9

I don’t know where I’m going to land, but I know it’s going to hurt.
“Cadence?”
The police were here to question me. It’s not the first time, but it reminds me I’m vulnerable, that I’ve hidden secrets and information and have so much to lose—
I’ve always prided myself on not being a crier so I can’t understand the pinpicks in my eyes until the tear trickles down my cheek.
“Hey,” Max says gently, reaching for my hand. I snatch both of them off the table and press them against my mouth to block the cry, the sob, the scream that bubbles up. Through tear-filled eyes, I see him motion to the waitress for more tea. “Hey.”
“You can go,” I tell him, my voice unrecognizable.
“Why would I want to do that? You’re upset.”
“I’m not.” I swipe away the pool of wetness under my eyes. “I’ll go. Thank you for…” Where do I have to go? I need to make sure Max won’t say anything to the police, and for that I need to offer him an incentive…
“You’re not going anywhere,” he insists, a note of authority in his tone. “You’re going to sit here and drink more tea and tell me about your friend. Because you just lost him and you have every right to be upset.”
I meet his gaze, warm and sympathetic and caring.
I’ve never had a man look at me like that.
“In fact, I’ll have some tea with you.” He smiles at the waitress who sets down a new pot for me. “One more of those. And I think I’m finished with these eggs.”
“Can I get you anything else?” She looks at me, but it’s Max who answers.
“Can we have two of your lemon-cranberry scones? You look like the lemon scone type,” he says to me, his full lips curving into a soft smile.
I nod. Lemon is my favourite flavour.
“Very good,” the waitress says as she backs away.
I glance around the dining room, the very same one I sat in with Novi last night where he ate chicken piccata with delicately roasted potatoes, asking for green beans instead of baby carrots because he hated carrots. Now I’m drinking tea with a stranger and Novi is dead.
Another bubble rises in my throat and I wonder if I’m going to be sick.
“Is this the first person you’ve loved who has died?” Max asks. He refills my cup before filling the cup the waitress bought for him.
I shake my head. “My mother.”
“Ah. Another with the dead mother card. You can really get away with so much with that.”
I pause with my cup halfway to my mouth. “Pardon?”
At least he has the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just something Marco and I say. Both of us lost our moms, you know, and when we were in school, we would use the excuse that our mothers had died when we were assholes. Dead-mom card.”
I can’t believe he says that. When he was being irresponsible and immature, using his mother’s death as an excuse, I was hiding my loss from everyone, not the pity. Not wanting anyone to realize how important my half-brother and sister were to me since they were the only part of my mother I was left with.
When he was playing his way through school, I spent my eighteenth birthday working a private party and made five hundred dollars for letting a drunk groom-to-be motorboat my breasts.
I never spoke of my mother because I couldn’t handle anyone saying the words: Your mother would be so disappointed in you.

Max’s life couldn’t be any more different from mine. We both may have lost our mothers, but the Stonee’s have money—old money. Money that will go to Max whether he works for it or not, same as Preston Tate.
I worked for every penny I have, worked in ways that Max could never imagine.
The hot tea has trouble passing through the lump in my throat. “I see,” I finally say.
He studies me for a moment. “Obviously not, because you think I’m an ass for bringing that up.”

That produces the barest of smiles. “I don’t. I never talked about my mother with anyone so that wasn’t an option.”
“No one?”
“My therapist,” I admit. “It took quite a few sessions.”
“Dead mothers always do. Tell me about Novi, the second person you’ve loved that has died.”
Did I love him? Lying beside him in the bed last night, it was easy to say that I did, but now in the light of day…
I don’t know.
I respected him, and admired his business acumen. He taught me so much about taking risks and covering your back and knowing when to walk away.
I think I should have walked away years ago.
“He liked to think he could control me,” I begin, eyes on the pristine white cloth covering the table. The shining cutlery nestled perfectly in the snowy napkin.
Novi demanded perfection.
When I look up, Max is watching me. “But he couldn’t, because you are the wild bird beyond anyone’s grip,” he says.
“Not exactly.”
“But pretty close. I’m very good at reading people, you know. Now, tell me the best thing about Mr. Tate.”
“He was the first man who ever respected me.”
Max leans back in his chair and studies me like he’s reviewing for an exam. And for the first time, I feel like someone sees me. Really sees me.
I’m not sure I like it.
“I imagine that was what won your loyalty, then. Because a woman like you—a woman who looks like you—isn’t often afforded a lot of respect. Am I right?”
I nod even as I fight to pull myself together. No one should see me like this—vulnerable. Open. Max is reading me like a book and no one does that. Because I don’t allow it.
Seeing me exposed, and knowing what’s going on under the surface is an open invitation to hurt me.
It’s why I don’t do relationships.
“He was a good man, then, even though he wanted to control you. I guess most men want to control you. See you as a possession.”
“Who are you?” I demand.
He tips an imaginary cap to me. “Your new best friend.”
“I don’t have best friends.”
“Which is why you need me. Next question: What was the best piece of advice Novi ever gave you?”
“To respect myself,” I say softly. “And that I needed to have more fun.”

“Everyone needs to have more fun. I think those we both excellent pieces of advice. In fact, I’m sure I can help you with that one. The fun one.”
I smile tightly. Negotiations will begin. He will make an offer, one I will counter. We’ll do the dance until we can conclude our deal with me ending up naked, probably in his bed.
I’m hollow inside. The news about Novi hit me like an axe chopping through a tree, bound and determined to bring it down. I may not be hauled down to the police station but this isn’t over.
But there’s no time to deal with that because I owe Max a favour, and I always pay my debts.

I give a delicate shrug and sip my tea. “What can I do for you?”
“A few things.” Max leans back in his chair and studies me with a hopeful expression.
“You have a list?”
“I was wondering if you’re busy this weekend.”