Page 35 of Filthy Rich Silver Foxes
"Ah. One of those."
"She’s not a flirt. She’s not trying to charm her way into anything. She actually knows what she’s doing. And she’s good at it."
"And yet here you are, acting like your software crashed."
"She caught me off guard. That’s all."
"Max."
Naomi and I have always been close. Close in the way that comes from surviving the same pressure cooker childhood and walking away with matching burn scars. We grew up in a house where image mattered more than honesty. Where expectations were sky-high and affection was earned, not given. It’s why we understand each other even when we don’t say much.
She’s sharp. Perceptive. Always five steps ahead, but with more compassion than I know what to do with. She’s also the only person who doesn’t buy the carefully curated version of me I present to the world.
She doesn’t push often. But when she does, it’s usually with good reason.
"You’re not going to act on it," she says after a beat. It’s not a question.
"Of course not."
"Because she’s young. And competent. And you respect her."
"Exactly."
"And because you haven’t flirted with anyone in what? Nine months? A year?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Naomi."
She’s quiet for a second. Then, "Do you even know what you’d do if you let yourself want something again?"
I ignore that.
"You know what your problem is?" she continues. "You keep surrounding yourself with people who expect you to be made of stone. You’re not. You never were. But you’ve convinced everyone—including yourself—that feeling something is the same as weakness."
"I don’t have time to chase a feeling."
"You don’t have to chase anything. But maybe stop running from it, too. I’m just saying. Maybe being human every once in a while wouldn’t kill you."
"Noted."
She softens a little. "Don’t shut down because something feels different. You’re allowed to want things, Max. Even if you don’t know what to do with them."
I don’t respond. I can’t. Because she’s not wrong. And because some part of me already knows this isn’t the end of it.
"She’s a client," I say, because that’s the line I’ve drawn. It’s clean. Uncomplicated.
"And yet, you’re brooding over her."
I roll my eyes. "Thanks for the call."
"You’re welcome. Also, I’m sending you the updated budget proposal for the foundation gala. Don’t pretend you lost it again."
"I never said I lost it."
"You conveniently forgot to review it. Again."
Naomi lets the silence stretch. Then, quietly, "Do you want me to vet her?"
"No."
