Maximum Commitment (Sin City #13) - Tricia Owens Page 0,26

would keep delusional people away. “You sure you’re okay with the flight?”

“I’m great. Thanks, Ethan. I owe you.”

Uneasy, but with no other choice, Ethan watched Theo climb aboard the helicopter and fly off. Only after the aircraft was a speck heading toward the Strip did he turn to the terminal to deal with Freckles and the police.

Chapter Five

Maxmillian tried not to frown as he reviewed the latest reports that his father had submitted regarding possible sites for a London-based expansion of The Elite Poole Worldwide. He was familiar with the real estate market there, though admittedly he didn’t keep an eye on it day to day. However, he was nearly positive that the numbers in his father’s report were inaccurate. Highly inaccurate.

He minimized the reports and brought up several sites showing current and estimated retail space rental prices, as well as real estate brokerage sites that would give him an idea of how building sales were running. As he checked site after site, he gave in to the frown he’d been resisting and embraced what he’d suspected—his father was lying to him.

He closed out the tabs and sat back, his gaze drifting to the closet, where the two overcoats still hung. Max had been intending to bring them home, but continually forgot. He was beginning to wonder if his forgetfulness was by design. His subconscious had known something was up.

The coats were not a gift, they were a bribe.

He checked the time and was thankful that the day was all but finished. He wrapped up the last of his business and turned off his computer. He walked through the halls of the office and stopped in to visit with the agents that were present. The atmosphere didn’t appear to have changed since he had revealed his relationship with Ethan. It was something he monitored regularly, because it could be a cancer that could metastasize. Becoming involved with an employee was unprofessional enough. That they were both men was a further complication.

However, nothing much seemed to have changed in the way his agents interacted with him. Ethan hadn’t reported any differences, either. It was a big bullet to dodge, which Max attributed to his careful selection of agents. His meticulous hiring process had ensured he had the best men and women employed, and he was proud of them for proving his intuition correct.

Content that all was as it should be here in the offices, Max drove himself home. It was too early to head to the restaurant for dinner, so he showered and relaxed with some Pinot Noir while enjoying the view from the balcony. An hour passed this way, much to his surprise when he checked his watch. His thoughts were disorganized, his mood unsettled. And then the email arrived.

He read it on the balcony while the wine in his stomach turned sour. He had to set the wineglass down so he didn’t inadvertently snap the stem.

“Calm,” he murmured to himself as he stared blindly at the casinos stretched below and before him.

After another half an hour of simply breathing, he carried his glass inside and began dressing for dinner.

Icelandic food didn’t sound particularly appealing, although Max was a committed foodie and was curious about trying the new dishes. At the moment, though, his appetite was nothing but a memory. He hoped he would be able to eat anything at all.

Earlier in the evening, he’d received a short, cryptic text from Ethan informing him that he’d be late due to a last-minute event. Ethan hadn’t elaborated on what this unscheduled event could be, which Max interpreted as a problem. Max was dismayed on Ethan’s behalf. Theo Smith had been an irritation for Ethan since the beginning. Perhaps this could have been avoided had Max denied Smith’s agent’s the request for Ethan specifically. The benefit of exposure wasn’t always worth it, which seemed to be the case here.

The result for now was Max waiting at the restaurant, alone, and resisting the call of a martini at the bar. The restaurant was busy, but from what he could see it was elegant and designed well so that tables offered a modicum of privacy in a public setting. Max opted, after several minutes of stewing, to be seated at their table. Ten minutes later, Ethan appeared, joining him with a rushed, “Sorry.”

His mere appearance lifted a weight from Max’s shoulders. No other person on the planet possessed the ability to do that for him. Max couldn’t help reaching across the table, palm up.