because most people didn’t like to be told what to do. But Max had found the easiest way to get what he wanted was to do just that.
“Fine. I’ll see you in the lobby in thirty minutes.”
“It may take me longer than that.”
“Why?”
“I have to shower and then pack an overnight case.”
“What were you doing?” he asked. Jealousy pricked the back of his mind. Had she been with a man? He was her job.
And he was the one who was thinking this could be something more than gambler and hostess. He hoped he didn’t turn out like his father, desperately seeing a relationship where there wasn’t one.
He rubbed the back of his neck. It wasn’t personal, he reminded himself. But he knew that the reminder came too late. He felt something for Roxy whether he wanted to or not.
“Working out.”
“What about your injury?”
She hesitated and he knew that she wasn’t at peace with it yet. Was it recent?
“It’s fine.”
But something in her voice said it wasn’t. “You never said what type of injury it was.”
“I’m not going to, either. I’ll meet you in the hotel lobby in an hour, okay?”
“Why won’t you answer me?”
“Because it’s private and personal. Isn’t there something in your life you don’t talk about?”
There was a lot, but he had always had a knack for getting people to open up. It was one of the reasons he was so good at takeovers. He could find out exactly the qualm the other CEO had and reassure them that he’d take care of it.
“Max?”
“Yes, I have things I don’t discuss. But I’m asking about an injury, not asking you to bare your soul.”
“I wish that were true, but my injury changed who I am.”
He wished he was with her so he could read her expressive eyes instead of having to rely on the phone line to figure this out. Not being able to dance must be tied to her sense of self. He’d met dancers before. Knew that they’d usually spent their entire life practicing. Living at the dance studio and keeping their bodies in top shape.
“Tell me about it,” he invited.
She said nothing. The silence lengthened, but he knew she was still there. She was waiting him out, trying to see if he’d simply give up and hang up. But Max had made patience a priority when he was ten years old and had never forgotten it. His impatience at age ten had cost him time with his father. Something that had been rare in his childhood, and he’d never forgotten that had he waited an extra thirty minutes he could have gone on an extended weekend with his dad instead of spending time at the arcade with his boarding school pals. Nowadays he could wait for days—even weeks—for what he wanted.
“I’m not going to go away.”
“Yes, you will, Max. I can’t do this right now. I’m just your hostess. I’m not willing to be your vacation fling. That thing you did in Vegas that has to stay here because it’s a dirty little secret.”
He cursed under his breath. “You know nothing about the type of man I am if you think that I’d pursue a woman just to have a tawdry thrill to bandy about in the boardroom.”
“You’re right. I don’t know you.”
“Come to the casino with me tonight. Let me show you the man I am.”
She agreed and hung up the phone. Max left his suite and headed for the busy casino floor, hoping that by surrounding himself with people he could dull his need for Roxy.
It didn’t work.
Roxy had three dresses and four approved pant-suits that Hayden had sent to her to wear for this assignment. But they weren’t her style and she hated the feeling she got when she put them on—as if she was pretending to be someone she wasn’t.
She took the pants from one of the suits and paired them with her favorite silk halter top. She now had to wear flats instead of heels, and she hated that. Grabbing her overnight bag, she left her house without a backward glance.
She drove the same car she’d had since she’d made headliner. It was a sweet BMW Land Shark convertible. And for the first time in a really long time she didn’t have that sinking feeling in her stomach that stemmed from things lost. Instead she put the top down and let the cool summer air whip her hair around her head. She pumped up the music on the stereo, slipping in her favorite Dave Matthews CD when she couldn’t find a song she liked on the radio.
She sang at the top of her lungs to “Ants Marching” and refused to let her mind dwell on the joy that had come from…a man. It had come from Max.
His phone call. She never slept at night. No one knew that. His call had rescued her from tortured hours of trying to force herself to sleep. Trying to close her eyes and not see images of Alan’s face. Or worse, images of herself on stage performing the way she used to before the audience gasped in horror seeing her bright red scars.
Her foot slipped off the gas. Why had she let her mind go down this path?
She pulled into the parking lot of the casino and parked, but couldn’t make herself get out of the car. Suddenly everything was there. Every emotion and fear that she’d been running from, every damned thing she’d thought she’d left at her small house was in that car with her.
She put her head forward on the steering wheel and tried to recapture the joy, but it was gone. Dave Matthews kept singing, but now she felt that bittersweet emotion that came from hearing something happy when all you felt was sad.
She switched off the radio and forced herself from the car. She put the top up and locked the doors before walking toward the shimmering lights of the Chimera. The ultimate illusion, she reminded herself. She’d learned early on that illusion wasn’t bad. And the Chimera offered her an illusion of herself that she easily embraced.
She forced herself into the lobby, a smile firmly in place. She could do this. In fact, she had done this every minute since she’d come awake in the hospital. She’d learned that most people were fooled by a smile and a quick assurance, because most people didn’t like to dwell on things like her attack.
“Roxy.”
She stopped and looked at Max. He held a cigar loosely in his left hand and watched her with eyes that seemed troubled. He looked sophisticated and urban. The trappings of success fell easily on his shoulders and in the glittering crowds of Vegas she saw him for what he really was.
There was no illusion in Max Williams. There was only a solid core that made her realize he was the real McCoy. He was successful and sophisticated. She crossed to him and stood, unable to think of what to do next.
Then she remembered the old Roxy, the one who’d been so bold in life. What would she have done? She’d have wrapped herself around his arm and said something flirty.
