Page 61 of Mr. Wilde

But going there with him doesn’t feel like an option. I need to do this. Baby steps, I tell myself. Leaving the sanctity of this place for his hotel feels more like a giant leap off a cliff. But as I follow Max toward the exit, I realize I’m already mid-air.

In my dad’s old beat-up car, I follow along behind Max while panic rises in my throat like a bad case of heartburn. The closer we get to his hotel, the more worried I become that I’ve made a terrible miscalculation.

What happens if this quieter change of scenery becomes a precursor to another mistake? One I’ll both be replaying, and probably regretting, for a long time.

I again picture the desk in Gianni’s office. The way my resolve shredded into confetti. I shake my head. It’s not too late to turn back. Just tell him you’ve changed your mind and don’t think it’s a good idea.

Pulling into the space next to Max’s dark gray Audi RS, I turn off my car. The sight of his is a stark reminder that mine might not start when it’s time to go. As I step out and lock it, I catch the odd expression on his face.

Max senses my wariness instantly. He holds up his hands as if trying to reassure me. “It’s the presidential suite at The Windsor, Cassidy. Not some seedy pay by the hour roadside motel.”

I chew on my lip. The fact it’s the Windsor isn’t the issue. Heck, we managed to get it on in my boss’s office the last time.

As if he can read my mind, he adds, “We can prop the door open if you’re afraid of being alone with me.” He sounds as if he’s trying to coax a child who’s afraid of monsters under the bed. “I’m only suggesting here versus my home office because I live so far away on the Potomac. With the traffic at this time of day, it would take forever to get there.” He runs his hand through his dark hair. “I usually fly in, but I drove this time. So I’m staying at The Windsor for the next few days.”

Like going to his home would be any better.

He thinks I’m somehow afraid of him. I’m more afraid of me. Of giving in to what I want, even if it would come back to hurt me in the end.

Max is being practical. He isn’t the flirty guy from a week ago. He’s a very Type A man who gets the job done. He merely wants my help to solve a puzzle. Nothing more.

I look toward the front entrance of the palatial hotel. “The presidential suite,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “Is there actually an office in there?”

“Yes. A full desk, high-speed fiber, and enough monitors to make you feel like you’re back in your digital forensics lab.” He chuckles with a ghost of a smile. “And like I said, they have the good coffee.”

“If the place has such a good set up, and stellar coffee, why come to The Devil’s Playground to work?”

He reaches behind his neck, rubbing what I can only assume are tense muscles. I can’t help but get sidetracked as his biceps dance in his shirt sleeves. “Truth? I told you. I don’t perform well when it’s too quiet. I either get distracted by the slightest noise outside the door, or if the silence lasts too long, my mind wanders. The club gives me enough background noise to allow me to focus.”

I chance a look at him and cautiously start walking toward the entrance. Max looks exhausted, as if he hasn’t slept well. He claims he isn’t a good man, but here he is, offering to leave the door open just to make me feel safe.

“Okay,” I say, more to myself than him. I mean, we’re walking to the door. “You don’t need to leave the door open. I’m just not sure I’ll have any better luck here than at the club. And I don’t want to get your hopes up if I have to head back and we’re no closer than before.”

“Fair enough. I appreciate you giving it another shot.” He continues walking beside me, but drops back to place that electric hand on my lower back as we enter the doors to the lobby.

I have to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of the situation. A girl who just wiped down tables in an exclusive gentlemen’s club is about to enter the presidential suite to help a billionaire cyber tech CEO with a personal project.

How is this my life?

The Windsor is exactly what I expected. It’s all gold leaf, marble, and hushed voices. I bet his stay in the presidential suite could cover the cost of my tuition. Following Max’s sleek ride in my rattling sedan felt like a parade of the haves and the have-nots, but I’m determined to enjoy the evening and give the phone records another go.

Max ushers me toward the shiny gold elevators, and I watch the hotel guests come and go, trying to calm my nerves. I stare up at him. Why does he have to be so damn delicious? Is that what’s making my pulse race?

The elevator doors open, and I briskly step inside, trying to avoid his hand on my back again. I’m too anxious to allow that jolt of electricity to come into contact with my body. I spin to face the front as he quickly swipes his card, allowing the elevator access to the top floor. Oh, how the other half live. My eyes are trained on the glow of the buttons before me, the restaurant menu beside me, and the artistic ceiling. Anything to avoid making eye contact with the hot man next to me.

Jeez, this is awkward. I hope I can concentrate on work once we’re there, or I’m going to be a hot mess.

We reach the top floor, and as the elevator dings, I push down the lump in my throat. Max again swipes his card, this time swinging open the double doors to the presidential suite.

My jaw drops to the floor. This place is massive. It honestly doesn’t look like a hotel room at all. He extends his hand to allow me to enter a sprawling living area. Off to the side, there’s a dining table that could seat a small board of directors. And, true to his word, there’s a workspace that looks like a high-tech nerve center tucked into a corner of the suite with a panoramic view of the city.

“The door is open,” he reassures, pointing back toward the hallway. He doesn’t look at me as he drops his bag on a leather chair. It feels as if he’s back to being all business.

“Honestly, you can close it, Max. I’m good.” The proximity here is better than Gianni’s office, but the current silence of the suite makes the noise in my head louder. I guess I understand what he meant earlier.

“Okay, talk to me,” I say as I sit down in front of his laptop.

He chuckles. “I wish I understood how you did it.”