With the First Goodbye (Thirty-Eight Book 5)

by Len Webster

  “What song is that?”

  A small, sad smile deepened on her lips. Her chin dipped, and her gaze fell on the box as she reached up and brush at her cheeks.

  She was crying.

  Max cupped her jaw and lifted her face so he could see her. The fragility and sadness in her eyes were heartbreaking. She was crying, and she had tried to hide it from him.

  “La Vie En Rose,” she answered in a small voice. “That’s the song.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he admitted as his thumb brushed away the tears that escaped her.

  “It’s—” His phone beeping caused her to stop. “You should get that,” she urged with a pleading smile.

  Max dropped his hands from her face and nodded. He scrambled off her bed and bent down to pick up his phone that had rested on his white business shirt. When he unlocked it, the worst kind of message for a Saturday greeted him.

  Dad: Max, need you at the firm as soon as you can make it. It’s very important.

  He groaned and swiped his shirt from the floor. His suit jacket was folded over the leather couch in Josie’s lounge room. He glanced over his shoulder to find Josie with a hairbrush in her hand, staring at him.

  “Gotta go?” She didn’t seem upset. It was refreshing to see the understanding gleam in her eyes. Sarah never got it. Never got why his career and his father’s firm took him away from her. But Josie did. She wanted a career in the very same profession.

  Max stood, spun around, and threaded his arms into the sleeves. He didn’t miss her eyes dropping to his naked chest as he buttoned his shirt. He bit back a smile, afraid of embarrassing her if he noticed her staring. In fact, he loved that she could possibly find him attractive.

  “I do,” he confirmed as he shoved his phone into his pocket and picked up his belt. Max then passed the leather belt through the loops of his pants and fastened it. “It’s my dad. I’ve gotta head down to the office. I’m sorry.”

  She smiled. “Don’t apologise. I understand.” She set her hairbrush on her bed. “I’ll walk you out.”

  He shook his head, receiving a raised brow from her. “Stay in bed.”

  “Why?”

  “You’ve still got a mild fever. You’re sick, Josie. Back to bed.”

  “But …”

  “Seriously, get some sleep. I’ll message you later to check on you.”

  She folded her arms over her chest, trying to evoke a stronger stance. The beads of sweat dotted her forehead once more. “I’m fine.”

  “You’re not.” He rounded the bed and set his hands on her shoulders then ushered her back into bed. When he flipped the blanket over her, her hairbrush fell to his side of the bed, and her glare accompanied the tight line her mouth made. “You’ll thank me later.”

  “I will do no such thing.”

  He laughed at her defiance as he reached over and picked up her music box. He carefully set it on her bedside table then bent down and pressed his forehead to her warm forehead. “Then sleep for me.”

  The way her eyes softened stole the beat his heart had made and the air his lungs had just inhaled. She was beautiful. Succumbed to sickness and all, she was beautiful. And he hated knowing she was there all this time and he had missed her.

  Missed her in his sickening love for Sarah.

  Missed her in his fruitless chasing of Andrea.

  She was there, and it took him a long time to appreciate what she was capable of. The influence she had in his life.

  The coercion to make him a better man.

  “No wonder you’re a lawyer,” she said with a huff and rolled onto her side.

  “And why am I a lawyer?” he asked with a layer of humour in his voice.

  Josie closed her eyes. “You just don’t play fair,” she mumbled. “You and your words don’t play fair.”

  I affect her.

  The thought had him smiling as he stood. “Sleep well, Josie.”

  She made a humming noise.

  Max made his way towards her bedroom door and stopped when he heard her say, “Max …”

  He glanced over his shoulder to find her propped on her elbows. The fear in her eyes almost had him running to her, but he told his legs not to move. To wait for her to speak.

  “Yes?”

  “I think you need to watch the entire series …” She took a deep breath. “Without me.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if Luke gets Lorelai,” she explained as she laid back down.

  He wanted to say more.

  Beg her just to tell him the ending.

  All he wanted to know was if he got the girl.

  If Max could have Josephine.

  But it was a lot more complicated than just a TV show dictating their ending. Max still had a past. Still had sins he hadn’t been forgiven for. He wasn’t the man Josie deserved just yet, but he was working towards it.

  Deciding to let her sleep rather than ask her more questions, Max spun around and opened her bedroom door. He stepped out and closed the door behind him. He was tempted to leave another note on her bedroom door but decided against it. He’d already written her one after Stella had suggested he take part in their tradition. Last night, Max had learnt where they had gotten the inspiration for their sticky note communication system.

  Gilmore Girls.

  When he made it down the short hallway—which was only really a wall that separated the rest of the apartment from Josie’s room—he spotted his suit jacket hanging over the leather couch. Then he noticed Josie’s best friend and roommate, Stella, sitting on the other couch with a cup in her hand. He walked to the couch and picked up his jacket.

  “Morning,” she greeted with a smirk on her face.

  She knew something.

  What? He didn’t know.

  But she knew something.

  “Morning, Stella.”

  Her eyes had run down his body before that smirk faded and she raised her brow at him. “Your belt isn’t done properly, and your shirt isn’t tucked in.”

  He glanced down to find she was right.

  “Do we need to have a talk, Max?” He heard both the teasing and warning tone in her voice.

  Max would fix his belt once he got to his car. He had to go home, shower, and change before he headed to work. He shook his head at Josie’s best friend.

  “You were the perfect gentleman and didn’t touch her?”

  “I didn’t touch her,” he promised.

  Stella let out an exhale, leant forward, and set her cup down on the coffee table. “Is Josie still asleep?”

  “She’s getting there. I told her to go back to sleep.”

  “Good.” Then Stella’s facial features hardened. “So …”

  “So?”

  “How do you like Gilmore Girls? Think your answer over carefully because it might get you on the no-visiting-this-apartment-again list.”

  He chuckled. “It’s not a bad show.”

  “Thoughts about Dean so far.”

  “Not for Rory,” he admitted—not to be in Stella’s good graces, but because he honestly didn’t like Dean.

  “I like you,” she declared. “You’re allowed over with my blessing.”

  “Thanks, Stella. I’ve gotta get ready for work. I’ll see you later.”

  Her grin returned. “Counting on it. If I miss you meeting Jess, can you tell me your thoughts the next time I see you? Or you can leave a sticky note on my door. I need to know your thoughts before you meet Logan.”

  Max laughed. “I promise I will.” Then he waved goodbye and began to make his way towards the front door. He halted his steps, remembering what Josie had told him in her bedroom. Max let out a sigh and quickly spun around. “Stella?”

  She tilted her head in his direction. “Yeah?”

  He knew he would sound insecure if he asked, but he had to. It didn’t matter that he suddenly began to feel hot and uncomfortable all over under her sceptical glare. “Does Luke end up with Lorelai?”

  Stella’s eyes widened as h
er lips slowly parted. She mulled his question over for a long while, and then her lips tugged into a small smile. “Do you want to ruin the journey of experiencing something like that by me telling you how it ends?”

  The experience.

  The journey.

  He wanted that with Josie.

  He needed to feel it and to witness it.

  He didn’t want a spoiler.

  Max shook his head. “No, you’re right. I don’t want to ruin it.”

  Stella’s smile deepened. “You deserve to experience every amazing thing about it.”

  “Thanks, Stella.”

  Just as he was about to turn, she said, “I just want Lorelai to be happy.”

  The way she said Lorelai, he knew she really meant Josie.

  “I do too,” he agreed.

  I want Josie to be happy.

  “What do you think, Maxwell?” his father asked from across the boardroom table.

  Max sighed as he glanced down at the file once more.

  It was a new case his father was considering taking on.

  But his father never rushed his decision to represent a client. He was careful in his consideration. Not that he ever represented the easy cases he’d win in court. His father loved a challenge.

  And this murder case was a challenge.

  It was a contract for hire case.

  His potential client had claimed he was innocent the moment he was arrested and the media caught wind of the murder.

  “It’s going to be hard to convince a jury,” Max pointed out. “The IP address doesn’t lie. He was there, Dad. It puts him there as reading and sending those emails.”

  His father nodded. Then he picked up the case file and sighed. “I believe he’s innocent. He could be my first loss in court, and it would severely hurt.”

  “Your ratio,” Max deadpanned.

  “No, it will hurt me morally because I know he’s innocent. Some of the other clients I’ve represented have always had a speck of guilt on them. But with circumstantial evidence, I’ve been able to have the jury disregard it in order for us to win. But this one, I just know we’re missing something.”

  Max was stunned.

  His father always cared about his win-loss ratio. He was famous in the legal world because of it.

  It was a supposed murder-for-hire case.

  His wife had been shot in their house, and emails were found with their potential client agreeing to the terms and conditions of his wife’s murder. It seemed too planted for Max.

  He wasn’t a criminal lawyer.

  But he knew contracts.

  And the one in the email was a standard exchange that seemed too simple and clear, begging to be spotted.

  He pursed his lips as he picked up one of the printouts of an email from the client’s deceased wife. It was an email she sent telling a friend that she had a great time at the party. But something in the middle of the email caught his eye.

  Max reached for a highlighter and read what he spotted out loud.

  “Exchange for a service. The shoes have to go.”

  It seemed strange for it to be in the middle of an email saying how much the wife had enjoyed the champagne.

  “Dad, can you have all the emails the police seized brought to my office?”

  His father’s brown eyes darkened. “Did you find something?”

  “Maybe,” he said, not wanting to get his father’s hopes up. “We need to obtain the wife’s laptop and her emails if they haven’t been submitted into evidence already. I think another contract is in her emails. I just have to filter through them to find it. It might clear him.”

  The proudness consumed his father’s face. “So we should represent him?”

  Max nodded. “I’ll investigate these emails and let you know what I discover. I have a few contracts I can set aside this weekend. This is high priority.”

  “I’ll have one of the interns bring them to your office and go through them with you,” his father said.

  “Thanks. I’ll get on it,” Max said as he collected the files his father had given him and headed out of the boardroom. He went down the hall to the last office on his right, pushed the glass door open, and made his way to his desk. He dumped the folders down on the desk once he had reached it. He knew he’d spend all weekend helping his father.

  Gordon Sheridan wasn’t one to ask for help from his son.

  Max rounded his desk and pulled out his leather office chair. Once he sat down, he pulled his phone from his pants pocket and set it on his desk. Then he rolled up the sleeves of his white business shirt until they hit his elbows. Max opened his laptop and noticed an unread email.

  He felt his heart hammer wildly in his chest when he noted the sender.

  He was torn.

  It was the first time she had emailed him back in over eight months.

  The ones he had sent after she broke up with Noel went unanswered.

  Never acknowledged.

  He was supposed to be over her.

  But seeing her name, it hurt him to remember what that kiss of hers had done to him. What he was prepared to give up for her.

  Andrea.

  To: MaxwellSheridan@GordonSheridan.com.au

  From: AndreaWallace@GandMC.com

  Subject: G&MC welcome package.

  Dear Mr. Sheridan,

  As advised by Mr. Gregson at the recommendation from Mr. Parker, please find the G&MC welcome package. Inside, you will find information about our accounting company and history—as well as an overview of what you will be assisting with during your time with us. I have also been advised to attach the expense packet. It has your daily expenses budget, hotels of your choosing, and a list of the company approved airlines you may wish to use to fly to Boston, Massachusetts, from Melbourne, Victoria.

  We do hope this information helps with your decision in assisting our legal department. If you have any questions, please reply to this email or email me directly at: XenaDavenport@GandMC.com

  Kind regards,

  Xena Davenport

  Executive assistant to Andrea Wallace.

  Senior supervisor.

  Legal Department.

  G&MC accounting firm.

  Max’s heart dipped.

  It wasn’t Andrea.

  It was her assistant using her email address.

  If G&MC were playing games to get his interest, they had done right by using Andrea’s email account.

  The hope that radiated from seeing an email from her sickened him.

  She played and toyed with his emotions.

  She had left him a wreck.

  Max got out of his inbox and opened his sent folder.

  He scrolled down until he found one of the emails he’d sent Andrea.

  Taking a deep breath to ease his anxious heart, he clicked on the email and opened it.

  To: AndreaWallace@GandMC.com

  From: MaxwellSheridan@GordonSheridan.com.au

  Subject: Us.

  Andrea,

  These games you play, they’re killing me.

  I just need you to be honest with me.

  You can’t tell me you’re confused when we both know how right that kiss was. Yeah, I feel like a shit friend for doing that to Noel. But you even said it didn’t feel like Noel loved you anymore.

  That you felt DISCONNECTED from him.

  WE connected.

  We have to discuss this.

  You broke up with him and messaged ME minutes later.

  Make a choice.

  I can fly to see you when you’ve made it.

  But don’t forget to tell me when you do.

  I can wait, Andrea.

  But I don’t think I could wait forever if you keep throwing this ‘it feels right with you, Max, but I love him’ talk in my face.

  Max.

  He scrolled to find another he had sent her.

  To: AndreaWallace@GandMC.com

  From: MaxwellSheridan@GordonSheridan.com.au

  Subject: He’s engaged.


  Andrea,

  He proposed to her.

  They came back, and she had his ring on her finger.

  I’m not telling you this to hurt you.

  I’m telling you because you may love Noel, but he loves HER.

  And I know it’s going to be hard for you when they return.

  But I just want to say that I hope you meant it when you said that you respected Noel’s decision to be with her.

  Please don’t hurt them.

  They belong together.

  Although I care about you, he’s my best friend.

  I love Noel like a brother.

  And I’ve already hurt him and Clara enough.

  Please understand them.

  Max.

  Then he clicked on another.

  To: AndreaWallace@GandMC.com

  From: MaxwellSheridan@GordonSheridan.com.au

  Subject: They have a house together.

  Andrea,

  My emails are probably sitting unread in your inbox, but I don’t care.

  Open one.

  Any one of them.

  Just reply and tell me you forgive me for confusing you.

  I kissed YOU.

  I’m NOT sorry.

  But you’re making me feel horrible things every time I look at him.

  I look at him and want to confess and rip his happiness away from him and make him feel the pain you felt when he told you it was Clara.

  How fucked up is that?

  I want to hurt MY best friend FOR YOU.

  To make YOU feel better.

  I want to kill him for making YOU weep.

  For making YOU feel so little.

  That YOUR love was never enough to him.

  I don’t want him to be happy if it means YOU’RE unhappy.

  This isn’t fair, Andrea.

  YOUR silence isn’t fair.

  Not when I confess my heart TO YOU and betray him.

  I PICK YOU, GODDAMMIT.

  YOU.

  YOU. YOU. YOU.

  I FUCKING PICK YOU!

  Max.

  Pain.

  It entered his chest, found his lungs, and burned them alive.