“What is this?”
“They key to the Seattle house.” Max sighed. “I promised you I’d give it to you if you could stay in a committed relationship for longer than a week, and by my calculations”—he checked his watch—“wow, almost eight days! Well done.”
“I’m confused.” I pocketed the key. “I’m not in a relationship.”
Max’s eyebrows furrowed. “But Jordan?”
“I mean”—I scratched my head—“we haven’t labeled it or anything, at least not yet. I don’t know, man.”
“But you slept with her,” Max pointed out. “By the loud screams and banging, she could be carrying Reid Jr. and you’re not sure about it?”
“Max—” I really didn’t want to have this conversation now or explain my fears that Jordan was going to bail on me the minute I wanted to turn things serious. “We’re having fun. That’s all that matters, all right?”
Max’s mouth formed an O. “Fine, but the house is still yours. A bet is a bet. And like I said, it sure sounds like you won last night.”
“Four times.” I puffed out my chest while Max held up his hand for a high five.
“Knew you were my brother.” He laughed. “Now, make the girl breakfast. It’s the least you can do after all you’ve put her through.”
“Right.” I eyed the fridge. “You gonna help?”
“Sorry.” Max made a face. “I’m busy doing anything but that. Besides, all I managed to grab at the little store in the lobby were a few protein bars, so you probably need to order room service.” He yawned. “And our plane leaves in four hours, so get the girl up.”
“Right.” I snatched the room service menu and padded back to the room.
Jordan wasn’t in bed.
Frowning, I went to the bathroom and knocked. “Hey, we need to order some breakfast, you know what you want?”
Her reply was muffled. “Um, just order me some oatmeal with fruit or something.”
“You sure you don’t want something more substantial? We had a long night last night . . .”
“No!” She shouted. “No, that’s . . . it’s fine. That’s fine.”
“Are you showering?”
“Yeah.”
“Want me to join you? I can—”
“Actually, I just finished, sorry. I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Oh.” I licked my lips. “Okay, I’ll just grab your oatmeal then.”
“Thanks.”
I walked off, a bit confused, but then again, women were usually weird after sex, right? And she was probably just doing what Jordan does, which is overthink every damn thing. I made a mental note to ask her if she was okay. I typically didn’t do that thing where the guy talks to the girl afterward and makes sure everyone’s on the same level.
But for her I would.
Because I cared for her.
Because I saw myself with her.
Not just next week.
But years from now.
The smile was back full force as I made my way back into the main living area and grabbed the phone to order breakfast.
Max. Huh, I had to hand it to him—despite his insanity, he kind of brought us together.
Not that I’d ever thank him.
Because thanking Max would be admitting he was right—and I didn’t want to do that. Ever.
So for now, I’d just mentally give him a significant nod and pat on the back.
It’s all he was going to get.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
JORDAN
I wiped the tears from my eyes, but they just pooled with water again! I fanned myself over and over again, then reapplied my waterproof mascara.
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
I kicked the tiny metal trash can in the corner, then crossed my arms as my body convulsed with hurt.
A bet.
I was part of bet between the millionaires. How stupid could I be? I never saw it coming, maybe because Reid really is that great of an actor.
I could get over that part, if he maybe explained to me the reasons behind it.
But when Max asked him about us and he didn’t say anything? He made it sound like I was a conquest.
And that there were no feelings behind our night together.
I’d heard the entire conversation. I wasn’t one of those girls who got so hurt she ran off before she heard the guy defend himself or defend her. Read that book, watched that movie.
So like an idiot, I stood in the hallway and waited in painful silence. I waited for Reid to correct himself. I waited for him to say something romantic. I waited for him to defend our relationship.
I waited and I waited.
And he made a joke about owing me breakfast.
And that was it.
There was no admission of feelings.
There was nothing.
By then, tears were streaming down my face, and I had no choice but to pretend like I was showering when really I was bawling my eyes out and trying to calm myself down.
He was a lying bastard. A lying, cheating, horrible, bastard son of a bitch! I had a very vivid daydream about stabbing him with my hair pick but knew the plastic wouldn’t do the damage he deserved. Plus, kicking him in the balls seemed like a more painful option.
But the problem?
He was my client.
Still my client.
I needed him.
He needed me.
I gripped the countertop. “You can do this,” I said to my reflection. “You’re a professional. Act like it.”