Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 130255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 651(@200wpm)___ 521(@250wpm)___ 434(@300wpm)
He opened his mouth as if he were about to ask me a question, but we were interrupted by a young man in a suit approaching us with a smile. He asked for our drinks order, and I shot a panicked look in Max’s direction.
I’d been too busy teasing him to even think about looking at the wine list.
Thankfully, he took control of it, ordering a Sauvignon Blanc and asking for him to give us a little longer on the food.
“A bottle? Don’t you have to drive?”
His lips twitched. “I don’t really drink that much, but I’ll have a small glass. You can take whatever is left back with you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “I saw you drinking at the bar.”
“I go in once a week to see Penny for a beer. It’s pretty much the only time I drink.” He paused. “I have a difficult relationship with alcohol.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Not me,” Max said quickly. “Well, apart from a couple of wayward university years.”
Who didn’t have those?
“Family things.”
I nodded slowly. I wasn’t going to ask. No matter how badly I wanted to—it was clearly a sore spot for him, and he hadn’t even needed to tell me that at all, so I wasn’t going to push it.
I wanted to, though.
But I didn’t.
Look at me with the self-restraint.
Go, Ellie.
“So what do you usually get here?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Steak.” Max smirked.
“You are not being very helpful,” I pointed out.
He laughed. “You asked, I answered. Let me guess, you’re not really a steak eater.”
I grimaced. “Is it that obvious?”
“Little bit.” He ran his tongue over his top teeth, grinning. “Turn the page. They have a pasta menu and a salad menu.”
“Do I look like I eat salad?”
“That feels like it’s a question I shouldn’t answer.”
“So I don’t look like I eat salad,” I replied, doing everything I could to keep my face straight.
He blinked at me. “Never mind. It was a trap either way.”
I broke far too easily, and I dipped my head to hide my laugh. “I’m just messing with you. I actually enjoy salads, but they’re much better with a baked potato dripping in butter, so it kind of cancels out all the lettuce.”
Max shook his head with a sigh. “And everyone wonders why I don’t date.”
I grinned as the wine was brought over. “I’m sure it’s really not that bad.”
“Are you ready to order?” asked our waiter, cracking open the bottle of wine.
Max looked at me with his eyebrows raised.
“Oh, I’m sorry, give me a second,” I said, turning the page of the menu to the pasta section.
There we go.
That was much better.
“Ooh… The seafood linguine looks good,” I mused.
Max nodded. “It is. Very good.”
“Then I’ll have that one, please.” I smiled up at the waiter who nodded and looked to Max.
Max ordered a steak, and we were left alone once again.
“Dating is hell,” he said, picking our conversation up where we’d left off a few minutes ago.
“I won’t disagree,” I replied. “But is it really all that bad?”
“If you think it’s bad, imagine what it’s like to be me.” He tilted his head to the side. “I have a noble title with a large, old estate, and people assume I’m sitting on some billionaire fortune, and that’s before you consider the proximity to the royal family.”
I pressed my lips together.
Of course.
I knew that.
Wasn’t that the exact reason I was using for my hero in this current book? It was one I’d used a couple of times, actually, because it was one that was easy to understand.
I was going to have to rework this book so it wasn’t so close to home.
“People see… stuff,” Max continued, waving a hand. “Aside from the fact I don’t want to date and have no desire to get married and do everything that comes along with that, it makes it incredibly difficult to find someone who has genuine intentions.”
I nodded slowly. “I can understand that. It’s not really the same, but it’s why I keep my circle small. I’m pretty successful as an author and—”
He stared at me.
“Very successful,” I corrected myself, blushing. “After my second book blew up, I went to some author conventions and things like that, and at one of the larger ones where authors were usually sponsored by their publisher, I met someone who had her first book coming out. Her publisher hadn’t paid for her to be there, she got her own ticket, and she seemed so nice. I did a panel on creating realistic conflict, and she asked me if I’d be happy to go for coffee after. We got along really well and became good friends to the point I read and recommended her debut book professionally, and when it became an instant bestseller, she ghosted me.”
Max’s mouth thinned into a line. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “It’s one of those things, you know? I wasn’t the only person she did it to. You live and you learn, but I suppose when you’re in a position of… I don’t know, power? That doesn’t seem like the right word, really, but you know what I mean.”