Page 16 of Destined To Fall

“Friday night?”

Prime date night?Ha. I mentally scoff.“No can do.” I’ll surely have a client, and regardless, I’m not doing the date thing.“How long do you get for lunch?” Yeah, because that’s much better.

“Okay. Meet me at work, then?”

“Wednesday? Twelve thirty?”

“It’s a date.” His lips thin as he fights a laugh.

“It’s a long lunch.” I begin to walk off when he wraps his hand around my wrist.

“How do I contact you?”

“You don’t.”

I retract my hand and quicken my pace before Antony sees the exchange. I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week if he did, and I highly doubt I’d like that, much. I’m racking up the stupid tally this week, and I have no friggen idea why.

Chapter Four

Saturday night finally rolls around, and I cannot wait for the respite from Antony’s brooding about me being a few hours later than usual. But right now, I don’t want to think about that—tonight I’m here for Maxwell. I might be as anxious as he is. Okay, that’s a lie. I don’t think anyone could be as nervous as Maxwell is right now.

“Your fidgeting is makingmerestless,” I tease, shaking my head.

“Sorry,” he says after a pause.“I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“I never would have guessed.” I chuckle under my breath.

As promised, Maxwell’s town car picked me up at seven sharp, his driver stepping out before I reached the door, opening it wide. I thanked him and slid in beside a wan Maxwell, his perfectly kept salt-and-pepper hair disheveled. Even so, he still looks incredibly good in a pristine three-piece suit of a delicious dark navy and a burgundy button-up shirt. Sans tie, with the top button left casually undone, he finished off the look with platinum cufflinks. Maxwell looks every bit the rich, laid-back businessman, but I know he is anything but relaxed.

Still, we will be quite the pair walking into the casino tonight, me in a deep red, skin-tight, sequined gown. It’s stupidly low-cut, showing off ample amounts of cleavage, and has a thigh-high slit up one leg, showcasing my diamond-encrusted Jimmy Choos. I finished off my look with blood-red lipstick, thick fake lashes, and a long, straight blonde wig.Voilà. My stupid bimbo outfit was complete.

Forovertwenty-five minutes,I make small talk, bringing up the charity auction, ignoring the mixed memories flashing before my eyes regarding a stupid, admittedly attractive boy, and asking mundane questions about his company. He replies politely, but the responses are borderline short and quick, without any real thought or feeling behind them. All my efforts to distract Maxwell are moot; he still fusses relentlessly. Crossing and uncrossing his legs, he adjusts his cufflinks and, at one point, even reties his polished shoelaces.

“Just think of this as any other date, albeit it with a gorgeous woman.” I give him a saucy grin, and he smiles for the first time tonight in return.“We’re going to the casino, going to have a few drinks, mingle a little, play a couple of card games, maybe even some craps, and win, of course. Just a simple, ordinary evening. Who knows how the night will pan out?” I wiggle my eyebrows, and he smiles, relaxing a margin.

“I’m sure nothing is ever simple or ordinary with you, Vivienne.” He chortles.“I can’t say I remember what it’s like to go on a date, though,” he says softly, turning his head to look out the tinted windows.

I chance a quick glance down to Maxwell’s left hand resting on his thigh and the gold wedding band it’s sporting, pondering why I hadn’t known he was married before. Not that it would have made a difference. It never does. Not anymore.

“I take it you and your wife don’t get out much?”

Maxwell’s shoulders stiffen before they slump a fraction, and I know I’ve hit the nail on the head.

His head hangs low as he shakes it, turning back toward me. He gives me a forlorn smile.“No. Not since before she had cancer.” He pauses, frowning.“It must be a good…fifteen years since I’ve been on a date of any kind. At least thirty with anyone other than my late wife.”

Late?His words are a sucker punch in the gut.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize. You still wear your wedding band.I just presumed.”

Maxwell looks down at his hand as if he’s forgotten he wore it.“I guess.” He shrugs.“I never actively thought to take it off. It’s been there so long, it just sort of…becomes part of you.” He shrugs again.

“How long has it been…?” I trail off, not sure how best to word it.

“Since my wife passed?” he prompts, and I nod.“Ten years this past February.”

So long.I reach out, placing my hand over his and curling my fingers around his palm, giving it a gentle squeeze. I’m at a loss for words, for once.

Maxwell gives me a melancholy smile and pats my hand lightly with his other.“It was a long time ago.”

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