A Hot Mess

by Brandi Evans

  But why send this packet a month before showing up at Boudoir Fashion Week and rattling Max? Wait, a month ago…

  A month prior, Max had gone suddenly distant for about a week. I remembered fearing his actions signaled the beginning of the end of our relationship. It was also about the same time he'd offered me something I hadn't thought of as odd at the time, but in hindsight, it looked suspect as hell now.

  Frustration rocketed to the forefront of my frazzled thoughts. "Is this why you offered me that huge, money's-no-limit anniversary present? You were testing me?"

  He didn't have to answer in words. The guilt saturating his features said everything. "I didn't want to believe I was wrong about you. About us. But I had to be sure. That voice in the back of my head was screaming, the one that had gone dormant since I'd been with you, and I just had to be sure. And what you asked for was the only confirmation I needed to prove to me what we have is real."

  Have.

  Is.

  Present tense.

  "I offered you everything," he continued. "Anything you wanted. Money was no object. And what's the one thing you asked for?"

  I didn't respond. Answering felt like offering a lifeline, and I wasn't ready to forgive him for not telling me. Maybe I was being a bitch and a half, like Giselle. Max had trust issues—severe trust issues. I knew this. Of course, he'd need affirmation of my true intentions; every woman in his life had seemed to screw him over. If I were in his shoes, I probably would have done the same damn thing.

  No. If I'd have been in his shoes, I would have fucking talked to him about it, something he seemed incapable of doing—talking.

  "You said you just wanted to go somewhere where we could be alone," he finally said, answering his question. "You didn't even care where we went. The world at your fingertips, Breanne Jennings, and all you wanted was me. It was all the confirmation I needed."

  I wanted to pick up the laptop on his desk and throw it at him. "Damn it, Max. You should have told me right then!"

  "I didn't want to worry you."

  "And how's that working out for you?"

  He winced as if I'd hit him. "I immediately put my entire security division on it. Hell, I even hired outside private investigators to figure out who sent it. I was trying to handle it, but—"

  "No, you should have told me the truth!" I shot up from my chair, overwhelmed with the sudden need to move, to work off some of my frustration. "Not that I should really be all that surprised. You never fucking tell me anything!"

  "I was just trying to protect you."

  "Then. You. Should. Have. Told. Me. My father's sins have followed me all my life, but if you had told me about this, we could have been proactive. We could have come forward ourselves with the news. We could have told the media together and taken the power out of Giselle's threats."

  "You would have told the world your secret?" He looked positively shocked.

  "Yes, you big stupid idiot, I would have! The whole drive over here, I was freaking out because I was afraid you thought I was just like my father, that I'd only gotten in a relationship with you in some stupid attempt to get at your money. I was positively terrified you'd think I'd broken your trust, just like stupid Giselle and Gina had. Do you know what that was like for me? I was worried sick, but the entire time, you already fucking knew!"

  "Bree…" He reached for me, but I pushed his hands away.

  "Just don't. I'm still too fucking mad."

  "I never thought about it like that. I thought I was doing what I needed to do to protect you."

  "And while that's noble and all, if you want this to be a two-way relationship, you've got to talk to me. Trying to get anything out of you is like pulling teeth."

  Even as I said that, I felt a pang of guilt. I'd kept things from him, too, but only this. Only my father, that small, insignificant portion of my life that really didn't pertain to me personally, to who I was now.

  The rationale was probably the same that Max used about his past, but there was a key difference. I'd wanted to talk to him about my past. I'd just felt trapped by legalities.

  "I barely got a single detail from you regarding Gina," I pushed on. "Y'all's relationship, what she did to you, is irrevocably bound to your psyche, and it nearly destroyed us before we even really began. And now, here comes fucking Giselle, affecting you negatively all over again, and just like last time, you won't fucking tell me about her, about what she did that hurt you so badly."

  He sunk into his desk chair, looking as defeated as I'd ever seen him. I sat, too, and for a long time, neither of us spoke. Silence stretched on, but too much still needed to be said. So, I took a deep breath and pushed on, calmer, softer.

  "Giselle's a mega-bitch, but that kind of information gathering is way beyond anything I'd imagine a scorned ex to pursue, so this is bigger than some simple college breakup payback, but I have a feeling you already know that."

  He pressed the sides of his fists to the top of his desk and drew in a single breath.

  "What're you not telling me?"

  "A lot," he admitted. "But it's a very long story, and I don't want to get into it here. I'd actually planned to tell you most of this when we went away this weekend."

  I almost reached for his hand. Part of me wanted to tell him I'd planned to share my secret this weekend, too, although I wouldn't have had a secret weighing heavily on my heart if he'd have talked to me a month ago.

  "Where did you want to go?" I asked. I might still be beyond pissed at the entire jacked-up scenario, but the idea of finding a private place to have this long-overdue discussion sounded better than staying here with that big-ass window behind me.

  "The company keeps an executive suite at one of my hotels downtown, so I thought we could go there. Going home seems too risky; so does going back to Whitecliff Park."

  He didn't need to explain why he didn't want to go back to Whitecliff; he might run into Giselle. Granted, she'd been banned from the premises, but Théo had found his way back after he'd been banned. And given the amount of press likely stalking about the place right about now, how hard would it have been to sneak back in?

  "And you'll tell me everything about Giselle?" I asked.

  He nodded. "You deserve the truth, but more than that…" He reached for my hand, but this time, I didn't back away. "I don't want to lose you."

  I didn't want to lose him, either, but so much damage had already been done today. Talking was undoubtedly a step in the right direction, if we stood a chance at fixing this, but it might not be enough to repair the damage this day had brought.

  Max sat on the beige leather sofa in the center of the Lone Star Executive Suite, a second glass of whiskey cradled between his hands. The last time I'd seen him so distraught was the night he'd told me about Gina and the guilt he'd harbored since her death, but this was different. Did that mean what Giselle had done to him was that much worse than anything that had happened with Gina? Or did the depths of his pain simply mean hurting me hurt him more than anything he'd ever experienced?

  With unsteady feet, I turned away from him and stepped onto the balcony, too emotionally exhausted to deal with my pain while seeing his. Part of me remained angry, but another part wanted to comfort him. It was a juxtaposition I couldn't deal with yet. I wasn't ready to forgive his betrayal, and I wasn't sure I'd ever be if I was honest. But none of my anger stopped me from loving him.

  Across the way, Reunion Tower stood tall, a glowing ball in the Dallas skyline. Seeing the structure usually lifted my spirits; Max and I had met there for my final interview, what seemed like a lifetime ago. Being with Max and sharing dinner with him among the clouds had been the beginning of the end for me. I hadn't stood a chance. I was the job candidate. I was supposed to be the one to wow him, but he'd been the one to wow me. I wished I was there now, in that time before we'd become lovers, before we'd even become boss and employee, when I was just an awe-struck girl starting a new, exciting chapter in her life. Before my world fell apart fo
r the second time.

  I backhanded away a tear, steeled myself for a conversation I probably wouldn't like, and stepped back inside. Our room was divided into separate sleeping and living spaces, a temporary apartment as opposed to a hotel room. The bedroom was to my left, an unlit fireplace fitted into the shared bedroom and living room wall. A full-sized kitchen, dining area, and built-in entertainment center gave the space an upscale, spacious feel I wished my apartment had. It had all the amenities a billionaire was accustomed to, but Max didn't seem to notice any of them. He was a man as broken as I'd ever seen him.

  "Max," I began, but his name was the only word I got out. I wasn't any surer how to start this conversation than he probably was.

  "Giselle and I dated when I was at Oxford," he finally said. "I told you that much, but what I didn't tell you was that she and I were engaged for nearly two years."

  Eyes closed, he shook his head as if trying to keep some painful memory at bay, and judging by the ever-increasing wrinkles forming around his eyes and the lines in his forehead, he wasn't succeeding.

  He tossed back the last of his whiskey and slammed the glass on the coffee table, all without looking at me. "We met during our first year at college. Our relationship wasn't some instantaneous explosion; it was a slow burn. I had trouble opening up to her, and she didn't push me for more than I was able to give. I thought she was sweet, and eventually, I started to care about her. Aside from my friendship with Garrett, I'd never been close to anyone else. My father had been an abusive bastard, and my mom had checked out emotionally when I was twelve. I'd always told myself I was better off alone, but as I started falling for Giselle, I realized just how much I'd been wrong. And for the first time in my life, I found myself wanting to be with someone else."

  He held a hand out for me. I wasn't sure if the act was his way of placating me, apologizing for having a life before me, or if he merely needed my touch. Either way, I sat on the coffee table in front of him and placed my hand in his. I wasn't ready to sit beside him, but I couldn't deny him my touch when he looked so hollow and lost. I just couldn't.

  He brought my hand to his lips before continuing. "We'd just gotten engaged when I landed a job at a local real estate firm. I wanted to start building our future." He kissed my hand again before pressing the back of my hand to his cheek. "I started by doing bookkeeping at night, my junior year. I studied every document I could get my hands on, and by summer, I already had a good feel of the business. So, when I was home over the summer, I talked Garrett into buying this tiny rundown two-bedroom bungalow near the beach of our hometown. We worked our asses off that summer and sold the place for four times what we paid. He took his portion and pursued his design career, and I founded Whitecliff Properties. Within a year, I was already making six figures, and after graduation, I folded a small investment firm into my business portfolio, and things exploded up from there.

  "Giselle had a panache for design, so I took some of my earnings, as well as sweet talking some of my clients into buying into this struggling fashion company near her hometown of Arcueil, France. We rechristened the business Dubois Fashions, a subsidiary of the newly formed Whitecliff International, and I made her head designer. I also gifted her with twenty percent of the company as a birthday present. We planned to travel the world together, showcasing her designs wherever we could find a venue. For the first time in my life, I was genuinely happy, and I thought she was, too—at least until the weekend we met Théo Fucking Roux."

  His features hardened. My initial reaction was that Max's anger was showing through, but no, this was something darker than rage. Anger was there, yes, but it was laced with pain and betrayal. Giselle had cheated on Max with Théo; I knew this. Judging by Max's haunted expression, however, cheating definitely was only a fraction of what they'd done to him.

  I tightened my hand around Max's, urging him forward. I'd been suspicious of Théo, yes, but mainly because of his proximity to Giselle, not because of him specifically. For the most part, I'd just thought he was manipulative. Just how off was that initial assessment?

  "We were at a fashion show in Milan when we first met Théo," Max explained. "He came from old money, and for two kids who'd grown up with next to nothing, we were taken in by his flattery and old-world charm. I can't tell you the moment I realized there was something off about Théo. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, and when I brought it up with Giselle, she told me it was all in my head. As I look back, I think that was the moment I truly lost her, and by the time my reservations bore any fruit, he'd already driven a wedge between us. But make no mistake, what he did next—what he convinced her to do to me—was more than a simple affair. It was a strategic act of war." Max paused and looked me right in the eyes as if his next words were of the utmost importance. "Théo Roux is a fucking sociopath. He didn't just take Giselle from me; he convinced her to destroy me."

  "What?" I asked. At least, I'd moved my lips to form the word, but it didn't escape the emotions lodged in my throat.

  "Once Théo had Giselle under his spell, he convinced her I was trying to hold her back, and they made a play to take over Dubois Fashions, the company I'd purchased and turned into a firm on the cusp of worldwide stardom. For her. They went to every investor and tried to buy every share they could get their hands on. They betrayed me on every level, and for a few brief moments, I thought they were on the verge of actually breaking me."

  His voice took on an edge I'd never heard from him before. It was some unholy mixture of anger, regret, and heartbreak all rolled into one, and I couldn't keep my distance another second. I pushed to my feet and climbed onto his lap, wrapping him close. He pressed his cheek against my chest, and I rested my cheek against the top of his head. Holding him was the only way I knew to respond.

  "They tried to run me out of my own company, and when I'd gifted Giselle with twenty percent of the company, I'd been left vulnerable, because I'd only retained forty percent for myself. I needed to shore up another eleven percent, and when the dust settled, I'd managed to grab sixty-four percent. I beat Théo at his own game, and I still own that sixty-four percent."

  "You do?" I didn't know.

  "Yes. To this day, I hold controlling interest in the company. I let her run it however she wants, and I take my contractual share of the profits and donate them to charity. I don't need the money, but I take it to serve as a reminder I could ruin her at any time. I know it's stupid and petty, but it also serves as a reminder to me to never trust anyone."

  "My god, Max. I'm so sorry."

  I closed my eyes and kissed the top of his head. I knew he had trust issues—god, did I fucking know about his trust issues—but every time I learned another piece of the painful past that shaped the man crumbling before me, I crumbled a little, too. Would each new revelation feel like a stab to the gut? I was starting to understand why Max didn't talk about his past. He was still trying to escape it.

  "I'm so sorry, Bree. If I'd have let go of the company when Giselle approached me several years ago, then I probably could have saved you this heartache."

  With tears pulling at my resolve, I pulled back and looked into his tormented blue eyes. I immediately wanted to look away. The regret and self-recrimination looking back at me tore at my heart. "Why didn't you?"

  "Because I hated her, and I didn't want to give her anything she wanted." His words were matter-of-fact.

  "And the blackmail?"

  "Once I figured out it was her, I was even more steadfast in not giving her what she wanted. I didn't trust her to keep the information she'd learned about you private once she got what she wanted. Especially when I learned Théo was still in the mix. With that bastard involved, there would be no set rules. I thought not giving in was doing what was best for you."

  I wanted to kiss his stupid face and punch it at the same time. "Well, considering she sent the info to the media anyway, looks like your instincts were dead-on."

  He shook his head. "That's what I don't understand. By l
eaking your past to the press, she blew her only bargaining chip. Now that everything's out in the open, she has to know what my next move will be."

  "Which is?"

  "To crush her. Swiftly."

  The words made me shiver. "What does that mean?"

  "For starters, I'm going to dissolve Dubois Fashions. My lawyers are already drawing up the paperwork. She's finished. By the time I am done with her, she won't even own the right to use her own name in any professional capacity. Not to mention, everything she's done, everything's she's designed, it's all tied up and bound to the company I own. When she hurt you…" He drew the back of his hooked index finger along my cheek. "Nobody hurts the woman I love and walks away in one piece. Nobody."

  The woman I love…

  God, he was fucking killing me.

  We'd never used the "L-word" aloud. Goddamn, his stupid timing, why did he have to wait until our relationship was hovering off the edge of a crumbling cliff face to use those words for the first time? I wanted to return the sentiment. Despite everything, I still loved him—so much—which was why this hurt so fucking much.

  I held back verbally using the "L-word" and, instead, told him I loved him in a different way. "I don't care about what Giselle and Théo did to me, not really. Do I wish my life hadn't been turned upside down? Of course! But for you, there isn't any hardship I wouldn't endure, but—"

  "Bree, please—"

  I shook my head. I wasn't nearly finished yet. "It hurts that you hide yourself from me. A lot. I feel as if I'd barely scratched the surface of who you really are. I'm not talking about stuff I can read about you on your company bio page or Wikipedia or one of the millions of tabloids who love to feature you every other day. I don't care about the billionaire. I want to get to know the man behind it all. I want to know about the little boy who felt emotionally closed off from his parents. I want to know how that same little boy managed a childhood with an absent mother and an abusive father. I want to know how that little boy turned into the man I'm looking at right now. Those're the things I care about, Max. You're what I care about. That's what you don't seem to understand. I want all of you, the good, the bad, and the shitty."