Dirty Boy (29 page)

“All right, then. Here’s your dilemma. A young woman is in a hospital waiting room for a chance to see a friend in ICU. She strikes up a conversation with a young man and soon discovers this man’s father will die. He has a week at most. But there’s an insurance policy that expires at midnight. It’s worth a million dollars. The dying man’s family is in desperate need of this money. If they don’t get it, they’ll lose everything. So the man asks the woman to go into the room and smother his father before midnight. Should she? After all the man’s dying anyway and his family needs the money. What’s right? Murdering a dying man? Or allowing his family to lose much needed money?”

“He could kill his father himself.”

“He’s the beneficiary of the life insurance. They’d lose the benefits,” Winston countered.

Story clenched her fingers together.

“I can see your answer in your eyes,” he said, before she came up with a response. “Sometimes, you have to choose between morals and survival. We’d like to think we’d all walk in the light of morality but life doesn’t work that way. Do you know why my sons named their company Dirty Boys?”

“Because of their behavior.”

“Well, that’s obvious and simple. Max said it takes dirty boys to face a dirty world.” He smiled at her and glanced at his watch. “The boys needed a chance to catch up. I think an hour is enough time.”

“If you say so.”

“I do.”

“So what now? What’s next?” As far as she knew, nothing had been resolved. He’d only given her the moral dilemma that she didn’t want to think about.

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Why don’t we stick to Max’s plan for you for now?”

Throughout dinner, Story seemed lost in her own little world, barely engaging in any of the conversation and doing her best to avoid eye contact with Max. He wondered what his father might’ve said to her. He knew, too, that the last couple of days had been intense for her.

Taking that into consideration, when dessert ended, and his father announced it was time to retire to the den for nightcaps, Max stood.

“I have an early day tomorrow. As much as I’m enjoying the present company, I’m afraid I have to leave.”

Story still didn’t glance at him and he frowned. He’d gotten used to those green eyes following his every move. Much more than that, he’d become accustomed to her comments. Her attitude. He’d backed her into a corner, but she’d held her ground in her own way.

He hated that she went out of her way to ignore him.

Fuck.
No, he wasn’t going down this road again.

Glowering at her profile, he headed to the door. “Unless you intend to sleep here, I suggest you come along.”

“Goodnight, son,” Winston called, his tone unreadable.

Max halted and nodded toward his father. “Dad,” he acknowledged as Story reached his side, her face red with embarrassment.

Placing his hand at the small of her back, he guided her to where his car was parked along the motor court. Once he saw her in, he walked around to the driver’s side and slid into the seat. He focused on the road.

“I know you aren’t a murderer. Nor do you hit women. I said as much to Lisa and Nicole,” Story admitted, ten minutes into the drive.

At her words, Max’s blood chilled. He discussed his sisters-in-law, especially Lisa, with no one.
Ever.
And he certainly didn’t want Story to defend him to them. It wasn’t her goddamn business.

He pressed his foot on the accelerator. “Good for you. Now, drop the goddamn subject.”

“No.”

He couldn’t have heard right. “Excuse me?”

“Listening to them, knowing about Kayleigh, I understand why you treat me and every other woman like dirt. I’m not responsible for her actions. You can’t push me away because Lisa and Nicole think you’re the worst human being alive. You can’t make me suffer because of what Kayleigh did when she wasn’t in her right mind.”

“Not in her right mind?” he snarled, blinded by rage. His father had told Story an earful. Winston stuck by Max, but always defended Kayleigh, too, claiming she’d been temporarily insane. Now, he had Story believing that. “The bitch knew what she was doing. She understood it when she
hired
someone to beat the shit out of her and accuse me. She understood her actions when she called me to meet her at Point Fermin, so I could see my son.” He pounded on the dashboard, nearly losing control of his car. “She waited for me. If my father and brothers hadn’t been there, I would be in jail now for her fucking murder. For my
child’s
murder.” Before he killed him and Story, he halted his car along the side of the road and turned on the light, all the better to glare at Story. “She didn’t have to kill a four-year-old child, Story. She could’ve let him go and asked me to take his place and I would have. If she wanted to fuck herself up…if she wanted to take me with her…” Anything! He would’ve stabbed himself in the heart if she’d asked. “Fuck, but I hate you right now.”

Opening his car door, he leaned over and vomited. Every time he pictured Kayleigh and his son hurtling over the side of the cliff with nothing but a rocky shore far beneath them, it nauseated him.

Once his stomach emptied, he slammed his car door shut and stared into the darkness, hating Story, Kayleigh, and the entire fucking world.

“You’re here to fuck me, not fix me,” he told her coldly. “My life isn’t your business. If you keep insisting on insinuating yourself in my personal shit, I’ll see you on the street or in jail.”

“I’d almost prefer to go to jail then to suffer with such a miserable, unfeeling dick,” she yelled, her voice thick with tears. “Tear up the contract, Max. I don’t care. Loyalty hasn’t made a difference to you or to my mom, so living on the street might be better. You’re making me pay for caring about you and for not wanting you to be alone.”

“Don’t care about me. I don’t want it nor do I need it.
Kayleigh
cared about me, as long as I did what she asked of me. The moment I refused to give up my career, she turned.”

“You’re a fucking jerk. A cold, oversexed, selfish fucking jerk. If you wanted to be Mr. Porn Star, then you shouldn’t have taken a wife.”

“She knew my occupation before she fucking married me.”

“What woman wants her man to fuck for a living? Yeah, honey, from six in the morning to six at night, my dick’s on call for a bunch of random pussy. I’m surprised your cock still works. It should be fucked out by now. You had no right to marry her under those circumstances. You had no right to make a baby with her. Kids grow up. They become cognizant. What would you have told your son as he got older and wanted to know what you did for a living?”

“Shut the fuck up. If you say one more fucking thing, I’m putting you out of my car,” he threatened, too furious, too overwhelmed with guilt, to consider his words. “I don’t want you. Stop pretending I give a shit about what you think about this situation because I don’t. If you’re not on your knees or spreading your legs for me, you’re useless.”

She went as white as a sheet and even his stomach sank at his words, but she relented and closed her mouth.

Alone in his room, he went over the evening he’d spent with Story, including the words he’d told her in the heat of their exchange. Determined not to regret killing whatever growing feelings she had for him, he glanced at the bed. He didn’t need a crystal ball to foresee nightmares. Nor did he need one to know Story would offer both help and pity. He wanted neither.  But if she heard him, she’d come running. He couldn’t abide that. She wasn’t in his future and he didn’t need to become dependent on being in her arms to chase away his demons.

Removing his tie, he walked around his room, wishing he’d kept a photo of his son. After that first year, where he couldn’t apologize enough to his little boy for failing him, he’d ripped up every photo he’d ever had of Simon. Sometimes, like now, he regretted that. Other times, he felt it had been the right thing to do.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Max left the room and headed to his staircase, halting near Story’s door. He listened closely and heard her sobs. He laid his forehead against the wood, hand on the doorknob.  If he went in, he’d end up making love to her and neither of them needed that at the moment, so he backed away from the door and turned back toward the stairs.

Going to the bar, he grabbed a bottle of vodka from the cabinet, then went to his office to look over reports on a business he wanted to buy. The fatigue coupled with the alcohol worked on Max. After an hour, he leaned his head against the back of the chair and fell asleep.

Awakening several hours later, Max winced at the stiffness in his neck. His head was clearer so he could talk to Story without blowing up, answer any questions she might have.

After he dressed, he headed downstairs, the scent of bacon filling his condo. When he reached the kitchen, he found one place setting at the counter, while Story situated a plate of food on a tray.

Dark circles ringed her swollen eyes. She’d been crying. A lot.

Not speaking to him, she lifted her tray. He placed a hand on her shoulder as she started past, halting her in her tracks.

“You’re not eating with me?”

“Your sense of perception is excellent.”

“Can the fucking sarcasm, Story,” he snapped, already feeling low for his cruelty. But he’d play it off. “What’s your fucking problem?”

“You. I like the company better in my room.”

Grabbing the tray from her, he slid it onto the counter, rushing behind her when she scooted away from him. “What fucking company?” he asked, stepping in front of the staircase so she couldn’t run up the stairs.

“My own, Max. Being around you sucks to the bottom of hell.”

Although he more than deserved it, he resented her words.

“Our deal is for fucking only, on and off the movie set. That’s degradation enough for me.
I
agreed to be demeaned, so that isn’t your fault, but your attitude is. Your added insults are way of the charts, buddy. I can fix that by staying away from you until I’m summoned to fulfill my contract. Not that you’ll miss my presence. You don’t have to tell me how relieved you are not to have me sitting across from you. Now, get out of my way, so I can go upstairs.”

“You’re forgetting your tray.”

“I’ve lost my appetite.”

“Too bad. I want you to eat with me.”

“I want you to fuck yourself.”

He reached for her, but Story saw the move coming and dodged his hands, darting around him and running up the stairs, slamming the door for effect.

Speechless, Max watched Story’s retreat. Not expecting such total rebellion, he was numb, remaining still as stone before his brain reconnected with reality. She’d reamed his ass out good. Not that he didn’t deserve it. But he hadn’t expected it and he sure as fuck didn’t like it. Kayleigh had never avoided him. After trying to soften him with sex, she’d screamed, demanded, cried, and cursed. Then, she’d packed up her clothes and their son’s, and left, serving him with divorce papers within days.

Story was employing his tactics, and shutting him out. Un-fucking-believable.

She
needed him, in case she’d forgotten.

Slow down, Max.
He coped with his growing attraction to her with shitty behavior. One thing would lead to the other and she’d start to make the same demands that Kayleigh had.

The same ones Greta had, which had led to their mutual hatred. They’d gone from being co-stars and lovers to fucking enemies. Simply because she was ready to leave the business and settle down, and wanted him to do the same.

Yes, he’d told her moving more to the production side of things and grooming another man to be a star for Dirty Boys, interested him. He’d discussed it with Dominic once or twice. But he wanted to retire under his own terms and in his own time.

His father had been married six times.
Barbra
had been married eleven or twelve. Why should Max give up a career he enjoyed for a union that might not last?

Scratching his jaw, he glanced up the stairs, wondering what Story might’ve been doing at that particular moment. She cared about him. Or she
had
cared about him.

A moot point at the moment.

He had to retain the upper hand and find out who the fuck the little bitch think she was, talking to him as she had?

Curled up on her bed, Story glared at her cell phone. Her minutes were gone, used up the night she’d been abducted. She had no way to contact information to request the number to a homeless shelter. She’d give Max’s address and then ask for the location of the closest one. As it stood now, she’d walk until she came upon something.

Or found a place to sleep outside for the night. She’d been homeless before.

She didn’t intend to stay in Max’s house another day. His words had hurt her terribly and she was nobody’s verbal punching bag.