"Well, why don't you sleep on it? Let me know for sure tomorrow."
"Yeah, that sounds good," I agreed. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
I took Charlie out again after that, needing an escape from my laptop and work. We meandered through the neighborhood to the restaurants along Garnet, and settled into a sidewalk table at a fish taco place where we could linger and people watch. I ordered some food and a beer, and the waiter set Charlie up with a water dish, and the two of us sat. I read Kate Morton's latest historical fiction and Charlie was content to watch the people and dogs pass along the sidewalk. Every few minutes someone would stop to pet him, so I think it was safe to say we both had a good afternoon.
When Mom arrived home to find us gone, she texted me, and then walked over to join me, settling in and ordering a glass of Sangria.
"How did it go?" I asked her.
She just smiled, and I was happy to see her happy.
"I know it probably seems odd," she said. "But I've known Roger forever. In some ways, being with him is a bit like coming home."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just sipped my beer and looked out at the street. "I like it here," I said.
"I do too."
I glanced at her across the table, unsure how Mom might react to me announcing my plan to stay here longer than originally planned. "Mom, I'm thinking of staying. Moving. Maybe temporarily."
She didn't say anything for a second, but pressed her lips together in a little smile. "Really." It wasn't a question, and she didn't sound terribly surprised. "I was actually thinking the same thing."
I hadn't expected that, but I let her words roll through my head for a moment, and then smiled. "Maybe we both need a change."
Chapter 126
Shot Down Near a Potted Plant
Tatum
Max and I met at the offices the following morning. I found myself heading downtown, parking, walking up the wide sidewalk to the offices with new eyes. Would this be my new home? Would this be my new office?
I opened the office door and stepped inside, and Max appeared in the hallway. My stomach gave a little roll when he moved into the small lobby, and I ignored the way my heart galloped. "Hi Max," I said.
"Tate." His smile was warm and wide. "Good to see you." Max's dark hair was pushed back from his face, the longer locks in front forming a kind of wave I was tempted to push my fingers into. I dug my fingers into my side with one hand and clutched the handle of my bag tighter with the other. "Let's go talk." He turned, and I followed him down the hallway. Today we passed the conference room, and Max took me into a little office at the end of the hall. His office, I assumed. "Make yourself comfortable."
There were two leather chairs in front of a desk, and an impeccably clean desktop. There was the requisite computer and one photo frame next to it, with a picture of Max, a woman who looked remarkably like him and an older woman. His mother and sister, I assumed. Otherwise, the surface was clean, and the stark empty shelves around us were also mostly empty of personal items. A few books on leadership and business, a potted plant that looked less than loved. Max took the seat behind the desk. I settled into one of the chairs, noting that this dynamic—him behind the desk and me in the chair facing it—gave us a slightly different feeling. He was in charge here. It was his office, and sitting before him made me feel a little bit like an employee who'd been called in to be reprimanded. I wondered if he'd been aware of that when he'd bypassed the conference room to come in here.
"How are you?" he asked. "How's Rose? Charlie?"
"They're great," I said, settling into the leather chair and trying to look relaxed. For the record, I wasn't relaxed. My stomach was in knots and my blood felt hot beneath my skin. I was fighting my attraction to Max Winchell, and I wasn't doing a great job. I considered what it would be like, coming to work here every day, seeing him every day. Could I manage it?
I cleared my throat. "Thanks for asking. We're all really enjoying it here, actually. For Mom, I guess it's a bit like coming home."
Max nodded, settling back into his chair and resting his elbows on the armrests, folding his hands at his belt. He looked confident and cool, the oxford shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the collar of a crisp white T-shirt beneath the royal blue fabric, along with the most tantalizing little bit of golden skin at the hollow of his neck. "So, have you found me an executive?" he asked.
I pulled my eyes back to his face, heat climbing my cheeks as I noticed the little smirk that spread across his lips. He'd undoubtedly caught me staring.
It would be fine. It's not like we'd be sitting in the same little office if I worked here. I could handle this.
"Well, yes actually. Though the idea my manager came up with might surprise you at first. It took me a little while to get used to."
A single line appeared between Max's brows. "Really?"
"It has been difficult to find exactly the right candidate to take the helm of Mr. Match," I explained. "A lot of the executives we work with are looking for more traditional companies, or a bigger employee base to help grow their experience. This is an unusual venture—potentially more hands off than many of the executives we place are looking for."
Max's dark eyes remained on my face, and I felt oddly vulnerable beneath that penetrating stare. It reminded me of the way he'd look across the line at the opposing team when the camera caught him up close during a game. I'd let myself stare back at him when I'd watched him play, sitting with my dad in the living room of our old house, allowing a pointless crush to bloom into full flower. Now I was finding I needed to hoist those blooms back in, forced them down and stomp on them. I needed to be professional, something I was finding increasingly difficult, the closer I got to Max. But I had too much to lose to be careless about my actions. I'd worked too hard.
"Go on," Max suggested.
"Well, so ... here's the thing." I was stalling because I wasn't sure what to expect from Max when I suggested that I would be a good fit. Would he burst into laughter? Would he dismiss the idea outright? "My manager suggested that we extend the search a bit, work to find exactly the right individual."
"Okay," Max said slowly.
"But in the meantime, we don't want to hold up the investment process, so we'll place someone on a temporary basis until the right candidate can be found."
"That makes sense," Max said.
"My manager suggested that I might be a good fit for that temporary role." I said it and waited for Max's reaction, forcing my shoulders to stay tall, my chin to remain lifted.
Max said nothing for a moment, but uncrossed his hands and leaned forward, as if to see me more clearly. "You?" He finally said.
"Just temporarily," I said.
He tilted his head slightly to one side, and I could practically hear his mind working, calculating, turning over scenarios like pages in a book. His eyes remained impassive while they studied me, and those long fingers found a pen on the desktop and began rolling it first one way, then back.
After a long moment in which I swore I could hear the blood running in my veins, whooshing in my ears, he put the pen down with a finality that made it clear he'd decided.
"I don't think so," he said.
My mind darkened. "What?" All the distraction dissolved and I became myself again. A capable and intelligent woman, reaching for a position I wanted and being told no. "Why not?"
Max dropped my eyes, studied the pen in front of him for a long tense moment. Finally he looked up again, something like amusement on his face. "I just don't think it's a good idea."
"I can certainly let my superiors know that's your position," I said, my voice stern and calm. A hot swirl of anger flooded my gut. Did he think this was amusing? "But it'd be useful to have a few things to tell them about why. What are your concerns?"
He held my eyes and I was surprised to see his lips turn down in a fleeting frown that looked almost sad. "I have a few reasons, Tate. I'd just rather keep them to myself. Let's continue the sea
rch."
I sat up straighter, indignation stiffening my limbs. "I'd like to hear your reasoning," I said. "Or I'll have to assume you don't think I'm capable of running a business. Your business." I took a deep breath, pushing down the anger threatening to force words from my lips that I might regret. "I'm going to assume this is not due to my gender." I let that sit there for a moment, growing even more irritated as the sad smile on Max's face lingered and he still didn't speak.
"Listen, Max. I know this company inside and out. Maybe as well as you do by now. I've gone through the ludicrous questionnaire and seen the consumer-facing side. I've talked to people who've been matched to learn about that process. I've been through the financials with a fine-toothed comb, and I assure you, my Stanford MBA is a promise that I know what I'm looking at."
Max lifted a hand, waving it back and forth to interrupt. "I didn't mean to insult you," he said. "That's not it. It's not about your qualifications." Max still looked sad, though a little smile flitted over his lips now. He dropped my gaze. "As I said, I'd rather not give a reason. I just think it might be better if you brought in someone else. Someone impartial."
"I'm impartial," I argued. Why did he think I wasn’t impartial?
He sighed, those dark eyes meeting mine and stilling the next words that threatened to leap from my lips. "But maybe I'm not," he said.
I sat back for a moment, watching him, trying to understand what he meant. My own desires were overwhelming my ability to weed through the layers of his statement. I didn't want to give up so easily. As I'd driven here today, walked to the office on the pristine block downtown, I'd been thinking about what it was going to be like to call San Diego home for a while. I'd liked the idea very much, and I might have let the excitement over this fresh start work its way into my system, lodge under my skin. I wanted this. The sun, the city, the wide sandy beaches. I wanted the laid-back weekend vibe of PB and the put-together efficient feeling I had on the sidewalks downtown. Foster had also made it clear that this position would be grooming me for something bigger when I returned to the office. And I wanted that. I wanted Mr. Match, and now that I'd let myself think about it, it was hard to let the idea go and imagine going home again, to the quiet little house where I'd once believed I'd build a future and a family with Austin. I didn't miss him—quite the contrary—but Palo Alto held my past. And now, I thought, San Diego might hold my future.
I couldn't deny that a small part of the desire to stay had something to do with the man across the desk, but I told myself I could put that in a little closet inside me and keep it there. The alternative would ruin my career, and that was not an option. Still, I could enjoy being near him, getting to know him. I could do that without acting on the strange attraction I felt for him. Couldn't I?
If he was sending me back to Palo Alto, it didn't matter.
"I'd like to discuss this further," I told him. "I can lay out my plans for you, see what you think. Don't decide right now."
"Fine," Max said, still sounding sad and a little bit resigned.
I looked into those dark brown eyes, the little rim of green glinting under the office lighting, waiting.
"Okay. Conference room. Five o'clock. I have a couple calls to make first," he said.
"Good. Yes." I'd gather some ammunition too, and I'd come back at five and convince Max I was the right fit, that I was a good match for Mr. Match.
I was back at the offices at five, but was surprised to find Max coming out the door as I arrived, locking up as a gaggle of girls passed on the sidewalk. I was still a few feet away, about to speak, when I heard one of them say, "Isn't that Max Winchell?" Her voice was loud and high-pitched, and Max obviously heard her, but kept his eyes on the keys in his hand as he locked the front door of the Mr. Match offices.
"Max, right?" Another of them said, stepping close to him. "You are! It is!" she shrieked this last part, turning to her friends to confirm it.
"Hello," Max said, a tired smile sliding into place as he stood to face the girls, who were tittering and whispering as a group now. I heard the words "so hot" and "I'd do him" leak from the general noise of the little crowd.
I watched from a distance, feeling an unwarranted annoyance creep over me.
"Is this like, the Sharks offices?" One of them asked, looking around for a sign.
"Uh, no." Max followed her gaze up and down the sidewalk, rubbing a jaw with one hand.
"Do you live here? Is this like a secret lair?" another asked.
Max didn't seem particularly equipped to fend off their inquiries, as he stood silent, looking almost guilty.
"Thanks for locking up for me," I said loudly, stepping closer to the group and holding my hand out for the keys. Max's head jerked up and a look of brief confusion twisted his mouth, made his eyebrows rise. Then his expression cleared and he reached out a hand, dropping the keys into mine.
"Sure, yeah. No problem."
The girls all looked at me, wide eyes and expressions mixed between confusion and jealousy. "Do you work for the Sharks?" One of them asked me.
"No," I said.
They all looked at each other and shrugged, clearly ready to drop this topic as they remembered who was standing just on the other side of them. "Max, can I get your autograph?" One of them asked, handing Max a pen and then lifting the hem of her shirt to reveal her flat belly.
I sucked in a surprised laugh.
Phones were out, selfies were taken, and Max did a pretty good job playing the part of willing celebrity. When the little group finally moved on down the sidewalk, Max turned to face me.
"You okay?" I asked, chuckling at Max's slightly dazed expression as I handed him his keys back and the girls tittered away.
He cast them a sidelong glance and then laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah. But stuff like that freaks me out. Here, I mean." He turned in both directions as if looking for the reporter lurking behind the bushes near the building's entrance. "Someone's gonna figure it out."
"Maybe," I agreed. "So, are we still meeting, or were you hoping to escape before I came back?" I asked.
"No, not at all. It was just that I've been in the office all day and I'm starving. I was going to intercept you out here and convince you to take this conversation somewhere I can eat." He gave me a hopeful smile.
I looked around, my images of my convincing presentation morphing in my head. I'd seen myself striding around the conference room, making strong points in my favor. Now I saw us sitting across from one another in a restaurant instead. And while the image was actually a nice one, I wasn't sure I could be as convincing as I would have been in an office environment.
I must have looked less than certain, because Max added, "Please? There's a place just a couple blocks over."
"Sure," I said. "Let me just put my laptop back in my car." I sighed and returned my convincing presentation to the back seat of the car. I'd have to go with verbal convincing, I guessed. I could do that too.
Chapter 127
The Errant Asshole Gene
Max
When the waitress arrived, she did a subtle double take upon seeing me, and then her smile grew just a tad wider and one hand went up to check her hair. "Hi," she said, her eyes flitting to Tate then returning to stay on me. "Can I get you something to drink?"
I’d never been especially fond of this kind of attention, especially when I was with someone else. "Gin and tonic," I said. "And a water, please."
Tate hesitated, probably thinking that technically this was a business meeting. But I was having a drink, so she was probably considering it. She thought for a second, and then said, "Water please."
"You're making me drink alone," I said, not really feeling hurt about it. After Tatum’s suggestion that she take over the company, I found I needed a drink. There was no way I could have her in the office all the time and keep myself in check. I needed to redirect her desire to run Mr. Match.
"I want to keep a clear head. We have things to discuss." She used a businesslike voi
ce, clearly ready to present some arguments in her favor.
I nodded my agreement. "We do."
"Listen," she started. "I know I might not have been the first person you thought of when we began discussing a temporary executive for your company."
I settled into my chair, ready to listen to whatever Tate needed to say. I felt guilty in a way, because it didn’t matter how convincing her arguments might have been. I knew myself too well, and I wouldn’t be able to work with her, no matter how often I told myself an impulsive fling would be wrong. There was something about her fierce determination, the confident way she was jabbing the tabletop with her index finger as she outlined the qualities that would make her a good executive, something I knew I couldn’t resist forever. I wanted her. And I needed to keep her at a distance if I was going to keep from acting on it and going through the Bendy Samantha situation all over again.
Tatum was wrapping up. "But I think my credentials are clear." She told me about her recent focus at work on smaller, agile companies, explained how her broad insight into the structure and success of a wide range of similarly sized companies gave her unique perspective on best practices for organizations like mine. She reminded me that she’d done her homework, spending time taking the lengthy Mr. Match questionnaire, speaking with a variety of clients.
I filed away this information, though I wished I didn’t know she’d filled in the intake form. That meant Tate was in the database. That meant I could run our profiles. But should I?
She even gave me her resume, which I accepted, surprised. "Tate," I said when she finally paused for a breath. "Tate, stop. I know you're qualified. I know you'd be a good choice."
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