Wicked Indulgence (Wicked Innocence 2)

After I’ve eaten, I give Stace a call to check in. There’s no point keeping my parents up to date with what’s happening, but I know Stace worries.

“How is it?” she asks, her voice full of excitement.

“Fucking amazing,” I chuckle, using her choice line. “Seriously, Stace, it’s everything I’ve ever dreamed of, and this is nothing compared to what it could be.” My heart pounds at the thought that things could get better than this. How is that even possible?

“I’m so happy for you, Sax. If anyone deserves it, you do.”

“Yeah, I wish everyone felt that way,” I mutter. As much as I try not to think about the bad stuff, it always makes its way back into my mind. It’s like a disease that refuses to leave me alone.

“Take your own advice and focus on what makes you happy,” she says.

I laugh. I love my little smart-assed sister. “Thanks, Stace. I’ll call you in a few days, okay?”

“Okay. Bye. Love you.”

I end the call just as a message pops up on my screen.

Lyndall: If that snake of a friend of yours causes my PA to quit I’ll hold you responsible.

Laughing, I tap out a reply.

Me: I take it you mean Max? I don’t even wanna ask…

Lyndall: She just texted me that she’s back in his room. God help us.

Me: I don’t know, could be a good thing? According to Max, he leaves them pretty satisfied…

A few minutes pass and I get no reply. I chuckle and wonder how much trouble I’m in for that comment. A light tap on the hotel room door has me curious. Did I annoy her that much that she’s actually outside my room?

I swing open the door and laugh as I find her standing there scowling at me.

She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you ever take things seriously?” she mutters, pushing her way into my room.

I step back, my gaze falling to her ass, of which I can just make out the curve through her short cotton dress.

“Come in and make yourself at home,” I say, my voice dry. “And it was a joke. Are you incapable of tolerating humor?”

“No, I’m incapable of tolerating stupidity,” she fires back, mimicking my tone. She sighs and reaches up, rubbing her temples. “I’m sorry, I just get frustrated with people who get everything handed to them.”

“And that’s what you think of Max?” I laugh, shocked.

“That’s the vibe he gives off,” she insists. “He gets what he wants and doesn’t give a shit who he steps on in the process. I bet he still lives with his parents, who spoil him with money and lack of responsibility. I know his type, trust me.”

She’s pretty much describing my childhood.

“You’re way out of line,” I

say with a groan. “Max lives in a crappy apartment in a bad neighborhood because everything he makes goes into achieving his dream. His parents died when he was young, leaving him in and out of foster homes for most of his teenage life. Sure, he can be a selfish asshole, but he is also one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met.”

She doesn’t look convinced as I continue.

“The guy you described could be me a few years ago.”

“You?” she laughs, her eyebrows lifting.

I nod. “The money, the rich lifestyle. That was pretty much my life.”

“What changed?” she asks.