The Playboy God (Gods of Olympus Book 7)

by Erin Hayes

  At least the old man is hard to kill.

  They’re frowning as they glance at the man-sized hole in the wall, before checking out Logan’s crumpled body.

  I feel very tired as I watch them work around me. Like I’m beyond their help.

  A few minutes later, Max comes out with Gotham in her arms. I rise to my feet on instinct, showing Max the chivalrous side of me.

  “Mr. Arrows!” the boy calls out. “You came!”

  He seems shaken, but no worse for wear. Max, however, may have some more trouble recovering after this. She watches me warily, like she’s afraid to get too close to me.

  I guess that’s warranted.

  “Hey, buddy,” I say. “Thanks for calling me. And for calling the cops.”

  He wipes away tears from underneath his glasses. “I didn’t know what to do.

  “You did fine.” I meet Max’s eyes, and repeat it, just for her benefit, hoping she hears it down to her soul. “You did just fine.”

  With one hand, she reaches up and wraps me up in a hug while still holding Gotham. Her scent is in my head, and I can’t believe how much I’ve missed her over the past week. I close my eyes and sigh into her.

  “You have a lot of explaining to do,” she whispers.

  “I know.” I nod toward the police that are now scouring the scene. A paramedic is checking Hector for wounds. “But later.”

  She pulls back and frowns. Finally, she nods. “Okay. Later.”

  21

  Hector wakes up at the hospital a few hours later, madder than fire. He makes eye contact with me before cursing me out and blaming me for Max’s tears for the past week. And then he thanks me for saving all their lives.

  I take his criticisms to heart. Because I am at fault. I wasn’t truthful with Max from the very beginning. I could have done so much to change things, but I didn’t.

  She suffered for it. And so did my clients. And so did much of the world.

  And now? Well, I’m not sure. While we’re at the hospital and Hector and Gotham get checked out, I catch her stealing glances at me. Like she’s trying to come to terms with who I am.

  I don’t press the issue or come closer to her.

  We’ll talk about it in our own time.

  They want to keep Hector for observation overnight because he has a concussion thanks to Logan. “Otherwise,” the doctor assures us in the hallway while we hear Hector arguing with a nurse over what he can have for dinner, “your father is fine, Ms. Galloway.”

  Better than fine, I think, if he can argue like that. He’s a tough old coot.

  Max gives the doctor a tired smile. “All right. Thank you.”

  I feel the awkward push and pull of what I should do around Max. Should I be here as her boss? Or as her boyfriend? Or just the random guy that suddenly appeared in her house to save her?

  She doesn’t look at me as she goes back into Hector’s room. Gotham watches the proceedings with a look of wonder on his face. I guess it’s not every day that you see your grandfather arguing with a nurse.

  “They want to keep you here overnight, Dad,” she tells Hector.

  He scoffs. “I’m fine.”

  “You have a grade 3 concussion, Mr. Galloway,” the nurse chides. “You are not fine.”

  “Does this mean that we’re staying here tonight, Mommy?” Gotham asks.

  Max turns to answer her son, but Hector cuts her off. “Like hell you’re staying here overnight. I’ll be fine.” He looks at the nurse. “I’ll be fine,” he repeats for her benefit.

  “Right,” the nurse says, obviously not buying his argument. “Now eat your dinner.”

  I hide my smile as he continues to argue with her. The nurse doesn’t give him an inch, which makes me like her even more.

  I know that he’ll be fine. But a night away from the hospital will allow Max and me to talk things over. Hopefully for the better.

  It’s dark when we leave, and I carry a sleepy Gotham out to Max’s car. The boy insisted that I carry him, much to Max’s chagrin, but neither of us turn him down. He’s had too much happen today not to get his way.

  I help strap him into Max’s car and straighten to look at her. And, to my horror, I realize that I’m nervous about what she’s going to say.

  She doesn’t say anything. She’s still watching me with that horrified wonder like she still can’t believe what happened earlier.

  I clear my throat. “Can you give me a ride to your house? I’ll call an Uber from there.”

  She frowns, hesitating. “Can’t you just appear back at your apartment?”

  “I can…” I say slowly. “But I don’t want to do it. Not unless it’s an emergency.” Like earlier today. “But it will give us a chance to talk. About everything.”

  Please don’t turn me away, I want to say to her.

  She regards me in silence before nodding. “All right. But no funny business.”

  She spins on her heel and goes to the driver’s side while I slip into the passenger seat. I can’t help but feel like I’m being escorted as a hostile witness to a trial. She puts the car in reverse and leaves the parking garage to head back to her house.

  The quiet is almost too much. I can feel my heartbeat in my chest and hear every breath she takes. She keeps her eyes on the road, her jaw working as she thinks.

  I lick my lips. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”

  She blinks and then snickers. “You have no idea.”

  “Well,” I say, letting out a breath, “pick an easy one first.”

  She snorts through her nose in response. It takes nearly a minute before she opens her mouth again to speak. She glances at the rearview mirror to make sure that Gotham is asleep before asking. “So you’re truly Eros?”

  I smile. Out of everything, I guess she’s starting from the top. “Yes.”

  “As in, the Greek god Eros? The god of erotic love?”

  “My prowess in the bedroom didn’t already prove that to you?” She glares at me in the darkness, and I realize that I overstepped with the jokes. “Yes,” I amend. “Otherwise known as Cupid. The chubby baby with the diaper.”

  “Are you a chubby baby with a diaper?” she cuts in. “Is that another form of yours?”

  I let out a short laugh, but then realize that she’s serious. “No,” I say. “No. My real form is close to what you see here.”

  “Thank god,” she whispers under her breath, as if to herself. “For a while there, I was feeling really…gross.” She combs her hand through her hair and puts her chin on her hand, resting her elbow on the car door.

  “I’m much older than you,” I remind her.

  “Still didn’t help this horrible image in my head,” she says softly. Her cheeks color with embarrassment. “And your relationship with Psyche?”

  Now we’re getting to the bigger questions. “I was married to her a long time ago,” I say at length. “But it didn’t work out between us.”

  “Why?”

  I shrug. “We drifted apart. Became two different people. She wanted the drama of new love, and I wanted what happens after love.”

  “And Nadya—?”

  “She’s Psyche in disguise. And Zara and so many others that I…dated…were her.”

  “And you couldn’t tell that any of them were your ex-wife?” Max sounds offended by that thought, and I wince in response. Surely there had been some signs for me to pick up on, but I was stupid and arrogant.

  How can you tell that to someone who has no frame of reference for it?

  “It didn’t even occur to me that it was a possibility, Max,” I say finally. “I hadn’t seen her in…thousands of years. I didn’t even know she could transform like that. She used to be a mortal like you.”

  “A mortal like me?” Max raises an eyebrow.

  “Human,” I amend.

  “And now?”

  “Now what?”

  Max glances over at me. “Are you going to go back to Psyche?”

  I bite back my lau
gh. “Psyche set out to destroy my business.” And us, but I don’t mention that. “We’re long over.”

  Max doesn’t ask another question for a few minutes, long enough for me to think that she’s done asking questions for the moment. There are plenty more, sure, but maybe that’s all she can handle after having such a traumatic day.

  But she surprises me. Like Max always does. “And where do I fit in?”

  Her voice is soft, quiet.

  I’d been wondering how to approach this with her. Convince her that I am truthful in my feelings for her, even though I haven’t been with much else. “You were a surprise to me.”

  “A surprise?” I can hear her smile.

  “Yeah. You were my hard-ass personal assistant, who wouldn’t let me get away with anything.” She snickers at my assessment of her. “I thought you were the perfect assistant,” I continue, “because you were unlike the women I spent my time with. That you were safe from me falling in love with.”

  “Why, because I’m a single mother?” she ventures. “Or not as pretty as the others?”

  “What? No.” The fact that she would even think that tells me that I have a long way to go before repairing our burnt bridges. “Nothing like that.”

  She doesn’t say anything, waiting for me to expand upon that.

  “I was stupid,” I say.

  “Yep.”

  “And an ass.”

  “You were.”

  “And I think I knew what would have happened if I let you get too close to me,” I say. I wait a beat for her sarcastic response, but there’s nothing, so I charge ahead. “Nothing frightens a god of love like falling in love himself. I think, deep down, I knew what would happen. And how much I could screw up if I got it wrong.”

  “So what happened?” she ventures.

  “You happened,” I say. “You with your no-bullshit attitude. With the way you take care of your family. You made me realize what I’d been missing. You were my muse, Max.” I settle deeper into my seat. “I should have told you who I am sooner, but…I couldn’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

  “Well, you made a pretty convincing argument earlier,” she says. “So, you fell in love with me—supposedly…” Her voice trails off. “Did you do anything to make me love you back? Against my will?”

  I look at her profile as she drives, silhouetted by the streetlights. She looks so beautiful in this moment, a strong, proud warrior who would do anything to keep her family safe. I can see from her perspective why the thought of having a god in the car with her is terrifying. Like she’s been worrying about how many emotions were hers versus ones that I put there for her.

  “Nothing,” I say honestly. “I did nothing to your feelings, Max.”

  She bites her bottom lip, considering her words. “And you’re not doing anything now?”

  I shift in my seat to look directly at her. She glances over at me, frightened.

  “No,” I whisper, touching the side of her face.

  She blinks and takes in a shuddering breath. “So what happens next?”

  “Whatever you want.”

  “I don’t know.” She frowns. “Are we supposed to continue as we were? You’re immortal, right? What about when I grow old and you’re still…Damien?”

  I smile. “It sounds like you’re talking about marriage.”

  “I don’t know what I’m talking about,” she says, shaking her head. “But there are a lot of long-term ramifications with this. it’s not like I can go up to Olympus for Thanksgiving dinners.”

  “Trust me, you wouldn’t want that,” I say, and she bursts out laughing.

  “This is crazy,” she says, as if convincing herself. “This is absolutely insane.”

  I reach over and take her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “It is. But love is kind of like that. Trust me, I’m an expert.”

  She looks over at me. “Okay,” she says.

  “Okay what?”

  “I do trust you. Let’s…try this out. And see where it goes.” She pulls up to her house and puts the car in park before looking over at me. “I don’t know what forever is, but…I guess we’ll figure it out as we go along.”

  “That’s what relationships are supposed to be like.”

  She smiles. “I suppose so.”

  I rush forward and kiss her across the seat, promising in that one motion to do everything I can to make this love last.

  She made Eros believe in love again. Made him believe in us.

  Epilogue

  CUPID GOES DIGITAL. WILL IT WORK?

  The headline for the article sounds more critical of my business than it actually is. It dives into the past of Damien Eros and his once-elite matchmaking services and how it evolved to be an entirely new kind of service online after scandal ripped it to shreds. It talks about how my strategy for finding love changed once I found love myself.

  Still though, the headline isn’t flattering, and there’s a terrible photograph of me in black and white.

  I hadn’t wanted to frame it, but Max wanted to, and she always gets her way. I can’t say no to her. Not now, not ever. She knows that, too, but thankfully, she doesn’t exploit it.

  Except to put this article up next to the first one in my brand-new home office.

  “It’s good to remember where you came from,” Max says, stepping back from the wall to check out her handiwork. She puts her hands on her hips and looks back at me. “Makes you look like you’ve matured.”

  I sigh and sit back in my computer chair, frowning at it. “I look fat in my picture.”

  “You sound vain,” she corrects.

  “What I sound like has nothing to do with what I look like.”

  She lifts a brow but doesn’t say anything more. “I look good though,” she offers.

  And it’s true.

  In the second article, she’s smiling, looking beautiful, and she’s at my side.

  Where she belongs and will forever be. As my partner in life and in love.

  I cross my arms. “I see now why you wanted to frame it, then.”

  “Well, of course. It’s about me, not you.”

  She wipes her hands on her jeans. Since we’ve moved my business from Manhattan to her newly-renovated house, she’s dropped the thrift-store, high-end look, and wears more comfortable, casual clothes. It makes her look less severe and more at peace with herself.

  My matchmaking agency in Manhattan closed its doors a month ago when I matched my remaining clients and devoted my services to helping a wider group of people through my online site. I’ve lowered the prices to fifty dollars per match, so it’s now available to everyone, not just the elite. What’s more, CupidsChoice.com differentiates itself from other online dating sites, because I personally review everyone’s files and match them up myself.

  And you know what? I still have near-perfect accuracy with my matches. No other service can come close to that level. It’s that personal touch that makes all the difference. I promise to help people find someone they didn’t know they wanted.

  And that’s been working out just great. Steven still does PR for me on occasion, but since I’ve taken my services online, I’ve been less in the public’s eye. He and his wife are working through their problems, which is great—because she’s due not too long from now.

  It’s also good, because that means that Max’s family—my family now—isn’t exposed to the public. Gotham is safe from scrutiny, and Hector, as grumpy as he is, can remain his old curmudgeon self. It’s less stress on everyone involved.

  It admittedly gives Steven less work, but my image has vastly improved anyway.

  Because I’ve found the one woman I want to worship and call my equal in everything.

  “Come here,” I say to Max, patting my lap.

  She coyly obliges, straddling my lap to loop her arms around my neck. I groan at the pressure against my cock. This is going to be one thing I’ll have to get used to with hav
ing a home office and no physical clients coming in. The urge to make love to Max every chance I get will be too great.

  In fact…

  “I want you,” I whisper, nibbling on her bottom lip. “Now. Here.”

  “I can arrange that,” Max whispers, grinning in her devilish way. She shifts her hips, and the pressure in my trousers tightens. “Eros.”

  “I love it when you call me that.”

  She kisses the side of my lips. “It’s who you are, isn’t it? Eros.”

  Gods, hearing my name on her lips almost makes me come right here. I’ve never thought she’d be okay with me being an ancient god, but here we are. We’ve discussed what would happen later in life. That maybe I’d find her ambrosia and make her a goddess. Or I’d stay with her and live as a mortal man until death.

  We’re playing it by ear. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

  Max stops and pulls back, giving me a playful smile. “Is there something in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

  It’s actually the ring box from Tiffany’s that’s in my pocket, and inside is the emerald engagement ring for Max. It’s been a month since CupidsChoice.com has been in service, and I feel like it’s in a stable enough position to ask her to marry me.

  After I make her scream my name, of course.

  There’s a knock at the door, shattering our moment of bliss, and I groan in disappointment as Max turns toward the person who interrupted us.

  “Would you guys like a cup of coffee?” Carrie asks. She used to blush when she walked in on Max straddling my lap, but it’s gotten to be such a normal occurrence, she doesn’t even bat an eye anymore. “Gotham has to be picked up from school, so I was going to do a Starbucks run on the way back.”

  Max covers my mouth with her hand because she knows I’m about to say something snide to our secretary that we kept from my old business. “Our usual,” she says, a little breathless. I playfully lick Max’s hand, and she releases me, giving me a dark look, promising to punish me.

  Carrie grins and winks. “I’ll be back in twenty minutes, then.”

  She leaves, shutting the door, and I sit back with a groan. “Are you sure we couldn’t have found a better secretary than Carrie?” I mutter.