Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86799 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“Better now that I’ve run into the two of you. How the hell is everything, Notorious Hazel?” He asks it without a care. Like I want to chat casually with the guy who snookered me.
“Can’t complain,” I say brightly, so damn brightly. “After all, we’re heading to Rome to start the book tour.”
He knows that, of course. Just like Michelle knows where I’m off to.
Max tilts his head, his brow knitting for a second before he says, “Right, right. A book tour is bank, and with the way A Perfect Lie is selling…” He trails off then mouths, Whoa.
Gross.
This man is such a show-off. How did I miss this? Was he hiding his personality along with the cheating? I hope so. I hope my taste in men isn’t as terrible as my track record says it is.
“And those reviews. I could kiss those reviews,” Max adds, and I want to roll my eyes. But I won’t. I am an expert at throwing the perfectly blank smile at unpleasant people.
“I’m sure the reviews would love a smackeroo,” Axel says in a surprisingly dry tone. He doesn’t spare even his agent from his sarcasm.
Max turns to me again and beams. “And Notorious Hazel, you are the queen. That final chapter in The I Do Redo was just…” He pauses like he’s hunting for just the right words. “Refreshingly surprising. The kind of heart-stopping plot twists we turn to a Valentine story for.”
That compliment feels familiar, like he’s parroting a review, trying to co-opt it for himself. But TJ made me stop reading reviews. He promised me he’d show me all the potential hot guy cover photos he found online if I’d stop reading reviews. His carrot-and-stick worked—my current cover photo is one he shared as a prize for keeping my head in the sand.
So, I can’t call Max out on it. Instead I say, “There’s nothing like a plot twist. Especially when you’re so sure a character is a good guy and he turns out to be otherwise.”
Axel’s lips twitch, but then he’s stony-faced.
Max turns to Axel. “And you, have an amazing tour. It’s going to ignite your backlist.” Then he shrugs happily. “But your backlist is already blazing. Just the way I like it.”
And I like that Max never makes a dime on Ten Park Avenue.
Axel smiles once more, but it looks as if he’s getting an appendectomy at the same time. “Me too,” he says, almost choking out the words.
Max checks his watch. “Well, just got back from Los Angeles, and I already have calls to Los Angeles to make. The day is young and I’m busy, busy. Safe travels.”
He leaves, and I want to take a Silkwood shower to get rid of the scent of that smarmy jackass. But he’s in my head now, along with the reminders of how stupid I was to get involved with a guy like him.
Just what I need before this big trip. A reminder that I’m a dumbass with romance.
“Let’s go to the gate,” I say to Axel flatly, so I don’t let on that seeing Max has knocked me off my confidence game.
But it’s hard to stay chill as I walk closer to Gate Eighteen.
It’s hard, since I’ve tried my best to keep the whole Max debacle separate from the Axel debacle. They’re separate things, after all.
Well, separate-ish.
But as I walk, the annoyance in me heats up. I can’t believe Axel would work with Max, knowing what he’s like. The fact that Axel barely blinked just now proves Axel and I were hardly ever friends in the first place.
Maybe I barely knew Axel. He supposedly hates liars. He supposedly hates cheaters. He supposedly hates men like his father.
But he hired an agent who’s just like his dad. A con artist.
The annoyance bubbles up to the surface. But I fight it off. I have to remember my game plan from earlier—be an adult and move on. I swallow down the gobstopper of self-righteous irritation and say, “I’m so glad your book’s doing well.”
Axel gives me a side-eye. “Thanks. You too,” he says, his tone suspicious.
“And that’s what we should focus on during this trip. Just the stories, the books, the fans,” I say, soldiering on as a pack of harried travelers practically charges us. We part, letting the group of suits march their way down the concourse.
“They’re in a rush,” he says with a huff.
Wow. We’re making shitty airport small talk. So fun. But you know what? This is what we need. Bullshit small talk. That’s what we’ll discuss in Europe for seven days.
“They sure are,” I say, peppy, like the adult-er I am.
“So you were saying something before we ran into Max?” Axel asks, prompting me as he rewinds to several minutes ago when I was starting to say we should behave like adults.