Max and the guys did the cooking on the large built-in brick BBQ grill in our yard, while Monica, Loralei and I sipped appletinis by the pool. Doing something like this in December back home in Ohio would be impossible, but southern California gave us relatively comfortable nights, and on this night Max had also fired up the outdoor heaters just in case.
Loralei and Monica didn’t exactly cross-examine me, but they were very interested in getting to know the woman who was taking up so much of Max’s time these days.
I had a moment of worry when I started to talk about the night Chris came to my apartment and attacked me. They didn’t know anything about it, so obviously Max hadn’t told anyone. After filling them in on the details I asked them to keep it to themselves that I had told them.
“Of course,” Monica said, touching my arm to reassure me.
Loralei nodded in agreement. “Carl tells me everything, and he hasn’t said the first word about all of that so I guess he doesn’t know, either.”
“Same with Anthony,” Monica added.
I said, “Thanks, I really appreciate it,” but didn’t go into why I was grateful for their discretion.
Max undoubtedly didn’t want anyone to know that he hadn’t been there to protect me. The only person he’d talked to about it was me. I felt badly for him again, even though it had been a while since he had even hinted at the episode and I was pretty sure he was over it.
As we ate around the large marble table that was built into the patio under the overhang, Anthony and Carl shared some stories about Max, clearly one of those “guy things” meant to embarrass their friend in front of his new girlfriend.
Carl was more of a quiet type, while Anthony was the real talker, and Carl simply filled in a few details along the way.
Anthony told of the time Max was casting for a film and almost decided to hire an actress who wasn’t an actress at all, but rather an actor who had undergone an extremely convincing sex change.
“Not that I wouldn’t have hired her,” Max said. “She was good. It’s just that when the story broke, I knew everyone would focus on that instead of the film, and we just couldn’t do that.”
“Where is she now?” I asked.
Anthony said, “Doing Internet porn.”
Monica shot her eyes at him. “And you know this…how?”
“Research.” He shrugged. “It might make for a good reality show. And, I should add in my defense, if it does sell, you’ll have that house in Acapulco you always wanted.”
Monica said, “Good answer,” then she laughed, giving everyone else the green light to join in, and I followed hesitantly, a stark reminder that I was the new member of this group of longtime friends. It would clearly take some getting used to, but I liked all of them, and most of all I liked that they provided a new lens through which I saw Max.
He was a great conversationalist, that much I knew, but he was the same with a group of people. Maybe that had something to do with the fact that he was a writer and therefore, a natural storyteller.
Throughout the evening, I noticed Max looking at me the same way he’d been looking at me lately in the office.
I would catch him staring. He would have a look of intense concentration in his facial expression, especially in his eyes, the way they were virtually scanning my body from head to toe.
There was an unmistakable possessiveness to his gaze. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that from time to time I felt like a gazelle being watched by a lion. The only difference: I had no intention of being the type of prey that runs. I wanted him to catch me.
. . . . .
Later that night, after everyone had left, that’s exactly what happened.
And the next day, too. I’m not sure why I hadn’t been expecting it, considering the way Max had eyed me all night, and especially in light of how aggressive he had been in the bed later on.
While Max had rocked my world that night, it was nothing like how things progressed the next day at the office.
Two people, both members of the production team, were busily handling their work. We sometimes had upwards of ten people there, but it was getting close to lunch and all but the remaining two had left.
Max came into my office and closed the door behind him.
“Are we ordering in?” I asked.
Earlier, we had discussed going out to eat, but it looked like he wanted to stay in. I just had no idea why, at the moment.
“I already have,” he said. “It should be here shortly.”
“Good. I’m starving.” I was looking down at my desk again, going over the storyboards. “Some of these don’t match up with the script.”
He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t look up to see why.
“Did you change some of these?” I asked.
“You don’t have to do that, Liv.”
“I know, but I started to look at them and the changes…I don’t know. They’re not right.”
Max was the epitome of perfectionism when it came to making sure the script was right and all the actors had the final shooting version. But he didn’t seem to care at the moment, which I found strange.
I looked up.
As he came around to my side of the desk, it was one of those times when the sight of his physique struck me as though I were seeing him for the first time. The way his casual, untucked, dark blue shirt clung to his shoulders and muscular arms. The way the buttons begged to be unfastened to reveal his smooth, firm chest. The way his beige linen slacks hung perfectly from his waist….
Max held out a hand and I took it, rising at his urging.
He pulled me into his arms, kissing me in a teasing way, nipping at my lips and finally taking my tongue into his mouth and sucking on it.
When his lips moved to my neck, I said, “I thought last night would have been enough to tide you over until at least tonight.”
“Not even close,” he said, his breath hot on my throat. “Do you want me to stop?”
“Would it matter if I said yes?”
“No,” he said.
He held me tightly, possessively, and turned me around to face the window. Outside, people walked down the sidewalk just feet from my window, separated only by a short hedgerow of shrubbery, and the faintly tinted window of my office. It wasn’t completely darkened, so passersby could see in if they looked hard enough.
The bustling crowds of people on their way to lunch or meetings or sight-seeing moved quickly down the sidewalk, not appearing to have the slightest hint of what was going on behind that tinted window, but if someone stopped and looked for more than a few seconds, they would easily be able to make out my hands pressed to the glass, probably my face, and maybe Max standing behind me, too.