Breaking the Billionaire’s Rules

by Annika Martin

  “It would turn into a circus. A performance.”

  It comes to me here just how much he hated being made to play. To perform. The child prodigy alone on the stage. I feel this wave of compassion for him. “But you like teaching?”

  “I love it. I love getting kids to connect with the music, but not forcing them or shaming them. Just…showing them. I love when a kid catches fire with the piano.”

  Goosebumps prickle over me. He wants to give them a chance to love music. To have what he didn’t have.

  “Do you feel like you’re undoing it?” I ask softly. “With the lessons?”

  “Maybe.”

  I trace a finger over the cool, glossy keys. I play part of a scale. I can feel him cringe. He used to play scales so perfectly. “You could have a piano at your place. A baby grand.”

  He gives me a jaded look. “You know what they say about people who decorate with baby grands.”

  I snort. “Okay, Max Hilton. So who are the kids?”

  “Employees kids.” He plunks another note. “What songs are you preparing for Anything Goes?”

  “Wonderful” from Olympus on My Mind for my comic one. It’s a little risky. Bawdy.”

  “I love that for Reno. A big personality piece.”

  “I have that one down cold, but my challenge is ‘How Could I Ever Know?’ from The Secret Garden. It’s tricky.”

  “But it would show off your high notes like crazy.”

  “Right? It goes up to F5.”

  “You know you can nail that.” He plunks a few notes of it. He’s familiar with the song. At least the refrain. Then he plays a few chords.

  “You know it?” I ask.

  “Not really.” He grabs his iPad and looks up the music.

  “You’re going to play it?”

  “I want to hear you sing it, and I’m thinking that’s the only way that happens.” He’s got the music up. My heart pounds. “I want to hear.”

  It’s a marvel to watch him run through enough of it to get it down. I’d forgotten how well he can sight read, just a few stops and starts to get it in his bones and he’s on his way, making it his own. His phrasing is everything. Like he’s discovering the heart of the song. He could always do that.

  He goes to the top, giving me my way in.

  My chest feels light—I’m not sure if it’s fear or excitement. We’re doing music together. I want to jump in, but something stops me.

  “Train’s leaving,” he says, repeating the prelude, a musical question he knows I have to answer.

  We’re two pieces of a puzzle. We always were.

  He goes back to the top. I watch his face.

  He glances at me and groans and starts again. It’s a leap what I’m about to do—more intimate than fucking him. He knows it. He’s pulling me.

  I stand. I launch in. The first verse lyrical and sad—the whole song is. I sing it like I’ve been practicing.

  It was good how I did it, and then I look at him and his eyes are sparkling. Shivers go over me because he’s right in there with me.

  He comes back at me with the next verse. Max makes it seem easy. Max has a distinct piano voice, but he knows how to use it to support my voice. We sang together that summer and he knows how to make me shine. The perfect tone to enrich mine.

  We head into the song, like heading into the wilderness together.

  And then everything falls away, and it’s just us, meeting in the music. The song is heartbreaking, and toward the middle it soars operatically. When we come to the end, he moves his finger in a circle to show he’s circling back to the beginning. I head in again and we’re off.

  Flying again. Back in that magical summer, but so much better.

  He pauses when I falter, returning to just the right point to get me back. We go again and again and then back around to the front. Like if we never stop the song, this doesn’t have to end.

  It’s so beautiful and right that at one point this wave of grief washes over me. All the years of being stupid.

  He stops. “Where did you go?”

  “I feel sad.” Like sad could even begin to describe it. “We really do deserve that award. For friggin’ boneheadedness.”

  He looks at his hands, poised over the keys. Does he feel it?

  “You want to stop?”

  “Hell no.” I sit next to him on the bench and show him on the score where I’m thinking of trying something new.

  He starts back a few bars, posture erect, color high. He’s the opposite of the Max Hilton that’s offered for public consumption. He’s the old Max. Genuine. In my corner. I try the new thing. He goes back again and again. I feel like we could play forever. I want the shine of our music to push away reality. But finally I have to stop or I’ll burn out my vocal chords.

  He looks over at me.

  Smiles.

  Not his Max Hilton smile, but his goofy smile. “You are gonna kill it,” he says. “And the role is for you.” He’s up, crossing the room to a small refrigerator. He tosses me a bottle of water. To soothe my throat. “You hungry?” he asks. “I’m hungry.”

  “If you’re hinting that you want me to serve you a sandwich, you can forget it.”

  “Let’s go out. I have a standing reservation at Ralazzio. We have more than enough time to get there.”

  Ralazzio is one of the most amazing restaurants in the city; there’s a month’s waiting list for tables at least.

  “Don’t tell me you have plans after this?” he says.

  “My friend Jada has invited people to join her for drinks for her wrap. At The Wilder Club. This little place near our apartment.”

  He unscrews his own water. “Jada is your friend with the jungle kiss experience?”

  “Yeah, but she always has wrap parties. She’s in a lot of small quick shows. It’s not like, mandatory.”

  “Will Kelsey be there, too?”

  “Kelsey’ll be there.”

  22

  Never beg a woman for anything. She should be begging you.

  ~THE MAX HILTON PLAYBOOK: TEN GOLDEN RULES FOR LANDING THE HOTTEST GIRL IN THE ROOM

  * * *

  MIA

  The Wilder Club is hopping. I can tell where my group is just from the laughter in the far booth. I take Max’s hand, feeling jittery about having him meet my friends. “You good?”

  “Yeah. I’ve always wanted to meet the people who draw moustaches on me,” he says.

  I snort and drag him around a group of bright-haired neighborhood people and up to the bar. Sweat beads on my forehead underneath my hat, and it’s not just because it’s hot inside.

  Several sets of eyes follow us. People have recognized him. “Two local brews,” I say.

  “Is that the drink here?”

  “Yup.” I turn and watch him look around. It’s strange seeing The Wilder Club through Max’s eyes. It always struck me as wonderfully old school, full of aged woodwork and plants and vintage maps. Tiny brass lamps on thick, plain tables. I love the coziness of it, but Max’s habitat is made up of limos and places of airy glamour that are lit by chandeliers.

  And he looks larger than life in here, a sleek, magnificent hawk at a gathering of colorful songbirds.

  “A little different from what you’re used to,” I say.

  He pulls me to him by my scarf. “I love seeing your life.” He kisses me, and my nerves ratchet down. We’re together. We can handle this together.

  A couple of women come up and ask Max to do a selfie. He’s fun about it—he makes the selfies good, and my chest just swells to watch it. I’ve never felt so right with a man.

  “For the love of god, don’t put the location,” I say to them while Max is paying for the beers.

  “Oh my god, we won’t,” the one says. “The place would be mobbed.”

  An angry, booming voice. “You.” I spin around and Antonio’s giving Max his best Scarface meets Blue Steel. “Nobody puts their hands on my flower,” he growls.

  “Except maybe Kelsey?” I
say to him, grinning. “Can Kelsey put a hand on your…flower?”

  Antonio gives me outrage. Then, “It is in no way like a flower.” He turns to Max. “And you!”

  “Dude. The jig is up.” I loop my arm in Max’s arm. “Max, this is my cousin Antonio. He’s awesome and studying to be an actor. Antonio, Max is with me. And you’re not a murderous gigolo anymore.”

  Antonio frowns. He liked being a murderous gigolo.

  I make them shake hands.

  “You had that poor boy shaken,” Max informs Antonio. He tells us what Rollins said about him. Antonio is excited that Rollins was so convinced. Something unwinds in my belly, seeing them get along. It’s Kelsey and Jada I’m worried about, but this is a nice first step.

  “Have you ever thought about modeling?” Max asks Antonio. “I mean, if the acting doesn’t work out.”

  Antonio likes that. He’s been thinking about it, though his experience is all in Milano, he says to Max. “And for the record,” Antonio says, “I was kissing my thumb.”

  “He was kissing his thumb, it’s true,” I tell Max. “So was I.”

  Meanwhile, my gang has spotted us. We make our way over to the big corner booth. Lizzie and Jada and Kelsey are there. Antonio slides in next to Kelsey. “He knows.”

  I introduce him around. Kelsey smiles as she says hello. Jada is gracious when he congratulates her on the show, but it’s not okay. The fun has stopped and people are stiff now. I feel like it might never be okay. Is politeness between Max and my friends the best I can ever hope for?

  There’s more small talk, which is bad enough, but then he takes a book from his pocket and sets it on the table.

  The Hilton Playbook.

  And that really stops the conversation in its tracks.

  “Oh, look,” Kelsey says.

  What was he thinking? Despair spreads through my gut like acid. He wrote the book. He can’t unwrite it.

  Jada folds her arms. “You carry it around?”

  “I’ve been re-reading it. I want to know your experience with it,” he says. “You don’t have to tell me, but I want to know.”

  “How I ended up with a jungle-kissing reverse-chaser?” Jada asks. “How Kelsey lived with one?”

  My mouth goes dry.

  “I don’t know if I feel like spooling it all out.” Kelsey drains her beer. I say a little prayer that he doesn’t offer to buy a new one for her. Kelsey wouldn’t take well to that.

  Except Max really is interested, and I think that Kelsey senses it, because she launches into her story. What it felt like to have Nathan take the center stage, and be all scintillating, but ignoring her. “He seemed so funny and unique, but it was all your lines!”

  He nods. Some protective instinct seems to be telling him not to use the interview coaching analogy. “I didn’t…think it through from that angle.”

  “It’s not an angle,” Jada says. “It’s a freaking ruse. I specifically gave a guy the benefit of the doubt because of that cute dog story and it wasn’t real. I felt deceived, and I feel like your book encourages that.” She turns to the page where it says to memorize the jungle-kiss script.

  He takes it, looks at the words he wrote. They don’t want excuses, and he’s not giving them.

  “It was a bit much to suggest they memorize it,” he says simply. “They should have their own unique thing.”

  “Yeah, that’s a start.” Jada tells him her friend Gracie’s story.

  “I didn’t mean for it to be used that way,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you for saying that,” Kelsey says. “I do appreciate it.” The way she says it, though, there is a but in there. She appreciates it, but…

  Sweat prickles along my spine.

  “I mean it,” Max says. “And I think sorry isn’t enough. I’m thinking about doing a new edition. I talked to my publisher and they’ll go for it if I write it. I can encourage guys to be confident and interesting without being fake.”

  “You’re thinking about doing a new edition?” Jada sounds intrigued.

  Kelsey’s not so sure. She turns to her most hated section. More beers come.

  He’s genuinely sorry—they can all see that. But I want more. I want my friends to see the vulnerable, passionate, brilliant guy I see. I want them to see the Max who knows every word to every song of Hair and secretly loves teaching piano lessons. I want them to see the creative, thoughtful man, not the Max Hilton of Ferraris and zillion-dollar watches and devil-may-care liquor carts.

  “There’s something you’re not saying,” he says.

  Kelsey gives me an apologetic look, then turns to Max. “It’s not just about my experience; in fact that’s the least of it. Because I’ll own right now that I had a part in what happened with Nathan—your book helped get him in the door, but it was on me to see him for what he was. To not be blinded by his looks. But here’s the thing—I got burned by a guy who read your book. He only read it. You wrote it. You put down every single one of those words. How can I trust you to be good to Mia when this is the way you were directing guys to behave? People change, but do they really? Or do they just get better at hiding shit? So if you think I’m not saying something…that’s it.”

  “He’s not that guy,” I protest. “You need to give me a little credit here, Kelsey.”

  Max settles his hand over mine. “I’m going to prove you guys wrong,” he says.

  “I want you to,” Kelsey says, raising her beer. “To you, proving me wrong.”

  “He’s gonna,” I say.

  We all clink glasses. Somebody new comes by to congratulate Jada, but it doesn’t break the tension. I’m staring down the barrel of a reality where my friends tolerate my boyfriend, but secretly hope we break up. Because they don’t trust him with my heart.

  I drink my beer, but I barely taste it. I give Max a nervous smile. It was good that he tried. A standup thing to do. And there is the new edition. I suppose all he can do is prove them wrong.

  “I’m curious about your pickup system,” Lizzie says after Jada’s well-wisher leaves. “How did you develop it? How did you know what would work? You were twenty years old without much experience dating from the sound of it. Was there some sort of testing protocol?”

  I try not to stare daggers at Lizzie. I really, really wanted this topic to be over.

  Max is toying with his napkin. Like he doesn’t want to say something. So of course, everybody’s attention is riveted on him. “I was…on the other end of it, in a way,” he says.

  “The system?” I sit up.

  “What does that mean?” Kelsey asks. “A woman did a system on you?”

  “It wasn’t a system, not anything anybody was consciously doing. It was just…observing the effect of her on me.”

  I frown. Who the hell is he talking about? I so don’t want Max talking about an old crush on top of everything else. “I’ve had enough of this topic,” I say.

  “I haven’t!” Jada says. “I want to know.”

  My cheeks heat. I want everyone to stop talking.

  “She was playful and outrageous,” Max says. “A little bit bossy. And so goddamn beautiful, it killed me.”

  Antonio frowns, not loving the sound of this. I grit my teeth. What is Max doing? He would talk about some past crush at a time like this?

  “She was a force of nature,” Max continues. “And the outrageous things she’d do. With every little thing she did, I’d just want her more. She dressed so brightly when I first met her. Loud colors and metallics.”

  Kelsey listens, rapt. “The alpha-signaling.”

  Jada exchanges glances with Lizzie.

  “Yup,” Max said. “Like she was anointing herself. Choosing herself.” Max looks over at me.

  Something in my belly turns upside down. What?

  “She was the bravest, boldest woman I’d ever met,” he continues. “She came up poor; she wasn’t supposed to even leave her tiny town, but she set her sights high, believed in herself when nobody else would. Sh
e’d literally bulldoze you with her reality. And god, the stories she would tell!”

  I stare at him, stunned. “What are you doing?”

  “We started out enemies, but one summer we did this musical together, and it was the best summer of my life. But I screwed it up, and we were enemies again. Even so, I’d sneak into Miedlow Hall and listen to her sing. I couldn’t stay away from her. I loved her.”

  “What?” My voice sounds hoarse, like it’s coming from somewhere else. I feel like everything I ever knew has been turned upside down.

  “When I left high school, I was sure I’d lost my chance at love. I wrote the book.”

  “Love ruins a man. Just walk away,” Antonio quotes.

  I’m trembling inside. “Max?”

  “It was easy to go hard.” The way he looks at me, I think his entire soul is there in his eyes. “They say cynics are just disillusioned idealists. Writers of pickup books are just heartbroken romantics.”

  I’m blindsided.

  “Jesus Christ!” Kelsey says. “It was Mia.”

  Antonio gazes into the middle distance. “He wrote it because he couldn’t have Mia. His heart was broken in pieces. So he goes off to warn other men. Never pursue a woman you can’t walk away from. Never fall in love.”

  “Max,” I whisper hoarsely.

  Max presses his hand over mine. “I just love you, that’s all. I’m not saying that so you say it back. In fact, I don’t want that right now, but Lizzie asked how I came up with the system.”

  There’s no sound at the table. Everybody’s staring at me now—I feel their eyes on me, but all I can see is him.

  “Excuse me, Max Hilton?”

  I look over. It’s a couple of college kids, phones in hand.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” the one says, “but it’s my friend’s birthday…would you mind…”

  Max kisses me on the cheek and stands to do a selfie with the strangers. “As long as you don’t give the location,” he says.

  “God, right?” Jada says, eyes shining with emotion.

  I exchange glances with Kelsey while they’re doing the selfies. She’s smiling huge, her dimples deep. “Okay, okay,” she says. “That works.”