All her lies and anxieties came spilling out, until she forced herself to stop talking. What did Max think of her now?

She didn’t realize she cared so much about that—and about him—until this moment. In retrospect, she should have known when she agreed to go with him on a hike, of all things. And she really should have known when she went shopping for new athleisure for said hike—she, Olivia Monroe, who had said she’d never be one of those L.A. people who bought fancy yoga pants! She looked down at her brand-new $100 yoga pants and laughed at herself—these certainly did make her ass look great, at least.

How did Max manage to get her to spill her guts to him, just by sitting there next to her, with that open look on his face? He’d thought she was this successful lawyer; how would he feel now that he knew she wasn’t?

He nudged her.

“Hey,” he said softly. She turned to look at him. “It’s okay. I understand.”

The look in his eyes was so kind, it made her want to cry.

“You do?” she asked.

He nodded.

“I do. This all must be really hard on you.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. She knew they shouldn’t be touching in public, but she was so grateful for his embrace that she ignored that.

“It is,” she said. “Especially since I know I’m good at this, I know Ellie is too, and I know we make a great team. And it was hard enough to get clients to have faith in me when I was in New York, and then I had the full backing of a big law firm.”

He patted her hair softly as he dropped his arm.

“Starting your own business is never easy, but I can only imagine how much harder it is when you’re a Black woman and have to deal with racism and sexism on top of everything else,” he said.

She took a long breath. What a relief for him to acknowledge that.

“I have full confidence in you that you’ll make it, by the way,” he said.

She squeezed his hand, then let go.

“Thank you. It means a lot to hear you say that.” She closed her eyes for a second, then looked back up at him. “Max, I have to know. You say you really like me, but is this the kind of thing you do a lot? Like, the cake, and all of that?”

He turned his whole body to face her, a very sweet smile on his face.

“No, I’ve never sent a cake before to try to get a woman to go out with me.”

That was a nice answer, but that wasn’t quite what she’d meant.

“Thank you for saying that, but I guess what I meant was . . .” Shit, how should she phrase this?

“If what you meant was, do I go around picking up women in bars on a regular basis, the answer is no,” he said. “And if what you meant was, do I go around going on dates with women and telling them I like them a lot, the answer is also no. I sent you that cake on an impulse, because you’d disappeared from my life after I saw you in that hotel bar, and when you reappeared, it felt like magic, and I refused to let you go again. And every moment I’ve been with you since then has told me that impulse was correct.”

“Oh,” she said. There he was again, making her feel wanted. More than anyone else ever had.

“I, um. I’m really glad you sent me that cake,” she said. “And I’m really glad to be here with you. I like you a lot, too.”

A wide, bright, joyful smile spread across Max’s face.

“You do?” he asked.

She’d tried so hard to fight it, but she couldn’t anymore.

“I do,” she said. Everything about Max was unexpected, and Olivia had never liked the unexpected. But somehow, she couldn’t get enough of Max.

He picked up the cheese and crackers and put them back into his backpack.

“Great. Then how about we go back to my house and take our clothes off?”

She laughed out loud.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Chapter Nine

It took a great deal of self-control for Max not to drive back to his house like a bat out of hell. Only two things stopped him: (1) he did not want the headlines that would come if he was stopped for speeding; and (2) he was driving Olivia’s brand-new car, and if he did anything to risk it, she might murder him before he got the chance to have sex with her.

“I just want to be clear on this,” he said on the drive back to his house. “Are we, like, together together now?”

Even while driving, he could tell she was laughing at, not with, him.

“ ‘Together together?’ Is that some sort of official designation, Senator?”

He slid his hand onto her thigh and forced himself to keep his eyes on the road.

“You know what I mean.”

She put her hand on top of his.

“Yeah, I guess I do. And yeah, I guess we are. But . . .” She took a deep breath. “I’m not quite ready to publicly be senator Maxwell Stewart Powell’s girlfriend, if that’s okay. I mean, I at least have to get a haircut, and some new lipstick, before I have to be in paparazzi pictures.”

He laughed.

“I’m not famous enough for paparazzi pictures.” He turned his hand over and squeezed hers. “But I know what you mean; it’s early for all of that.”

She’d turned it into a joke, but he understood. They had really only just started; he didn’t want to invite the rest of the world into their relationship yet, either.