Oh…I know…because I hid my past from him like it was some dark, dirty secret I should be ashamed of. Like somehow suffering with anxiety and admitting that a job was too much for me and no one there gave a shit about my well-being was some admission of failure I couldn’t share.
I had nothing to be ashamed of. And when I looked at Jenson and Paisley in the eyes tonight for the first time since my Great Defrost, I saw just how little power they have over me now. And that is a liberating realization.
CEO Max Fletcher, on the other hand? The power he possesses is another story altogether. These emotions I’m drowning in are not the result of Jenson reappearing back into my life out of nowhere. They are because of the man beside me giving me the silent treatment.
Max pulls into his garage and shuts the car off. As we get out, I pause by the passenger side door and watch him head inside. I hesitate for a moment before turning to walk outside and back to my tiny house where I feel safe. Alone time would be good for both of us right now.
“Where are you going?” Max barks, and I look back to see him holding the door to his house open.
I swallow the knot in my throat. “I’m going back to the tiny house.”
“Alone?” he asks, his eyes swimming with so many emotions that I know I’m the cause of.
I nod woodenly, wishing more than anything he could come with me, and we could go back to the nights where it was just us in the tiny house after Everly went to bed and things weren’t so complicated. When we “did less,” it was easier. Willy-nilly was working for us. Why did we try to turn this into something more?
He grips the back of his neck and shakes his head. “So what does that mean?”
I shrug, hating the fact that he’s making me say this all now, but knowing I can’t lie to him either. I’m not okay right now. “I don’t see how we can make this work, Max.”
“Make what work? Us?” he inquires, his eyes severe even from a distance.
My slow nod causes him to slam the door shut and storm over to where I’m standing on the driveway. His tie is loose around his collar, his blond hair disheveled from the countless times he’s thrust his hands through it, and the house lights showcase the tight stress lines in his forehead.
He looks beautiful.
“Look at me, Cassandra,” he snaps, his body looming over me in all his vibrating alpha presence. “Are you ending this because you think I’m like Jenson Hunsberger?”
“No, I know you’re different than him, Max.” I inhale a deep breath, my voice weak when I add, “But that doesn’t change the fact that your company is growing. And your life is about to get a lot more complicated. I know what corporate growing pains are like, especially when you’re growing with All-Out Properties. They are ruthless and only care about money. Profit over people is their motto.”
“So I’ll fix the problems,” he responds hotly, throwing his hand out wide. “I’ll hire a company culture expert to help with the merger. I’ll add more HR. Believe me, I run my company vastly different than the man you described to me in Aspen. And just because you had one bad experience with one corporation doesn’t mean all corporations are run like that. What happened to you was horrific, Cozy. I could kill Jenson for how he handled what happened to you. But when I tell you that my assistant’s husband had his hip replaced last year and I went to the hospital with fucking Chipotle because I remember Marcia telling me that’s his favorite, I’m not lying. Not all CEOs are the fucking same.”
“Your waiting room kombucha is for clients, not staff,” I blurt and then cringe because that is so not what I should have replied with, but I have to add for clarification, “That’s something shitty that I could see Jenson doing.”
Max barks a disgusted laugh. “That kombucha is the product of one of our clients, and no one likes it. We put it in the waiting room in hopes that visitors will drink it so we can get rid of the shit. There are beverages in the employee break room that anyone is welcome to, even that shitty kombucha.”
My brows crinkle. That kombucha is such a silly thing that I have fixated on since my interview. I used that moment any time I wanted to swoon hard over something Max did for me—like make me coffee every morning or the fact that he even attempted to do bubble braids in Everly’s hair. Tears sting my eyes at those painful memories. The stupid kombucha memory was there to remind me that he could still be a douchey corporate asshole, just like Jenson.