Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Damn. He was so not in the mood for this. I’d told Mila a thousand times this was a terrible idea. Sure, we needed the money, and this was the fastest way to get it, but I wasn’t too keen on being Maxim’s burden for the next five months.
Mila sighed, something twinkling in her gray eyes that screamed mischief. I parted my lips to stop whatever she was about to say, but it was too late.
“If it’s a big deal, I can just ask McKittrick,” she said, and Maxim’s brow furrowed. She shrugged. “He’s always been super nice to us. I highly doubt he’d mind sharing his place with Evie for a few months.”
And now my cheeks were ridiculously hot. Great.
“No,” Maxim said, his voice so damn deep that it did things to my body. It always did things to my body. The way he moved, the way he spoke, the way his eyes darkened when he went internal for too long. “You can stay here,” he said directly to me, and I swallowed hard. “The house is big enough for two of us.”
“Thanks,” I managed to say.
“Perfect,” Mila said, giving a little clap. “The last of her things are in my car.”
Maxim sighed. “I’m guessing you want me to go get them?”
“Could you?” she asked.
“No,” I said. “I’ve got it.” I moved to head back out to where we’d parked in his driveway, but Maxim shook his head.
“I’ve got it, Evie,” he said, not entirely annoyed but something was definitely bothering him. He glanced at Mila. “Did you know our father was in town?”
Oh, that explained his tone.
“What?” Mila snapped. “He’s here?”
“Take that as a no,” Maxim said, rubbing his palms over his face.
My heart clenched for him. He’d never had a great relationship with his father, but it’d gotten worse over the last few years. Not that he ever spoke about it. I just picked up on it whenever we were around him.
“So that’s why you’re in a mood,” Mila said.
“You would be too if he’d given you a surprise visit.” Maxim gave her a warning glare.
Mila huffed a laugh. “Yeah, like that will ever happen. He doesn’t give a shit about the gallery or what Evie and I are building. What we’ve been working on and saving for since we started college. He’s way too wrapped up in living through you—”
“He’s not living through me,” Maxim said. “He’s trying to turn me into him.” A muscle in his jaw ticked, and I had the urge to step into his space and smooth my fingers over the strained muscle. Wanted to soothe this old hurt, wanted to help him carry the weight and pressures his father constantly placed on him.
But, since we weren’t even close to that kind of friendship, I stayed right where I was and did my best to become invisible. It wasn’t that hard, seeing how Maxim didn’t look at me as anything other than Mila’s best friend. I wasn’t on his radar in the way I’d secretly hoped for years and I never would be. Maxim had a type—tall, leggy, model-worthy, and camera ready.
I was the exact opposite. Curvy, glasses, and I loved to take the photos, but never be in them. And that was fine with me. It was safer to never be noticed, because then I never ran the risk of being hurt.
“You’re nothing like him,” Mila said, and Maxim blinked out of the cold stare he’d drifted into. “Maxim, you’re—”
“Give me your keys,” he said, reaching out his hand.
Mila sighed and tossed them to him. He spun on his heels, the muscles in his back tensing as he walked out of the kitchen.
Mila turned to face me, a bright smile on her face. “See,” she said. “This is going to be perfect.”
“Did you have to pick the room directly across from him?” I asked Mila a few hours later as we finished unpacking the last of my essentials—clothes, my favorite books, and my camera equipment. The rest of my stuff was in storage for the next five months until Mila returned and we could go back to Operation Open Gallery.
It’d been our dream for longer than I could remember and with us both so close to finishing our MFA programs—hers in art history and mine in photography—we were closer than ever to achieving that dream. I’d hustled all first semester, taking over the max load of classes in order to finish the program in a year. This semester was much lighter, thank God. Plus, all the money we’d bank from me living rent-free at Maxim’s, while subletting our place, would put us way ahead.
“Yes,” Mila answered, helping slide one of my suitcases into the oversized closet. “This is the second biggest room. Of course, I’d pick this one for you.”
I chewed on my bottom lip, sinking onto the edge of the king-sized bed covered in blue bedding that was almost the same shade as Maxim’s eyes. “I still don’t feel right about this,” I admitted. “Shouldn’t I at least pay some rent?”