Page 21 of Maxim

God, Max.

Max in a tux puts the angels in heaven to shame. The man is sex on legs. All hard muscle and danger vibes. Just the thought of unwrapping that package is enough to make me salivate like a dog with a sausage.

OK, so sausage probably isn’t the visual I need right now.

Max’s … err … sausage was on the extra-large, exceptionally girthy side, from what I could tell.

Dear lord.

I mentally fan myself like a Victorian spinster as a hot flush overcomes me. James stares at me like I’m having some kind of mental breakdown. He’s not an idiot. He can tell my mind is a million miles away from the job this evening.

Another long gulp of my rapidly disappearing vodka helps ground me. That and a mental snapshot of James naked is enough to vanquish any lingering sexual fog.

“Erm … that’s a hard pass from me. But you kids have fun.”

James laughs lightly before ordering himself a cola.

Unlike me, he’s a professional.

Another fucking drink is essential to get me through this evening.

I raise my hand and request another vodka from the hovering bartender. I need all the help I can get if I’m to deal with the mayor in … I glance at my watch … 54 minutes.

***

“Miss Rossi, a pleasure.”

The mayor’s beady little eyes flick over my silky dress with a great deal more appreciation than I’d like. If only I’d dressed down not up.

“Mayor Kolanski. Are you ready to answer a few questions?”

James has taken plenty of photos of the mayor, more than enough for the feature we’re running on his charitable foundation. The photos from this evening, interspersed with shots from the press pack his PR team sent over, should paint a pretty picture.

One of a generous benefactor, willing to go the extra mile for the vulnerable citizens of this city.

A man with plenty of generous friends, all of whom love putting their hands in their pockets for a good cause.

What a shame it’s all smoke and mirrors.

“More than ready, Miss Rossi.” After one last lingering glance at my tits, he picks up a glass of water and sits down opposite me. I place my iPhone on the table between us to record the interview, even though I have my trusty notebook in hand.

The mayor is nice and relaxed. It’s been a successful evening for him. Lots of money was raised and he enjoyed plenty of photo opportunities with the rich and famous.

Watching him in action has been enlightening, reinforcing what I already knew: the man is a sleazy asshole.

“Tell me about your foundation, Mayor Kolanski. What gave you the idea?”

“Well, Miss Rossi, as I’m sure you’re aware, I have a special interest in helping those less fortunate than myself…”

Twenty minutes later I have plenty of self-serving content for our readers. I pretend to be deeply interested in what the mayor’s saying while noting how his eyes keep drifting down my chest.

It’s hard to maintain a neutral expression when every cell in my body recoils in disgust. Knowing that James is less than three feet away is reassuring, at least. From the way the mayor insists on touching my knee every few minutes, I’m not sure how much longer I can stand to be in the same room as him.

When he finally runs out of steam and I have enough quotes to complete the puff piece I’m writing, I manage a fake smile.

“Thank you, Mayor Kolanksi, this has been truly fascinating.” Not.

“It’s been my pleasure, Miss Rossi. If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to call my office. Or my personal cell.” He pushes a card with a phone number across the table. The last thing I want is this man’s cell number, but I reach for the card anyway. Because I’m polite and I don’t want to jeopardize my position.

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