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–Me: Hey, are you okay? Did you have to go to the hospital?

Still no response. Weird. I finish the porridge, then send her another text.

–Me: You’re starting to scare me. Text me back when you see this message.

Still nothing. Weird as hell. If I didn’t know better, I might think she’s regretting what happened last night and ran away. That would be…unfortunate.

Well,who knows. Whatever is going on, I can give her a few hours to sort out her thoughts. I’m a patient, magnanimous man.

By evening, I’ve reviewed and commented on three due diligences and proposals. I finish the last of the minibar water and tap the palm rest on my laptop. How much longer before Max messages me? She’s a smart, efficient woman—it shouldn’t take this long to think.

My phone buzzes on the mattress, next to my hip. I pick it up eagerly.

–Finn: Hey, is everything okay?

Disappointment crashes over me.

–Me: Yeah. Why?

–Finn: Max is here at the office. And she looks pretty bad. Like a walking corpse. Is the thing with Ohimesama that bad?

–Me: What? NO! What the fuck is she doing in L.A.?

–Finn: I dunno… She’s your assistant.

–Me: You sure it’s her?

–Finn: You don’t think I’d recognize Max? Come on.

He attaches a photo. I open it, then stare in fury and disbelief. A snapshot of Max in the same dress she wore yesterday. She’s walking along the sunny corridor by my office. The camera setting on Finn’s phone must be shitty because her complexion is tinged a yellowish green. In her arms is a box. Is she quitting and taking all her stuff with her?

Anxiety wells up. I grit my teeth and glare at the picture until I realize that the box is taped tightly. Just to be sure, I check the HR database. She’s still an active employee.

I let out a breath.She’s staying.

All right,think. If she’s at the office now, she must’ve seen my texts after landing. Why hasn’t she responded? Is she ignoring me? That isn’t just unprofessional but…cold. For some reason, it makes me feel vaguely used. Cheap.

Unwanted.

No fucking way. Gritting my teeth, I shake off the feeling. Nobody uses and discards me. And I’m not cheap.I make more in a year than some countries’ annual GDP.

I text Saito.

–Me: Get ready to fly home ASAP.

–Saito: About half an hour after midnight or seven tomorrow morning?

–Me: Midnight.

I’m not staying here when Max’s already in L.A. I throw all my stuff in my suitcase, then stand there eyeing hers and feeling an overwhelming temptation to leave it here in the room, just because.

Yeah,but her place burned down.

She informed me of the fire a week after the fact. She might not have said anything at all if I hadn’t mentioned the news about the incident. That was annoying, too. She apparently didn’t want to bring it up, since she planned to deal with it personally after getting home, but I felt like a total outsider. Sure, I prioritize work, but I’m not a total shithead.

I lift my eyes heavenward and sigh. There’s petty and then there’s petty. I toss everything that’s not mine into her carry-on and zip it up.

I scan the suite one last time, then stop when I notice a tiny black scrap of lace. The strip on one side is ripped—her thong from last night. Her lust-laden eyes flash through my head, and I can still hear the breathless whimper. My anger lowers a notch as my dick hardens.