Page 26 of About That One Night
Chapter Fifteen
Maximillian
Does beinga good friend always involve carrying dead bodies? Because if so, I might need to reconsider my social circle.
Okay, so this isn’t a dead body, but Ethan and Lily need to stop buying old furniture that weighs a ton. I’m going to establish a new rule for the Montgomerys: If you can’t carry it yourself, don’t buy it.
What happened to buying unassembled low-quality furniture? When did he becomethis guy who has to have old stuff from people who died more than a hundred years ago?
Sweat trickles down my temple as I secure the last screw into the handcrafted mahogany bookcase. At least I feel proud of my handiwork. Lil and Eth’s penthouse library is finally coming together, rich wood paneling gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I step back, muscles aching from the labor, to admire the piece. It’s not that bad if I say so myself.
The click of heels shatters my moment of pride. My shoulders tense like I’ve been hit with a freeze ray. Lily strides in, her megawatt smile on full beam, with Zoe right behind her. My hands clench around the drill, knuckles whitening as my heart does that stupid flip it always does when she’s nearby.
Zoe.
Beautiful, infuriating Zoe Harper, who I haven’t been able to see all week. And my hopes of taking her for lunch today are gone since she’s with her sister already.
Briefly, I consider escaping through the balcony and climbing toward the rooftop so I can take the emergency stairs. Though, that seems a little overdramatic. But who can blame me? I have to pretend I didn’t miss her one bit or that I don’t need her. Just one nibble, a small bite—and if possible, her mouth sucking me.
I’m just trying to avoid the awkward conversation between us. The one that will probably push me to snap at her or make some snarky comment about something or other about her perfect life. But it’s theonly way I know how to resist her charm and that pretty pouty mouth I miss.
Pretty mature, McCallister.I yield, that’s pretty childish, but in my defense, I never claimed to be a grown-up. I’m a proud thirty-five-year-old man-child, thank you very much.
Zoe saunters in, hips swaying slightly, wavy light brown hair cascading over bare, tanned shoulders dusted with captivating freckles. Her striking green eyes meet mine and narrow almost imperceptibly. Her full lips quirk into a hint of a smirk, leaving me momentarily breathless.
I look away, busying myself with my toolbox, metal clanging like I’m hosting a one-man band. The air crackles with our usual tension—a weird cocktail of attraction and annoyance that I can’t quite shake.
“The library looks amazing,” Lily exclaims, giving Ethan a longing kiss and then a quick hug to me. “Thank you so much for helping us out, Max.”
“Of course, my pleasure,” I reply, acutely aware of Zoe’s gaze. “Anything for my friends.”
I glance at her, determined not to let her snub me. I agreed to pretend for her, but I’m not going to totally ignore her. “Hello, Zoe,” I drawl, my voice sweeter than a caramel latte.
“Oh, hey, Maximillian.” She barely looks up, her tone as lively as a tax audit.
I can’t resist poking the bear, I’m judicious that way. “So, where’s Tom the Tool? Thought he’d be the one doing all this work. Trying to be a good brother-in-law and all that shit.”
Zoe’s smile falters for a nanosecond before sherecovers, chin lifting defiantly. Her eyes narrow to cat-like slits. “Really, ‘Tom the Tool’? You’re so immature, Maximillian,” she snaps, each word sharp enough to slice bread.
Though we all think anyone could be a better choice than him, I might be the only one who voices it out loud when possible. I don’t say that, though. Instead, I flash her a shit-eating grin. “I never claimed to be a grown-up—proud to be a man-child, sweetness. So, what happened to Tommy boy? Did he finally realize a screwdriver isn’t just a vodka-orange juice combo?”
Lily’s eyes widen, darting between us like she’s watching a particularly intense ping-pong match. “Um, guys? Maybe we could?—”
“We broke up, so it’s just me,” Zoe interrupts, her voice flat. “Not that it’s any of your business, Maximillian.”
“Oh, joy,” I say, trying to keep my tone light but unable to hide the smirk tugging at my lips. “Well, at least you brought your charm.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s no real heat behind it. Her lips twitch, fighting a smile. “Don’t worry, Max. I won’t get in your way.”
“Good to know,” I reply, feeling the familiar mix of annoyance and something else I don’t want to acknowledge coiling in my gut.
My phone buzzes incessantly in my pocket, the vibration against my thigh impossible to ignore. I fish it out, frowning at the urgent message from my security company—we have an imminent situation with ahigh-profile client, requesting immediate assistance. Fuck. I was hoping to get her out of here and . . .
Ethan strides in just then, also checking his phone with a furrowed brow. I catch his gaze, noting the conflict in his eyes. “It’s fine, I’ve got this,” I say, already backing toward the foyer. “You stay and enjoy your weekend with your lovely wife and sister-in-law.”
As I turn to leave, I catch Zoe’s gaze one last time. For a moment, I swear I see a flicker of . . . something in those green eyes. Disappointment? Relief? But then it’s gone, replaced by a mask of cool indifference.
“You sure?” Ethan asks.
