Page 37 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
“You’re late,” I say, sipping. “I was starting to think I’d been stood up.”
“I don’t stand people up.”
“You just make them question your interest.”
He doesn’t answer. He just nods to the server, who materializes with his drink like they rehearsed it. Max sips once, then sets the glass down. It’s always like this with him. Precise. Measured. As if showing too much interest would qualify as a breach of contract.
I sip. Wait. Let the silence hang long enough to pull at him.
Finally, he breaks. “She’s better than I expected.”
“Genevieve?”
A nod.
“Better how?”
He glances out at the skyline. “Sharp. Composed. Strategic. She doesn’t posture. Doesn’t sell herself short either.”
“Pretty?” I ask, though I already know the answer. Sebastian’s taste is rarely off the mark, and if he handed this woman a major launch event, she’s either stunning or ruthless. Possibly both.
He lifts a brow. “She’s not unaware of her effect on people.”
That’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one. I grin. “That sounds dangerously close to appreciation.”
“I appreciate competence.”
“Mmm. And legs that go on for days?”
“She’s professional. Driven. Smart.”
“Ah.” I grin. “Your favorite kind of dangerous.”
Max lifts a brow. “I didn’t say she was dangerous.”
“No, but you’re acting like she is. You’ve got that edge to your voice—the one you get when you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t care.”
“She’s a vendor.”
“So was Elise.”
His jaw tightens. “That’s not the same.”
I let it go. Max hates to talk about Elise, and I didn’t drag him here to pick at old scars.
“Sebastian really didn’t say much about her,” I say, shifting gears. “Just that she pulled off Wolfe Island like a pro.”
“He hates it when you call it that.”
“Well, I’m not calling it by that ridiculously pretentious name he chose.”
Max watches me. “You meeting with her before the board dinner?”
“Tomorrow morning. We’ll be touring the facility and going over the basics. Plus, a private tasting with the gala chef. Should give me a good read on how she handles curveballs.”
“She’ll handle them just fine.”
“That a guess or a vow of confidence?”
