Authors: Carol Rose
Or its transcription was. The work itself seemed to be taking him places he’d never before gone and who the hell knew what that meant for its eventual success. He was still anxious to hear Cynthia’s opinion of the work.
But his first anxiety could subside. Nicole was here and hopefully they were going to finish the book. That was what mattered. Even if he couldn’t expect her to accept him with all his flaws, she might at least help him save his work.
Max followed her into the office, not sure what to say, but aware of a need to bridge the awkward gap between them. There was no point in going into the situation yesterday. He had no excuses to offer, but surely she’d expect some further explanation. He knew he’d cut her off and walked away from her.
Sitting down at the computer, Nicole pushed a button, the monitor screen leaping to life…just like every other work day.
With a mixture of confusion and relief, Max realized they weren’t going to rehash yesterday. He’d dreaded having to face her recriminations almost as much as he’d half-expected her to call him and tell him to shove his book up his ass. But here she was, still working for him, if not with him.
No, clearly not with him. He really should be relieved. If she’d go along, they could simply pretend the last day and a half hadn’t happened.
“I’ve left another full notepad for you to transcribe,” he said, feeling awkward, his hands and feet seeming too big all at once.
“Yes, I see,” she said coolly, turned away from him.
Struggling with a bizarre feeling of regret that he told himself was about the sex, Max said, “Well…, I’m going up to work.”
“Okay.” The clatter of the computer keys seemed to shut her off from him.
Climbing the stairs, Max hesitated on the landing, his mind filled with thoughts of loving her there. Her naked, bucking body clenching around him to the point of anguished pleasure. Turning away from the broad window, he climbed to his bedroom level. The windows in the bedroom filled the room with a beautiful eastern glow.
Sprawling on the floor there, Max began to work. To his surprise, the book began unfolding again in his mind and flowing onto the writing pad. He worked, lost, while the sun shifted overhead. Unmindful, he filled page after page.
A sound at the door finally disrupted his absorption. Turning, he saw Nicole there, an unaccustomed awkwardness in the way she stood near the door. After her coolness an hour before, the sight of her up here was startling.
She made a sniffing sound and he saw that her eyes were bright.
“I…just thought I’d…tell you…this is the best thing you’ve ever written,” she said abruptly, nodding toward the pad in her hand. “It’s compelling, gripping, tender. By far the best of
everything
you’ve ever written.”
“What?” Max frowned up at her, profoundly touched by her gesture in seeking him out to compliment the work and puzzled by the magnitude of the statement. Particularly, since she’d taken his mistake with Alexa so hard. He’d repulsed her by his past behavior, that much was obvious.
Hesitating, he demurred, “I appreciate the comment, but you’ve hardly read everything I’ve ever done.”
She looked down at the pad a moment and then raised her eyes to meet his gaze. “Yes, I have…. Did you know they have a copy of your final senior thesis in the library at New York University?”
For a moment, all he could do was look at her, overwhelmed that she’d apparently invested so much of her very-minimal free time in…him.
“Well,” she said, turning toward the stairs, “I’ll finish this.”
For a long time after she’d disappeared from the room, Max stared at the spot where she’d stood. He couldn’t quite…fathom her. She wasn’t particularly super-intelligent, certainly not in the way measured on I.Q. tests, but she still somehow continually surprised him…and warmed him. What was it about this woman?
His reverie was finally disturbed by the sound of the phone ringing. Max didn’t move. He knew Nicole would get it and deal with whomever was interrupting him.
For a moment, he thought about the call yesterday that had disrupted everything. Where was Pete now? Was he working? Had he slept any better last night than had Max?
When Max hadn’t been thinking about his stupidity with Nicole, he’d been thinking about the harm he’d inflicted on Pete. There were times when Max would give anything
not
to think. He ached for the power to shut off his brain.
“Max!” Nicole called from the bottom of the staircase. “Cynthia is on the phone.”
He got up and went to call down to her, “Thanks. I’ll get it.”
“Hello, Cynthia,” he said into the bedroom phone.
“Max,” she responded, her voice warm. “How are you doing today?”
“Actually…pretty good.”
“Really? That’s great. Nicole answered the phone, so I gather she’s there and…everything is okay? She realizes the Pete-Alexa thing wasn’t all your fault?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Max said, his voice dry. “Let’s just say we’re apparently returning to our work relationship as if yesterday—and the night before—never happened.”
“Really?” Cynthia sounded concerned. “That’s not good.”
“On the contrary,” he disagreed, ignoring the heaviness in his chest. “I think it’s for the best. She’s here and I’m working and that’s not bad.”
“Okay. So, I didn’t ask yesterday, how’s the book going? Any problems? We’re getting pretty close to deadline.”
“Yes, and I’m going to make it. Don’t worry,” Max said, glad to be able to reassure her. Why the woman cared about his success, he didn’t know. He made the publishing house a lot of money, but Cynthia’s concern for him extended far beyond that.
They’d worked together and been friends for several years now. He respected her work as an editor and he knew she respected him.
“I’m right on schedule. No problems,” he assured her.
“Oh, good,” she said, sounding relieved. “That’s great.”
For some reason, Max felt compelled to add, “You might want to know that this book isn’t…my usual work.”
“You mean you don’t think it’s up to par?” Cynthia asked, surprised. “Are you sure you don’t need more time? I know we’ve missed several deadlines, but—“
“It’s not an issue of time,” he said. “The book just has a different…tone.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” Cynthia said quickly. “You know we trust your judgment.”
“Fine,” Max said as she said goodbye and then hung up.
Feeling faintly dissatisfied with her response to his comment about the book and, at the same time, reassured, he put the phone down.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Two days later, Nicole hit the standby button on her keyboard and watched the monitor screen go black. She was no nearer a decision about what to do with her feelings for Max, but she did know she had to at least try to help him see life outside his self-imposed prison.
The last two days hadn’t been a war zone, but there’d been no fun and games either. Despite her strong feelings for Max, she was keeping a close guard on her emotions. She wasn’t crazy about the idea of turning her entire life upside down for anyone.
Right now, she was working to help finish typing his book…and thinking constantly of how she could help him help himself. But none of that involved more passionate sessions on the landing. No matter how much she longed to sink into his kiss and feel him sink slowly into her body, she couldn’t. Not now.
He’d classed his involvement with her in the same category with what had to be the single worst choice in his life—Alexa. That one comment had showed how defensed he was against anything more significant that could have developed between them.
Still, a man who could write this beautifully had to have something salvageable inside him. He had to have a soul. She couldn’t predict if he’d let her try to resurrect that part or if he’d fight her tooth and nail, but she had to make the attempt. Had she ever walked away from a kid who was hurting without doing everything she could do to reach him? And Max had come to mean so much more to her than even her students.
It wasn’t about the possibility of the two of them getting together, not really. She’d forced herself to let go of that, for right now anyway, but caring for him meant she hated seeing him so isolated. If he could just open up a little, his life would be so much better.
He might not love her, but she couldn’t just let him waste his life away like this. She just couldn’t stop caring completely.
Right now, she had to convince him to tear himself away from his work for awhile. It was two o’clock in the afternoon and the streets were sure to be more quiet than rush hour. The man was so locked away here. He needed to get out into the world…and so did she.
Without giving herself time to think anymore about it, she left the office and went up the stairs to his bedroom. He’d taken to writing there on the floor in front of the expanse of windows along his wall. The man clearly had a thing for windows.
“Max,” she said abruptly, coming to a halt in front of him. “Let’s go out.”
The look of absorption on his face barely registered her presence. “What?”
“Come on. We need to go for a walk. I’m going stir crazy inside this apartment and you haven’t been outside in days—well, anyway, let’s go for a walk. You like walks.”
He looked at her then, frowning. “Why would I want to go for a walk now? I’m working.”
“You’re always working. Let’s take a break.” Squatting down in front of him, she forced herself to ignore her impulse to tousle his thick, dark hair. “And you especially want to go for a walk now because I’m going nuts.”
His glance was sardonic. “So you go for a walk.”
“It’s no fun if I have to go by myself,” she said, knowing she was bothering him, but determined to at least try and coax him into taking care of himself. “Besides you need to get out more. This internal existence of living in your head all the time can’t be good for you.”
“Since when are you responsible for my well-being?” He put down his pen, apparently realizing she wasn’t going to be easily dismissed.
“I don’t mind nagging you into doing what’s good for you when it’s good for me, too,” she said, trying to keep her voice level. How did a person stop loving someone, even when she couldn’t approve of things he’d done and wasn’t sure how being with him would fit into her life? Despite her hunger for his touch, she wasn’t just crawling back into his bed as if everything were hunky-dory. She couldn’t live with him—didn’t even know if she wanted to, but she couldn’t just blow him off, either. The man was lousy at taking care of himself.
Max looked at her for a long moment. “You’re not going to give up on this easily, are you?”
“Nope.” She smiled at him, working hard on keeping the futile love she felt for him out of her eyes. Maybe he classified her with Alexa now, but she wasn’t able to disregard him easily.
“Okay,” he said, yielding more quickly than she expected. “A short walk and then back to work.”
* * *
“Tell me about your father,” Max demanded the next afternoon.
Surprised, Nicole looked up from where she sat at the kitchen table eating her lunch. “What about him?”
Not bothering to disguise her wariness, she watched Max pour himself another cup of coffee. His body turned toward the counter and the coffee machine, she couldn’t help noticing the way his knit shirt clung to his broad shoulders, but she hated her own heightened awareness of him. She’d never been into masochism and loving Max could only bring pain.
Particularly since he’d given every indication of continuing to regret their more…personal…interlude. In addition, she hadn’t forgotten his comparing her to the woman who’d been a part of his downfall. Even if she were willing to leave her job and re-make her life to be with him, she had no indication that he would want such a thing of her.
“My question is fairly simple,” Max said, seating himself across from her, his cup resting on the table between his well-formed hands. “I am merely inquiring as to how you would describe the man who is your progenitor.”
Eying him with suspicion, Nicole hesitated before saying, “Well, if
progenitor
means my father, I can tell you one thing: My dad’s not the kind of guy who’s out to rip off other people’s work. He should have given you credit. No one knows that more than I do. I’m a high school teacher, for heaven’s sake. I know he screwed up, but it didn’t really take anything away from you.”
“Don’t get defensive,” Max requested patiently. “I’m not looking for material to indict the man. I am simply asking you to describe who he is as a person.”
Taking a bite of her sandwich, she considered him as she chewed, trying to weigh his motivation in bringing up the subject. On the whole, she couldn’t remember him ever being indirect or manipulative. If he had something to say, he just said it. No one was more blunt than Max. Perhaps he really was trying to understand the situation with her father.
“Well, my father’s a sweet guy. Generous and loyal. He’s taken care of me all by himself since my mother died when I was ten.” Nicole paused, remembering that sad time. Both she and her father had worshipped her quiet, steadfast mother.
“A lot of men would have sent a kid that age to live with their grandparents or something. It wasn’t like now when men can get custody of their kids after a divorce. When I was ten, I was the only child in my grade who lived with just her father.”
Max nodded. “Okay. Your father raised you alone. That could be commendable depending on how he did it. Be honest. Was he one of those men who keep the kid with them, but don’t adapt their lives to the kid’s needs? Or did he really attend to raising you?”
“Why are you asking all these questions?” she responded edgily, unable to completely dismiss her need to defend her father. What did any of this have to do with the two of them? “Since when do you get into discussing people and their relationships?”