Page 21 of Made
I’m strolling in its direction, my heels clacking on the marble floor, when I see him. He’s split off from his brothers and chatting to one of the wait staff. The guy is laughing with his full chest, and I remember that about Maddox. The way he talked to the people who worked at the restaurant in Morocco, taking a genuine interest in their lives. Asking about their recipes. Notjust being a stereotypical traveler douchebag. He was charming, but it felt real. Authentic. I gulp, clutching my purse like it’s a shield.
Charming, right up until the point he shattered my self-confidence.
I need to get out of here. I’m too hot. The dress is too tight. Maddox is too everything. I glance at the exit, planning to make a dash, but it’s too late. As if he sensed me watching him, Maddox looks up. Our eyes meet over the crowd, and I simply cannot move. I feel like prey as he pins me down with his dark gaze.Fuckbuckets!He’s coming over.
Maddox crosses the room in just a few giant strides. Unlike me, apologizing my way through the crowd, it just seems to effortlessly part for him.
Is he actually heading toward me? Maybe I’m imagining it and the men’s room is right behind me.
No. He’s here. Right in front of me. His eyes run over my body, and when they settle on mine, it feels like they light up. Which can’t be true. Even after we reconnected, he’s only ever been polite, treating me like a friendly employee of his family’s empire.
Close up, he looks even better. That tux is definitely vintage, and even that puts a dent in the way I want to feel about him. He has all the money in the world, but he’s made a sustainable choice with his outfit. Or maybe he just doesn’t care.
“Ellie,” he says, standing close. “Wow. That dress is stunning on you.”
Is he kidding…or does he actually mean that? I’ll either be thanking Katy for pushing me out of my comfort zone or strangling her for making me believe I could pull this off.
“Oh, this old thing?” I mumble. “It’s just something I threw on.”
After hours of shopping, deliberating, and eventually clamping my eyes shut as I handed over my credit card. “But thanks,” I add.
He’s too close. I can’t breathe. His gaze rakes over me. Not in a Leery Larry way, but the kind of way that makes butterflies take flight in the pit of my stomach. “You look beautiful. Really fucking beautiful.”
I glance up. Is he mocking me? He’s laying it on too thick. I roll my eyes, even though I didn’t mean to.Shit. That was rude. I hope he doesn’t notice.
“What’s with the eye roll?” he asks immediately. Dammit. “I’m sorry if my compliment made you feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t intended to, I swear. Although…” He tilts his head, scrutinizing me a little too closely for my comfort. I feel like he can read my mind, and I don’t want him in there poking around in all my jumbled up thoughts about him. “I don’t think it was the compliment. So what’s really behind the sassy attitude, Ellie?”
Sassy attitude? Is he for real? He hasn’t evenseensass from me. Now I don’t care that he’s my boss’s little brother and feel very annoyed that he’s here, in my face yet again.
Okay, so part of me wanted to see him, but that part of me is stupid, and it needs to take a hike. This man isn’t good for me. He’s never been good for me. Him rolling up looking like a stud-muffin good enough to eat is bad. But then he patronizes me by telling me I’m beautiful, and accuses me of giving him sass when I don’t simper and fall at his feet? Maybe I was wrong and he’s another one of those assholes who expect the curvy girl to be grateful for his attention. If so, he’s going to be very disappointed.
I realize I’ve been slouching, trying to make myself smaller. I stand up tall. Shoulders back, tits out, chin up. “You obviously never thought I was beautiful when we met back in Morocco,” Isay. I was aiming for cool and dismissive, but I actually sound snarky. Which kind of proves his point about the sass. I don’t think I’m going to win here, so it’s time to make a sharp exit.
I turn to leave, following the sign for the not-so-secret garden, because I have to get away from him before I say or do something I regret. I can’t bear fakeness, and I hate the way he always acts so nice around me. He always makes so much effort, and it’s exhausting when we both know the truth. Why does he act as though he likes me when we both know I’m not his type at all?
I’ve always believed in that old adage, when people show you who they are, believe them. And he showed me his true self in Marrakech. Sure, he seems kind and sweet, but that’s just part of his charming persona. I’m pretty sure he can’t help it and was probably just born that way. But it’s all so goddamn unnecessary.
As I retreat, he reaches out and takes hold of my arm. I snatch it away and glare at him. I did not give him permission to touch me. He frowns and takes a step back. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. But fuck, Ellie, can’t we just talk? I don’t know what the hell’s going on with us. What have I done to make you hate me so much? And what do you mean about Morocco?”
Fuck, why is he so cute? I’m trying to be angry. But he looks so confused, so adorable, so much sexier than any man has the right to be. Why is the universe doing this to me? Surely it’s not too much to ask for me to get totally hung up on a guy who’s likely to be into me back. Someone in my own league. Not someone like Maddox, who’s entirely in a league of his own.
I sigh out loud. “I don’t hate you. But please, could you leave me alone? I need to get some air.”
“Me too. It’s…well, it’s been a day. Can I come with you? Can we please talk to each other like two human beings?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. I want to say no, to tell him that we’ve done enough talking. But there’s a look in his eyes that tells me he needs this. That he’s struggling. My compassion kicks in when I realize that he’s in some kind of pain, and that maybe I can do something about it. Or not, depending on how honest the conversation gets. My issues with him aside, there was a time when we bared our souls to each other, and he might just need that again.
“Okay. But I can’t promise to say anything you want to hear, Maddox.”
“That’s okay. I’ll settle for the company.”
We walk outside together and find a courtyard set up with cute seating areas. It’s winter in New York, and I shiver as the cold air hits my exposed shoulders. The weather forecast said we could have some snow tonight, not unusual for New York in January, and another good reason not to dress like Jessica Rabbit.
“You’re cold?” he asks, noticing me shivering.
“Yes. Are you going to be all romantic and slip your jacket around me?”
He grins, and my stupid heart races. “Nah. But I could do this.” He leans across me, and my heart stops racing, almost explodes. The scent of his cologne is insanely good, and his chest is so close.
