The Summer Proposal

That might’ve been the first time I’d smiled for real since last night. But then my phone buzzed on my desk. I stared at it like it might blow up if I touched it. Maggie saw my face and chuckled, right before leaning forward and picking it up.

She looked down for a moment, then turned the phone to face me.

“It’s Max. He wants to know how you are.”

CHAPTER 21

* * *

Max

“Are you staying in Rhode Island tonight?” Breena, the makeup artist, dabbed more shit on my forehead.

“I have family in Boston, so I’m going there after we’re done.”

My phone buzzed from my pocket. I pulled it out to check if it was Georgia, only to find a California area code calling. Again. Though this one was a different number than the doctor’s office that had called a few times. The neurologist I’d gone to in LA last week had left me a few messages, but I hadn’t gotten around to calling him back. I sent the current call to voicemail and checked my call log to see if maybe I’d missed Georgia. Of course, I hadn’t.

Breena caught my eye in the mirror and smiled. “That’s too bad. I could’ve showed you around the city.”

She was pretty, but I had zero interest in any woman except the one who’d been avoiding me the last two days. “Thanks. Maybe another time.”

I’d been getting my picture taken since ten o’clock this morning. We’d just finished lunch, and the photographer had said it shouldn’t be more than another hour or two once we restarted. It was a good thing they hadn’t wanted me to smile for this campaign and instead wanted brooding, because brooding was the only damn mood I’d been in since I’d walked into Georgia’s apartment Sunday night.

I knew she’d had lunch with her ex yesterday—that much she’d told me. And he was back in London by now. But I had no idea what was going on in that head of hers. No doubt she was overanalyzing everything to death. Which I didn’t think would work in my favor, since we had an expiration date. It sucked, but I had no right to fight for her when I wasn’t sure what I could offer her long term.

Lyle, the photographer, walked in and interrupted my ruminations. He had Four in his arms, like he had practically since I’d walked in with the dogs this morning. “How would you feel about shooting with this little guy?”

I spoke to his reflection, since Breena was still putting crap on my face. “He’ll probably lick off whatever she’s painting on my skin right now.” I shrugged. “But sure, if that’s what you want. I appreciate you letting me bring them today.”

“Great. I think we got everything the client wanted in the can this morning. Usually, I spend half the time doing what they think they want, then the other half shooting what I think would work better. Nine times out of ten, they go with something I improvised.” He held up his free hand and motioned like he could see writing in the air. “Irresistible, even to the savage beast,” he said. “I think it would make a fun ad. And with your face, it’ll still ooze sexy.”

I shrugged. “If you say so.”

“Tell me, does he have a favorite food? I’d like to shoot some of you lying on a plush rug and the dog licking you. It might work best if we hide some bait behind your neck. There’s a supermarket up the block I can send my assistant to.”

“He likes Cheerios.”

“Perfect! I’ll grab us a box.”

Two hours later, my dogs and I were finally done being photographed. Breena gave me some makeup wipes to remove the shit she’d splattered all over my face. When I was done, she handed me her phone. “I took some pictures of you and the dogs from behind Lyle. They came out adorable. Take a look.”

I swiped through and smiled. They were actually really good. It did look like Four was trying to smell my neck. “Would you mind sending me one or two of them? My nieces would love it.”

“Sure, put your number in, and I’ll text them.”

“Thanks.”

After I said goodbye and set my dogs up in their safety hammocks in the back of my car, my phone pinged with an incoming text. It was Breena, who had sent me a shitload of photos, along with a message at the bottom:

Breena: If you have time on your way back through, give me a call. I’ll show you around Providence. Or…you could just come to my place.

She ended the text with a winky face.

Rather than respond, I forwarded one of the pictures of Four licking my face to Georgia.

Max: From the shoot today. I think my mutts might need their own agent.