Maxine

Author's Preface

The gala was in full swing, the grand hall alive with conversation and the steady clink of glasses. Drinks were flowing freely, and Ian had spent the last twenty minutes making small talk with clients, investors, and CEOs, all of whom seemed determined to discuss business when he would much rather have been elsewhere.

His phone vibrated again.

He glanced down at the screen.

Maxine: We need to talk.

Ian: About what?

The reply came almost immediately.

Maxine: About that redhead you have on your arm.

Ian frowned at the screen.

Ian: What? How did you-

Maxine: Turn around.

His fingers tightened around the phone.

Slowly, he turned.

And there she was.

Maxine stood just beyond the crowd, looking as though she'd stepped straight off the cover of a luxury fashion magazine. Her brunette hair fell in glossy, perfectly styled waves over her shoulders, framing a face that was every bit as striking as he remembered: high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep crimson, and dark, watchful eyes that could make even the most confident person feel as though they were being carefully assessed.

Her gown was a masterpiece of understated extravagance. Black silk hugged her figure before falling in a smooth, elegant sweep to the floor, its fitted bodice embroidered with delicate silver detailing that caught the chandelier light whenever she moved. A daring slit revealed one long leg as she stepped forward, while diamond earrings glittered against her neck. A slim bracelet flashed at her wrist, and a small black clutch rested in one hand.

She was beautiful. There was no denying it but it was the expression on her face that caught Ian's attention.

She wasn't smiling.

Maxine had always possessed the sort of elegance that made people turn to look twice. She carried herself with effortless confidence, her chin lifted and her shoulders back, as though the entire room had been arranged for her personal convenience. She didn't hurry, even when she was angry. She simply expected the world to move out of her way.

Tonight, however, she wasn't bothering to hide her temper.

Her gaze locked onto Ian's, and she strode straight toward him, weaving through the guests with such determined purpose that several people stepped aside without thinking.

Ian exhaled slowly. "You're kidding me."

Maxine stopped directly in front of him, close enough that he caught the familiar scent of her perfume beneath the champagne and expensive cologne filling the room.

Her eyes swept over his suit before settling on his face.

"Hello, Ian."

He slipped his phone into his pocket. "Maxine."

Her gaze flicked past his shoulder toward the gallery where Chantell had disappeared with Susan, then returned to him.

"So," she said coolly, folding her arms. "Are you going to tell me who she is, or am I supposed to work that out for myself?"

"Calm down, Max," Ian muttered, catching her gently by the arm and steering her toward a quiet alcove away from the main crowd.

Maxine allowed herself to be led, though the look she gave him suggested she was doing so entirely on her own terms.

"What's the matter? You ran off, if I remember correctly."

"Yeah, well, you were meant to chase me."

Ian stared at her.

"What, to fucking Nepal? No chance."

He shifted his weight, glancing toward the gallery to make sure Chantell hadn't reappeared. The last thing he needed was the two women meeting under these circumstances.

"Besides, you could've stayed."

Maxine's expression tightened.

Maxine Pritchard had never been a woman who sat quietly waiting for life to happen. Fierce, fearless, and perpetually hunting for her next adventure, she had made a name for herself through feats that most people wouldn't attempt even with a safety net and a signed insurance policy.

She was famous for her daring climbs, her appetite for danger, and her audacious ascent of skyscrapers without a safety harness. While other people saw a sheer drop and thought better of it, Maxine saw a challenge and started climbing.

Intimidating barely covered it.

She had never been content to stand in anyone's shadow, least of all Ian's and yet here she was, standing in front of him in a designer gown and diamond earrings, looking ready to tear strips off him in the middle of a charity gala.

"You really are an unbelievable bastard, Ian Jenkins."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Funny. I seem to remember you saying that just before you walked out."

"Because you wouldn't give me a reason to stay!"

"Maxine, you wanted a life where you could disappear halfway across the world at a moment's notice. I wasn't going to chain you to a fucking radiator."

"I didn't ask you to!"

"Then what the hell did you want from me?"

"Marriage, children... us. You selfish bastard!" Maxine shouted, drawing several curious stares from nearby guests.

"Don't. Not here." Ian caught her by the arm and lowered his voice. "For Christ's sake, Max."

"Why? Scared your little floozy might see us? You're mine, Ian, not hers."

"Maxine, you can't just turn up here and-"

"You two can keep each other."

The hurt, tear-filled voice came from behind Ian.

He froze.

Slowly, he turned.

Chantell stood a few feet away, her face pale, tears spilling down her cheeks. The confidence and mischief he'd grown so used to were gone, replaced by an expression of heartbreak that hit him harder than anything Maxine could have said.

"Chantell-"

She shook her head, unable to look at him for more than a second.

"Don't."

The single word cracked in her throat.

A few sheets of paper slipped from her fingers, scattering across the polished floor. She didn't stop to pick them up. Turning away, she hurried toward the grand entrance, one hand covering her mouth as she struggled to hold back a sob.

"Chantell, wait!"

Ian took one last look at Maxine. She stood rigid, her jaw clenched, but he didn't stay to hear whatever she had to say.

He bolted after Chantell, weaving between guests and barely registering their startled looks.

By the time he reached the entrance and pushed through the heavy doors, she was gone.

He hurried down the steps, searching the pavement in both directions.

"Chantell!"

Nothing.

No flash of red hair. No silver dress disappearing around the corner. Just the distant rumble of traffic and the cold night air.

Ian stood there, breathing hard, his heart pounding.

"Fuck."

He pulled out his phone and called her.

Straight to voicemail.

He tried again.

Voicemail.

He lowered the phone, staring at the screen as the realization settled over him.

Whatever Maxine had come here to say, whatever history they shared, Chantell had heard enough to believe he'd been lying to her and for once, Ian had absolutely no idea how to fix it.

---

The rain was cold, trickling down the crumbling brickwork of the apartment block. Even the tiny overhang did nothing to shield him from the water.

He mashed the buzzer again. The loud drone echoed somewhere inside the building.

Buzz.

He’d been standing in the rain for hours, trying to get Chantell’s attention. Nothing. It was as if she wasn't even there as if she didn't exist.

He’d even caved and texted Holly, only to be told to fuck off.

---

Inside, Chantell lay on the couch, listening to the relentless noise.

Buzz.

She didn't want to see him.

When she'd run from the gala, it had been either sheer luck or absolute destiny that a cab was sitting idling at the curb. She'd thrown her purse and shoes across the apartment before crashing onto the sofa.

Now, hours later, she hadn't even changed. Still wearing her silver dress, she'd buried her head beneath a cushion and a heavy throw, trying desperately to shut out the world.

And Ian.

Especially Ian.