Authors: Carol Rose
His voice serious, Max said, “I feel bad about how I’ve handled working with my assistants. My last…assistant really helped me see the other side of the equation.”
“Wow,” Nicole said softly.
As the apartment door opened, Max heard Nicole’s voice and felt his heart rate kick up a notch. She was there, her back to the door as she sat in a chair in front of a television. The soft fall of her golden hair glowed in the lamp light and he could hardly keep from storming into the apartment and drawing her tight into his arms.
He knew he couldn’t do that, though. His welcome was anything but sure.
The chilly fall wind kicking up around him, he stood in the doorway, his hungry gaze fastened on her.
On the small screen in front of Nicole, his image glowed, his expression a mixture of regret and sardonicism. She was watching the taped show.
“So it’s true you have had difficulty keeping assistants?” Johnna Rinaldi asked him with a playful lift of her brows.
“That is true. I’ve been a difficult employer.”
Seeing himself on screen was strange, but Max couldn’t attend to it now. Nicole, the other half of his heart, sat not ten feet away from him. He somehow had to convince her that she’d thoroughly altered his life.
The dark-haired young woman who’d opened the apartment door obviously recognized him. Her jaw dropped open before she turned, her gaze zipping between him and Nicole, sitting with her back to him, oblivious of his presence.
The tape of the talk show played on in the background.
“As we mentioned earlier, you’ve had a rocky relationship with the press,” Johnna paused. “I have to bring this up—a few years ago, there were some really ugly stories in the news about you and a relationship you had with your brother’s wife.”
“Oh, God.” Nicole gasped in a hard breath. “She’s not asking him about
that?
Ruth should have made sure….”
The talk show host looked at the camera. “I want everyone to know that Max agreed to talk about this. Our producers made it clear we would when we confirmed your visit here today, is that right, Max? So we aren’t ambushing you,” she said, turning back to him.
“No.”
Nicole’s friend cast him another swift look and motioned him inside, but as he entered the apartment, she made no move to shut the door. Instead, she gathered a coat and purse from the small kitchen table.
He stood watching Nicole, unsure what to say, how to proceed. She was glued to the television, unaware of anything else. Coming here to see her, he’d been unable to formulate any sure plan to win her. He’d poured his heart out for the world—and her—to see and, trusting his fate, had come to find her. Only now did he wonder the next step. What could he say to make her give him another chance.
He would promise her the moon, but could he make her see the change in him?
Still watching the television, Nicole shivered and wrapped her arms around herself as the winter chill from the open door quickly lowered the room temperature. But she didn’t look away from the screen.
Beside him, the small brunette was putting on her coat. Catching his eye, she put a finger to her lips, casting a cautionary glance toward the back of Nicole’s head. Grinning, she waved goodbye before she turned to leave.
The door closed quietly behind her, shutting him in with Nicole and the voice of Johnna Rinaldi
“Were the stories true?” the taped Johnna prompted.
“Not the ones that had me exchanging blows with my brother. But I can’t deny behaving badly at that time in my life. Isolation can motivate terribly bizarre behavior. Stupid behavior. Most of what was said in the press was exaggerated, and some venues even manufactured aspects of the story, but I’m not denying I’ve made some mistakes. Usually not the ones reported in the media, but mistakes, all the same.”
Standing in the gathering warmth of Nicole’s small kitchen, watching her watch him, Max winced at the inadequacy of his words.
“So there was some truth to the stories?” Johnna pressed.
“Damn, damn, damn,” Nicole muttered, apparently talking to her now-absent friend. “Why didn’t Ruth lay some ground rules about this? She could have made sure they didn’t give him crap about Alexa!”
Max said nothing, so moved by the angry concern in her voice, he could only struggle against the lump in his throat. How could she still care about him and his feelings? After the things he’d said to her, did she still care?
“Not everything printed was true, but some of it was. I behaved badly. I don’t deny that,” his televised voice said, “Not as badly as many people speculated, but I’ll say this…I can never sufficiently regret the episode that hurt my brother. I was an idiot and a fool to have allowed even the suspicion of misconduct.”
Even over the airwaves, Johnna’s gaze seemed compassionate. “Are you still involved with Alexa Tucker?”
“No. God, no. We were never intimately involved, regardless of the rumors.”
“Wow,” Johnna said with the easy warmth Max now believed to be genuine. “Maybe the gossips have wanted to rip away the ‘perfect’ persona and show that you’re as human as the rest of us.”
“I’m very human. Too much so,” Max said.
“So, you’re stating for the record that you were never involved with your brother’s wife,” Johnna said.
Still standing between the closed door and a transfixed Nicole, Max shifted on the balls of his feet, unsure when to reveal his presence. He loved her so much and so desperately needed her to give him another chance.
“No. We never had an affair, but that old gossip isn’t really important to me, except that it hurts my brother. Pete and I have recently come to realize how important our friendship is.”
Hearing his own voice answering Johnna, Max took several steps into the living area. Surely, she’d look up any minute now.
“You’re working on a new book, aren’t you?” Johnna asked.
“Yes,” he heard the wry note in his own voice. “Always.”
“You’ve been known for writing stories that illuminate the challenges we face in life,” the talk show host said. “In
Bondage
, you took on the American attitude of exchanging our freedom and our integrity for monetary gain. Specifically, you were writing about the corporate climate in this country.”
“Yes.”
“You have also written commentary on religion and education.”
“I don’t know that I’d call it commentary,” he demurred. “I write fiction.”
“But you do show fictional characters struggling with these dilemmas?” Johnna insisted.
“Yes.”
Max watched himself squirm. He never knew how to talk about his work. Explaining his personal take on his books hadn’t ever been easy, but he’d done it this time for Nicole. Done the whole interview to somehow reach her. Did she have any idea why he’d taken such a large step?
He shifted to the side, trying to see her facial expression in order to gauge her response.
“What aspect of our lives will your new project skewer?” Johnna Rinaldi asked.
Max watched himself take a moment to answer. “The book I recently turned in isn’t an attempt to ‘skewer’ anything. It’s actually a…different kind of book.”
“How so?” Johnna asked.
“Oh, Max,” Nicole said sorrowfully. “I can’t stand it, Claire. He tore that beautiful story apart.”
From his position behind her, Max watched himself squirm. “This project is more…optimistic. It’s about relationships and how people actually change other people by helping them see that they can be better people. It’s about love.”
“Interesting,” Johnna commented. “The book isn’t due out for several months.”
“No.”
“Why are you here now?” She looked at him, an encouraging smile on her face.
It seemed like a long moment before Max looked up and offered, “I’m attempting to become more…engaged with the world. More open.”
Would Nicole recognize her influence, he wondered, surprised she couldn’t hear his ragged breathing behind her.
“Yes, you mentioned that,” Johnna Rinaldi said. “What brought you to this decision?”
“I fell in love,” Max said in an even voice. “I met a woman unlike any other and she made me see the world differently.”
A stifled sob filled the room and Max frowned at the stiff, trembling line of Nicole’s shoulders. Was she angry? Upset? He desperately wanted to see her face, to know her reaction to his announcement, but his legs seemed paralyzed. He realized it was fear that kept him from striding forward and making himself known.
Would she reject him? Still be convinced he was socially dysfunctional? Even making these attempts to reach out to the world more, he was abysmally aware of his shortcomings. Could Nicole accept him for who he was?
Max felt glued to the floor just outside of her line of vision. Any minute now, there would be a commercial break and she’d turn around to discover him there.
In some ways by standing here unbeknownst to her, he was invading her privacy. Max couldn’t help but realize she might feel very angry about it.
“She’s changed my outlook,” his televised image said, “and I desperately need to let her know how much I love her.”
“God. Oh, God,” Nicole muttered.
Was she actually crying? Max frowned, confused and unsure what to do.
“So that’s why you’re here today?” Johnna’s question held satisfaction.
“Yes,” Max confirmed. “She watches your show regularly. Even tapes it when she’s working.”
“You’re using our interview to reach out to your lady love?” Johnna asked, delighted and obviously flattered.
“Something like that.”
Nicole burst into tears, her face buried in her hands.
His heart wrenched, Max strode forward, “Don’t! Don’t cry, sweetheart.”
Nicole jumped at the sound of his voice. She swung around in her chair, the television forgotten, and gasped out, “Max! What are you doing here?”
“I’m sorry!” he said, kneeling beside her. “Please don’t cry. I don’t ever want to make you sad again. I can’t make any promises about that, but I’ll never want to make you sad.”
“Max!” she said again, staring at him with drenched eyes. “How long have you been here?”
Glancing around the room, she saw her friend was gone.
“Did Claire let you in?”
“Yes,” he said, still kneeling beside her chair. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“She let you in and left?” Nicole asked.
“Yes.”
“My God, Max,” Nicole said, searching in her lap for the television remote to stop the tape. With another click, the room was silent.
“Max,” she whispered, gesturing at the television. “I can’t believe it. You—you said such…did you mean what you said?”
He couldn’t help but laugh even though the sound broke in the middle. “Yes. Do you think I’d go on national television to tell you I love you when I don’t mean it?”
Silent, her gaze searched his face.
“Say something. I’m waiting and I’m terrified,” he said. “I love you. You’ve rescued me from the incredibly lonely place I’ve lived most of my life and I’m afraid you can’t stay with me. Won’t stay with me. Am I too socially-deficient?”
“How’s the manuscript coming?” she asked, an uncharacteristic guardedness in her expression. “And have you really learned to type?”
Max took her hand in his. “This isn’t about the damned book. Yes, the book is done!
“After you left, I raged around the apartment, didn’t sleep for several weeks and cursed you for leaving. Then, I cursed myself for letting you go. I told myself I didn’t love you. I didn’t need you. I was going to get on with my life…only I couldn’t.”
She looked at him, her face reflecting her uncertainty.
“Then it hit me how much I love you. I was walking the streets, lost and empty. I came home and sat down at your computer and starting writing.”
“At the computer?” she asked in obvious disbelief. “You never touch it.”
“I touched it because you’d touched it,” he said, his lips twisted with the irony of his own pitiful despair.
“So…
you
typed the book?”
“Yes.” He laughed. “Didn’t you think I had it in me?”
“I think you can do anything,” Nicole said positively. “I’m just shocked that you would type it.”
“I wouldn’t have before I met you,” he told her. “I couldn’t even write when you first showed up outside my door. I was dried up and empty. Cold inside and out. But you’ve brought me back to life. I love you…and I need you. Please, let me in your life.”
“You want me…to come back to New York and…live with you?” she asked, her face confused, her hand trembling in his.
“No,” he shot back. “I want you to marry me. And I don’t care where we live.”
“Max,” she said in painful accents. “The last time I saw you, you not only told me you didn’t love me, you told me I didn’t matter to you!”
“I know,” he replied promptly. “I’ve regretted those words at least once every hour since then. I’m an ass, Nicole. But I’m not stupid—“
“No,” she agreed, shaking her head as a brief smile curved her lips. “No one could call you that.”
“—and I’ve come to realize several significant things since then. First off, you…impact me. You get to me and that’s damned scary.”
She looked at him, her face troubled.
“But that’s not always a bad thing,” he hurried to say, frustrated at his own inability to better articulate his feelings. “You also help me, even when you’re nagging at me and screwing with my mind. You make me better somehow.”