, a world he was quickly realizing he wanted to stay in for the rest of his life.
All he had to do now was not fuck it up.
16
Willa smoothed her hands over her light gray dress pants and then gave her matching blazer a tug, wanting to appear as wrinkle-free and put together as possible. The reporter from the Times was due to arrive any minute now, and she paced from one side of her office to the other, trying to dispel the nervous energy crackling through her.
She still couldn’t quite believe Max was letting her do this interview. Yes,
it was true that she’d managed this project, but the app itself had been his idea, and Tapp was his company. But she wasn’t going to say no to what she hoped would be a great opportunity career-wise, and she was determined to do well.
She glanced around her office, then strode to her desk and carefully nudged a pencil cup, aligning it with the tissue box and stapler beside it. While Max had still been up in his gym working out, she’d come in early to tidy up her office and make it look neat and polished. She’d even taken her suit to Saks yesterday, where Brandon had used the professional-grade steamer on it for her and had hooked her up with a gorgeous emerald green blouse that looked pretty and professional with her suit.
A sharp rap on the door had her turning on her heel. A woman of around thirty stood in the doorway, a large, shiny crocodile print bag slung over her shoulder. She had black hair that she’d slicked back into a severe bun, making her look like an exacting ballet teacher. Her makeup was impeccable, with subtle shadow and glossy, bright red lips. She wore a formfitting black dress and sky high heels that clicked as she stepped into Willa’s office. She was tall and willowy, the air around her seeming to sizzle with energy.
Talk about intimidating.
“Miss Banks?” she asked, taking another step into the office.
Willa nodded and moved forward to greet the reporter. “That’s me. Please, come in and have a seat. Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee?”
The woman shook her head and sank down gracefully into the chair facing Willa’s desk. “No, thank you.” Then she held out her hand and Willa shook it. The woman’s fingers were like ice, making Willa suck in a tiny breath at the shock of the contact. “I’m Kelly Palmer from the New York Times,” she said, reaching a perfectly manicured hand into her bag and pulling out a business card, setting it down crisply on Willa’s desk. “I report on technology, the economy, the environment, business, and investing.”