Max (Cold Fury Hockey 6)

Just fucking great.

I gently push her back, hoping some distance will help, and she beams another smile at me. It's infectious and I smile back at her, then give another nod down to the check. "Stevie wants more paintings, so there's more money to be had. Maybe you can get something steady coming in and quit at the convenience store."

I'd kill for her to quit. Not only is it physically exhausting her, but I'm worried about her safety there. Those rednecks that harassed her still plague me.

But Jules shakes her head and I'm caught off guard when she says, "Oh no. I can't. It's a nice thought but really...I'm happy with this."

"What the hell?" I ask incredulously. "You can make some serious money. Stevie is going to show your stuff to some gallery owners and thinks once your name gets out there, you'll be able to charge more for your stuff."

"That's nice," she says as her thumb strokes the check. "But really...I just can't."

"Come on, Jules," I cajole, nodding down to the check. "You got to dream big, babe."

Jules stares at the piece of paper in her hand a moment and then looks up to me. "I can't afford to dream big, Max. I have to put my energies into those things that are guarantees. Those kids are too important for me not to play it safe."

"I don't understand," I tell her, my sense of jubilation starting to wane.

She gives a soft sigh, her eyes going warm when she sees me start to deflate right in front of her. Her hand reaches out and she lays it over mine. "Painting was never anything more than a hobby for me. I never expected it to do anything other than give me pleasure that I could create something from nothing. So this check...your friend buying my stuff and wanting more...that's great, but it's just not feasible for me to do more. Supplies cost money, and I don't have it to spend. Every cent of this check here has already been spent in my mind for necessities. And even if I could afford the supplies, which I can't, I don't have the time. Those paintings took time and focus, and those are two things I do not have at all. And to get that time, I'd have to probably give up my night job, and I just can't do that when there's no guarantees that I'd ever sell another painting. While I really appreciate your enthusiasm and belief in me, it's not a risk I can take right now."

I deflate even further, because while I think this is a stellar opportunity for her, everything she just laid out for me makes absolute sense.

If I were a woman, all alone and in her circumstances...I doubt I'd take the risk either.

But here's the thing Jules hasn't figured out.

She's not all alone.

I pull the glass door closed and lock it, giving a tiny tug when I disengage the key to make sure it's secure. Hitching my purse up on my shoulder and tucking it in close, I turn and walk across the darkened sidewalk in front of the gas station toward my car, which is parked on the side. This is my least favorite part of the job because it's dark, after midnight, and that's when bad things happen to women who are alone.

I lift my gaze and scan the area, just like I always do, and come to a complete halt of shocked surprise when I see Max leaning back against my car. He's got his legs stretched out, crossed one over the other at the ankle, and his arms folded across his big chest.

Grinning at me.

I grin back. "What are you doing here?"

This is a legitimate question as Max had called me several hours ago and said he had some things to take care of and couldn't come by to hang with me. I understood this and frankly didn't expect anything different. While he's about a hundred different kinds of amazing rolled up into one package, I don't expect him to spend every free minute with me.

Max pushes off my car and puts his hands into his pockets while he waits for me to reach him. When I do, he peers down at me and bluntly asks, "If I gave you the money that you make here at this job, would you quit?"

My head jerks back in surprise and I immediately retort, "I wouldn't take the money from you, so no, I wouldn't quit this job."

I expect him to argue but instead he asks as he nods to his car, parked on the other side of mine, "If hypothetically I had my entire backseat and trunk filled with painting supplies, would you accept them from me?"

I groan with moderate annoyance even as sweet warmth blankets me that he'd do something so thoughtful. "No, Max. I couldn't accept."

"That's what I thought," he says brusquely and reaches into his back pocket, where he pulls out a document that doesn't look more than a few pages total, folded in half lengthwise. "So I have a business proposition I want to put to you and I even had a contract drawn up."

He waves the folded document in front of my face and my eyes follow it briefly before they go back to him. "Huh?"

Max grins as his hand drops to tap the document against the palm of his other hand. "It's getting late and you need to get home, so I'll make this fast and simple."

"CliffsNotes version," I suggest.

He nods at me. "CliffsNotes version. Okay, so here's the deal...I'll give you a business startup loan. It will be for $3,200, which I figure is about four months of wages you'd make here at this place, right?"

I do a quick mental calculation, and that's about right, so I nod.

He continues. "In return for that loan, you quit your job here and devote that time after the kids go to sleep to painting. You won't need Tina to watch the kids in the evening and that will alleviate your obligation to watch hers on the weekend. Of course, you still have Annabelle, Levy, and Rocco to watch, but any free time I have, I'll get them out of your hair, and you can have some time to paint on the weekends too. Are you following?"

I'm numb that he's given so much thought to this and my head spins a little. But I nod.

"Good," he says and barrels forward. "If you could paint four nights a week and maybe a little on the weekends, how many paintings could you do?"

Another quick mental calculation, which is difficult because, hello--brain is numb--I tell him hesitantly, "Two...maybe three. But why only four nights a week?"

Max gives me a slightly chastising look and says, "Because you need a night off, Jules. You need a damn break every once in a while."

Oh, damn...another rolling wave of mellowed euphoria rolls through me that someone--no, in particular Max--cares enough about me to want me to have some time off from my crazy schedule.

But I can't be overly swayed by how good that feels, because what he's proposing is overwhelming and terrifying, not to mention it sounds like I'm a charity case or something.

But Max isn't finished with his proposal. "If you can sell at a minimum two paintings a week, that's four hundred dollars and double what you make at the gas station."

"But there's no guarantee I'll do that," I point out.

"There's no guarantee Chris won't fire you the next time you run into childcare problems, and you know that's going to happen, Jules."

"But I'd be giving up a secure job."

"I guarantee you will be able to find another part-time job if the painting doesn't pan out. Trust me on that."

"You said this was a loan," I interject, because I need to clarify exactly what he's saying.

"Yeah, I knew you wouldn't take it as a gift," Max says, and you can tell he put thought into all of this. "So you can pay me back an amount from each sale. Say...twenty-five dollars per painting you sell."

I cock an eyebrow at him. "That would take me forever to pay you back."

"I know," he says in a low voice that's devilishly teasing. "Keeps you in my life longer."

More warmth and it makes me want to step into him, burrow my face into his chest, and snuggle in for a long ride with this man. But that's a little forward, so instead I tell him the truth of my feelings. "I don't know what to say to that. I know you say it's a loan, but really, Max...I'm not sure that's what it is."

He turns slightly and puts the loan document on the top of my car before turning back and stepping up to me. His face is somber as he places his large hands on my shoulders. It's a gentle touch but it's also se

cure. I have to fight myself not to let out an involuntary purr.

"Look, Jules," Max says quietly. "I've figured out you're the type of woman that will not accept handouts, and that you're also the type that will bust your ass to reach your goals. But I don't want you to pass up this opportunity to really make something of your talent. It's too wasteful to do that. So, don't accept a handout from me, but perhaps think of it as a hand up. If you want it to be a loan, then it's a loan. You pay me back and I accept that, although I'm completely fine with you just accepting it as a gift too as you have to know it's not denting my wallet."

I snort and give an amused shake of my head. "I have a counterproposal. I'll accept it as a loan and quit this job, but on that fifth night, how about I clean your house or maybe cook meals for you for the week, and you can take that off the loan as well. That way I can get it paid back quicker."

Something flashes in Max's eyes and I can see it's consternation I won't take a day off from working, but his tone is light and teasing when he says, "Is it bad if I say I've got images now of you in a sexy maid outfit?"

I laugh, my head falling back because it's fucking funny. When I straighten up to look at him again, I poke a finger in his chest and tell him, "I'm being serious."

"So am I," he says with a wink.

I drop my chin and bat my lashes at him. "I'll wear a sexy maid outfit if you give me time and a half."

Max's hands squeeze on my shoulder and he groans. "Jesus, Jules...you're killing me here."