gift.”
“The payoff, you mean?” Max said. “I guess it was worth it, then. I suppose that if you’re going to sell your body, Henry
Tremayne was the right man to pick. But tell me, Carly, are you available to anyone who looks like a potential gold mine,
or do you restrict your
arrangements
to lonely eighty-year-olds?”
C HAPTER 10
O ne look at Carly’s face told Max that his cruel question had hit the mark. She sat as if stunned, her mouth slightly open.
“What?” she croaked, finally. “Henry?”
The light ahead turned green, and Max hit the accelerator with more force than necessary, his hand clenching the gearstick
as the engine roared. Was this how it was going to be? After everything she had just admitted, did she think she had the right
to be insulted and hurt by his judgment? He was fighting down a hot mixture of emotions, not the least of which was a sense
of betrayal. To think that she had actually gotten him to the point of making excuses for her, imagining scenes of romance,
of love, of—at the very least—honorable motivations for her affair with Henry. So much for the rebirth of ideals. He should
have known better.
“Let me make sure I understand this,” Carly said, her voice rising shrilly. “All this time, you were talking about Henry?”
“Who else?”
She made a noise that sounded strangely like a growl, and Max suddenly felt a sharp blow to his shoulder. He turned to see
Carly, her face a mask of outrage, balling another fist and aiming it at him.
“You’re disgusting!” she shouted, landing another blow. “You’re a rotten, filthy-minded misogynist sicko!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Max demanded, swerving as she smacked him again. “I’m driving—”
Carly didn’t even seem to hear him. “How could you think I was talking about your grandfather? About Henry Tremayne, my friend,
whose pets I look after and who discusses world news and literature with me over afternoon tea!”
“Ouch, damn it,” Max said, giving up on trying to handle city traffic with a madwoman in his front seat. He pulled the car
to a screeching halt by the curb next to a small city park.
“I’ve had it with you, Max Giordano,” Carly raged. “I was actually starting to like you, but I just changed my mind. You’re
horrible, and I never want to see you again!” She fumbled for the door handle.
“Hold it,” Max said. “If that whole discussion wasn’t about Henry, then who—”
“Richard, you idiot!” Carly shouted, opening the door. “I was talking about Richard.” She slammed the door behind her and
stormed away.
Max cursed under his breath, yanked the keys out of the ignition, and followed her. “Carly!”
She was well on her way into the park before he caught up with her. Head high, stride firm, she shot one furious sideways
glance at him. “Go away!”
“The hell I will,” Max said, keeping pace with her. “We’re going to straighten this out right now. You were talking about
Richard Wexler, your partner?”
Red spots burned hotly on her cheeks. “I just told you that, Sherlock.”
“You and he were… involved?”
“Right.”
“For how long?”
“Too long.”
“That’s what you meant when you said that you couldn’t afford to leave your arrangement? You meant a professional arrangement?”
“No,” Curly snapped, stopping in her tracks and turning on him, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I meant that I was sleeping
with your grandfather, trying to milk that nice old man for every penny he’s worth. That’s what you’ve been waiting to hear,
isn’t it? Why even bother to wait, Max? As far as I can tell, I’ve already been tried and convicted, so why not just hang
me right now?
“Obviously,” she continued sarcastically, “I’ve been spending my nights scheming to get into Henry’s will, so that I’ll never
have to work another day in my life. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I just hate my
“The payoff, you mean?” Max said. “I guess it was worth it, then. I suppose that if you’re going to sell your body, Henry
Tremayne was the right man to pick. But tell me, Carly, are you available to anyone who looks like a potential gold mine,
or do you restrict your
arrangements
to lonely eighty-year-olds?”
C HAPTER 10
O ne look at Carly’s face told Max that his cruel question had hit the mark. She sat as if stunned, her mouth slightly open.
“What?” she croaked, finally. “Henry?”
The light ahead turned green, and Max hit the accelerator with more force than necessary, his hand clenching the gearstick
as the engine roared. Was this how it was going to be? After everything she had just admitted, did she think she had the right
to be insulted and hurt by his judgment? He was fighting down a hot mixture of emotions, not the least of which was a sense
of betrayal. To think that she had actually gotten him to the point of making excuses for her, imagining scenes of romance,
of love, of—at the very least—honorable motivations for her affair with Henry. So much for the rebirth of ideals. He should
have known better.
“Let me make sure I understand this,” Carly said, her voice rising shrilly. “All this time, you were talking about Henry?”
“Who else?”
She made a noise that sounded strangely like a growl, and Max suddenly felt a sharp blow to his shoulder. He turned to see
Carly, her face a mask of outrage, balling another fist and aiming it at him.
“You’re disgusting!” she shouted, landing another blow. “You’re a rotten, filthy-minded misogynist sicko!”
“What the hell are you doing?” Max demanded, swerving as she smacked him again. “I’m driving—”
Carly didn’t even seem to hear him. “How could you think I was talking about your grandfather? About Henry Tremayne, my friend,
whose pets I look after and who discusses world news and literature with me over afternoon tea!”
“Ouch, damn it,” Max said, giving up on trying to handle city traffic with a madwoman in his front seat. He pulled the car
to a screeching halt by the curb next to a small city park.
“I’ve had it with you, Max Giordano,” Carly raged. “I was actually starting to like you, but I just changed my mind. You’re
horrible, and I never want to see you again!” She fumbled for the door handle.
“Hold it,” Max said. “If that whole discussion wasn’t about Henry, then who—”
“Richard, you idiot!” Carly shouted, opening the door. “I was talking about Richard.” She slammed the door behind her and
stormed away.
Max cursed under his breath, yanked the keys out of the ignition, and followed her. “Carly!”
She was well on her way into the park before he caught up with her. Head high, stride firm, she shot one furious sideways
glance at him. “Go away!”
“The hell I will,” Max said, keeping pace with her. “We’re going to straighten this out right now. You were talking about
Richard Wexler, your partner?”
Red spots burned hotly on her cheeks. “I just told you that, Sherlock.”
“You and he were… involved?”
“Right.”
“For how long?”
“Too long.”
“That’s what you meant when you said that you couldn’t afford to leave your arrangement? You meant a professional arrangement?”
“No,” Curly snapped, stopping in her tracks and turning on him, her words tumbling out in a rush. “I meant that I was sleeping
with your grandfather, trying to milk that nice old man for every penny he’s worth. That’s what you’ve been waiting to hear,
isn’t it? Why even bother to wait, Max? As far as I can tell, I’ve already been tried and convicted, so why not just hang
me right now?
“Obviously,” she continued sarcastically, “I’ve been spending my nights scheming to get into Henry’s will, so that I’ll never
have to work another day in my life. I’m sure you’ve noticed that I just hate my
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