Page 60 of Smooth Sailing
“Even if that happened, it wouldn’t end either of our careers,” he argued, but the words were hollow.
A familiar weight settled in his gut, that old burning weight of disappointment he could never seem to shake around his mother. He wasn’t that reckless teenager anymore, the one who’d made impulsive decisions that had rippled out, affecting his life and others’. He’d worked so hard to become someone his mother could be proud of, someone responsible and trustworthy.
But now, looking at the concern etched on her face, Max was right back in high school. Or standing over his father’s hospital bed, making promises to any deity who’d listen to his prayers.
“I’m not being impulsive,” he insisted, hating how defensive he sounded. “Paloma and I, we’ve thought this through.” But even as he said it, doubt crept in. Maybe she’d already considered all this, and that’s why she’d hesitated to have anything more with his impulsive ass than sex.
“What you two are working on isn’t profitable?” his mom asked, halting his spiral.
“No, it is.”
“One project is with the Thompsons who own all those yoga studios,” Drake said, butting it. “And an even bigger one for the Sterlings. That’s why they were in Traverse City.”
“The Sterlings?” his mom exclaimed, her eyes widening. ‘You mean the obscenely wealthy Sterlings who own that top-selling home design magazine AND the hit TV show? Those Sterlings?”
He nodded again. “Yeah, so?”
“That’s huge, Max. Think of the contacts.” Her brows rose. “And the possible fallout if things didn’t work out.”
“We’re professionals,” Max argued, but even as the words left his mouth, a flicker of doubt chased after him. Images flashed through his mind: awkward client meetings, strained conversations, the spark between them fading to cold ashes. He swallowed hard, pushing the thoughts away. “Even if things didn’t work out and, worst-case scenario, we ended up hating each other, we’d finish the project.”
“And when their friends and colleagues wanted to hire you as a team. Then what?”
Good question. His certainty wavered. His mother’s words wormed their way into his mind, planting seeds of doubt. Was he being impulsive? Was he risking everything he’d worked for? The possibilities he hadn’t considered loomed large, threatening to overwhelm him.
Then there was Paloma’s hasty retreat, the way she’d tensed at his mother’s questions. Maybe she’d already considered all these complications. Their time in Traverse City had been perfect—away from expectations, just the two of them exploring whatever was growing between them. But now, watching her practically sprint from his house, he worried if trying to define things would only make her run faster.
They were good together, weren’t they? The easy flow of their work partnership, the electric chemistry between them, the way she made him laugh. Did they really need to slap a label on it? But leaving things undefined, of pretending their connection was casual when it felt anything but, sat like a stone in his gut.
His mom sighed, “Oh, Max, when are you going to learn to be less impulsive?”
He wanted to argue that she was wrong. But was she?
What had started as something thrilling but complicated had become precarious, balanced on the knife-edge between professional success and personal happiness. And now, with the phantom warmth of her kiss still on his lips and the sting of her hasty exit fresh in his mind, he wasn’t sure which way it would fall.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
November 6th, 4:30 p.m.
Paloma stepped back after ringing the doorbell of the Thompson house, her gaze drawn to the pineapple door knocker. The sight deepened her already somber mood, not because of what it implied about her clients’ lifestyle, but because it reminded her of Max. Four days had passed since she’d last seen him—four days of replaying her hasty exit from his family home, of battling the guilt that gnawed at her insides.
The sudden introduction to his mom and her obvious dislike shattered the bubble of stolen moments and passionate encounters, making everything too real and serious.
Staring unseeing at the door, she worked to shake off the memory of Max’s disappointed expression as she’d fled. He’d been kind but distant since then, and she couldn’t blame him.
The door clicked, then opened, snapping her out of her reverie. The Thompsons stood before her. She smiled at them, forcing her professional mask back into place. She had a job to do, and clients to impress. She couldn’t let her drama interfere with her work.
“Good afternoon,” she said. “Are you ready for the final walk-through?”
“Are you sure Max can’t join us?” Bill asked. “There was another matter we’d like to discuss with him now that we’ve reached the end of this project.”
Her heart skipped. Did they have more work for them? Or maybe they’d recommend them to others.
She shook her head. “He’s in court today testifying as an expert witness. The judge rescheduled at the last minute and couldn’t get out of it. But we could reschedule for next week.”
After the disastrous run-in with his mom, she didn’t mind the break but understood why the Thompsons would want him here. And she wanted to keep them happy. Their satisfaction could lead to a flood of high-end clients. Her pulse fluttered. Maybe that’s what they wanted to discuss.
Elodie rested her hand on her husband’s arm. “Honey, I think we’ll get all we need from Paloma. She can pass it along to Max.”
