The Forgotten One (The Heirs #2)

Chapter Thirty

Max stood beside Jeff’s truck; both him and Tucker were inside the cab to make the drive back to the high desert.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Max told them both.

“I can think of a couple million ways,” Jeff said, joking.

Max nodded. “I’ll be sure and play Secret Santa for your kids next month.”

“Deal,” Jeff said. For the hundredth time since they’d arrived at the Beverly Hills home, Jeff stared up at the house in wonder. “This is beyond nuts.”

“If I’m still in this place come summer, we’ll get together for a barbeque. Let the kids swim until they’re exhausted while we toss back a couple beers.”

“Sounds good,” Jeff said.

Max addressed Tucker. “You have my number, kid. If you run into any trouble or your old man gives you a hard time, you know how to get ahold of me.”

“Thanks, Mr. Smith.”

“Max,” he corrected for the tenth time that day.

“Thanks, Max.”

That was better.

“Nicole wanted you to know the offer for Thanksgiving still stands.”

“Has your wife taken any cooking classes this year?”

“No,” Jeff chuckled.

Max didn’t need to say more.

Jeff put his truck in drive.

Max stepped out of the way. “Drive safe.”

Jeff placed two fingers to the brim of his baseball cap and saluted him.

Max watched as they drove away.

Back in the house, Max stood in the foyer and listened to the echo of silence.

The kitchen was too far away to hear any of the appliances circulating on and off. There wasn’t any discernable noise coming from the furnace or pipes flexing under the pressure of hot or cold water running through them.

Just lots of empty, quiet space.

Moving into the mansion had been the best possible solution to his immediate need to get out of Palmdale.

However, he didn’t see himself living in the giant estate all by himself for any length of time.

It felt too quiet.

What he needed was music. Something that made him feel like himself instead of a fish out of water.

He and Chase had found the brain of the house when they’d camped out there the weekend before. The brain serviced a Bluetooth sound system with well over a dozen speakers throughout the home.

Max wound his way through the hallways until he found the house system. Once he landed on a station that offered a mix of music he recognized, the house felt a smidge smaller.

He worked his way upstairs and down the main hall to the primary bedrooms.

Chase and Alex both encouraged him to take the biggest room in the house, claiming there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell they’d sleep in their father’s old space.

To them, they saw the old man.

To Max ... it was a bedroom larger than the rental property that he’d just vacated. There was a fireplace and a balcony ... an en suite bathroom with a shower fit for five people at one time, a tub, double sinks, and a walk-in closet that would look completely empty once Max’s clothes were hanging from the rods.

Max removed what was left of the dead man’s personal belongings and tossed them on the bed in the adjacent room. He’d take his time boxing it all up once he finished unpacking his own stuff. Max had barely finished flinging one empty box to the side when his phone rang.

Sarah’s name on the screen made him smile. “Hello, Lois Lane,” he answered.

“Should I be offended with that title?”

“Are you?”

She paused. “No.”

“You answered your own question. How are you?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

Max removed a stack of jeans from a box. “I prefer lies,” he smirked. Said no man ever.

“I’m frustrated,” Sarah told him. “Sexually frustrated.”

Max dropped the jeans on the island in the walk-in closet and walked straight to the bathroom. “Ten minutes to shower and thirty minutes to drive to your place.”

“I’m already headed to my car. No telling who Teri is going to bring home on a Saturday night.”

Max put his phone on speaker and pulled his shirt from his body. “I like the way you think.”

“I like that you’re no longer two hours away.”

“There isn’t a lot of food in this house.”

“I’m not hungry for food.”

Max’s cock twitched. “The wine cellar is full.”

“We’re golden, then.”

Max turned the water on in the shower. “Drive safe.”

Sarah ran her leg along Max’s, their bodies warm, sated, and coming down from the cloud Max had taken her to. Curled beside him, her ear resting on his chest, she said, “We’re really good at that.”

“We are,” he agreed. “I’ve finally found a woman who matches my appetite.”

“You mean you’re not offended that I speed-dialed you for a booty call?”

Max’s chest shook when he laughed. “Use me anytime you want, Sarah.”

She snuggled closer. Studied her hand resting on his bare chest. “When was the last time you had a girlfriend?” she asked.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Last spring. If you wanna call her that.”

“She wasn’t a girlfriend?”

“We dated a few times, got together a few more.”

“What happened?”

Max stroked Sarah’s hair as they talked. “She left things at my house the first night she stayed over. Then again the next.”

“Too much, too fast?” Sarah asked.

“Demanding and jealous,” he replied.

Sarah made a mental note to take her toothbrush with her when she left.

“What about you? Who was the last lucky guy?”

She dug back a year. “Met a guy online last year. We didn’t make it past a month.”

“That’s something I’ve never done,” he told her.

“Online dating?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s overrated. Ninety percent of the people out there misrepresent themselves and when you meet them in person, they are entirely different. From the way they look to how they act.”

“That’s what I’ve been told and why I’ve never bothered.”

Sarah shifted until she was looking up at Max. She wanted to ask what he thought about monogamy ... or better yet, make sure he knew that she had no intention of seeking the attention of someone else. “I think you need to know something about me.”

His smile wavered slightly. “Okay?”

She took a deep breath and then blurted it out. “I don’t know how to be in a sexual relationship with more than one guy at the same time. Teri has no problem, makes it look easy. And no judgment from me ... but it’s not something I’ve ever been able to do.”

Max studied her. The corners of his eyes held amusement.

He said nothing, and Sarah kept going.

“I’m not saying that has to be you. I mean, that you can’t ... wait, no. Of course you can. If that’s what you want.” Oh, God, she was babbling, and Max wasn’t saying a thing. “I could tell you that I wouldn’t be jealous if I saw you with another woman ... but I’d be lying.”

It took forever for Max to say anything.

“Thank you for your honesty.”

That’s it?

She tried not to feel disappointed.

And failed.

“You’re not a jealous woman,” he told her.

The image of Max holding another woman put a bad taste in her mouth. “I don’t know about that.”

“If you were, you’d have been bent out of shape when Kristy and I kept going over old times.”

“She was married.”

“When did that ever stop anyone who wanted to step out?”

Sarah considered Max’s biological parents. “I guess.”

He ran his thumb along her jaw. “I have zero desire to spend any of my time with another woman, Sarah. I hope you’re okay with that.”

Sarah bit her lip in an attempt to hold back the smile she wanted to shine all over the bedroom.

She blew out a breath. “I’m ... I’m good with that.” Her attempt at being nonchalant was ruined by her smile.

“I’m glad we agree.”

“Then you should know I have an IUD. I’ve had it for three years and plan to have it replaced in two.”

Max nodded; his amused smile fell slightly. “Condoms are a habit,” he told her.

“I would imagine. Considering how you grew up.”

He shook his head. “I’ve never had an STD and would like to avoid any in the future.”

“Same,” she said.

His hand slipped to her arm; his eyes never left hers. “On my twenty-first birthday, I had a vasectomy.”

It took a full ten seconds for his words to sink in.

“Are you serious?”

He nodded once, pushed his frame up so he was leaning against the headboard.

Sarah shifted until she was sitting facing him, her legs crossed, the sheet draped over her lap, the rest of her open for his gaze.

“You never want to have kids?” she asked.

“I never want to be responsible for my child ending up in the system.”

Her heart flipped in her chest. His words felt raw and open like a wound.

She placed a hand on his leg. “I’m sorry, Max.”

His jaw tightened. “I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

“Too bad.”

That seemed to amuse him.

“I’ve been researching everything about child abandonment and foster care and neglect ever since you told me your story. But all I’m doing is reading. I’m not living it. My God, how desperate you must have felt to make such an irreversible decision at such a young age.”

“It was the right decision,” he told her.

“I’m not arguing that. I’m acknowledging the pain. And I am sorry.” Emotion built behind her eyes.

Max’s gaze softened. He reached for her face. “Come here.”

Sarah leaned in and pressed her lips to his.

A single tear slid down her cheek.

Max brushed it away, rolled her until he was pressing her against the mattress, and made love to her slowly and completely.

The condoms were left on the nightstand, unused.

“Do you mind explaining this?”

Sarah had no sooner sat her butt in the chair behind her desk after two solid weeks of being away from the office than Patrick stood hovering over her with a picture of her and Max having lunch together in a popular Malibu restaurant. The image was taken with a long lens, the picture slightly grainy and in a rival tabloid. The headline: “Local Reporter Getting the Inside Scoop.” The innuendo came across loud and clear.

Sarah always found it ironic when a tabloid got things right.

“You can’t believe everything you read in the paper,” she told Patrick.

“Don’t give me that shit, McNeilly. This is one of many shots of you and the newest Stone.”

“Smith . . . not Stone.”

“Don’t give me your lip. Are you in bed with this guy or what?”

Sarah was fairly certain Patrick meant that metaphorically, but she called him out anyway.

“Who I spend time with when I’m not working is truly none of your business. In bed or out.”

Patrick placed his hands on his hips. “I didn’t ask if you were sleeping with him, though you answered that question. I don’t really care how you get the story. That’s on you. I am asking what the story is. Where is the exclusive he promised? Everyone is asking questions about the mother—is she alive, dead? What?”

Sarah expected the interrogation and had already written an approved piece for the magazine.

“We don’t know. And the last thing Max wants is for this paper, or any other paper, suggesting that he’s searching for her. Which right now, he’s not,” she lied to her boss. “I’m putting the final touches on the next Maximillian Smith story, where he explains that he is grappling with his new reality and wrapping his head around his sudden freedom from the working world. He answers the questions anyone in his position would be asked. What do you do when you suddenly find yourself floating in money and the media are following you around? What was it like when you walked into your biological father’s home for the first time? What do you think about your brother and sister? That is the next story, Patrick. The mother can wait.”

“I’m not okay with that.”

Sarah felt her spine stiffen. She was banking on the success of her original exclusive to skate her through the next few weeks before she had to give anything remotely juicy to the magazine. “What’s not to be okay with?” Sarah asked. “It’s an exclusive. I’m the only reporter telling Max’s personal story.”

“It sounds like a fluff piece.”

“It is, but this interview will still sell copies of the magazine, and other news outlets will quote us in theirs.”

The look on Patrick’s face said he wasn’t happy. He lifted his hand and placed his thumb and his index finger a centimeter apart. “Do I need to remind you of how close you were to being fired less than a month ago?”

She swallowed. “Didn’t I deliver what you asked for?”

Patrick narrowed his gaze. “You’re only as good as your last piece. I want the dirt, McNeilly. You know that. I know that.”

“There isn’t any dirt. Not that I’ve heard.”

He placed both hands on her desk, stared down at her. “Would you spill it if there is?”

Her heart started to race. “These are good people, Patrick.”

“Bullshit. Nobody with that kind of money is squeaky clean. Everyone has skeletons in their closets. You just need to start opening the right ones to find them.”

“What about a series on the children left in group homes and foster care? The forgotten ones. Something Max can give us some insight on.” She wanted so much to do something worthwhile ... bigger. Not sling bullshit.

She could see already that her boss wasn’t into it.

“Our readers like gossip, not facts.”

“Max’s story is riddled with facts.”

“Is there something juicy in the man’s history? Did he fall in with the wrong crowd? End up getting his high school girlfriend pregnant? Juvie hall ... what?”

“No,” she denied. None of those topics had come up, and Sarah hadn’t asked.

“Then leave The Forgotten Ones for the great American novel everyone seems to be writing and stick with the topics that sell, not depress.” He started to turn away and hesitated. “I have a hard time believing you’re going to give me anything worth printing if you’re sleeping with the subject. And before you start quoting sexual misconduct laws, I need to remind you that the Smith/Stone piece was your life preserver at this paper. I want a reason not to fire you with every piece you send to my desk. Is that clear?”

She swallowed. “Crystal.”

Patrick walked away, and when Sarah looked at the hands in her lap, she realized they were shaking.