“So you did sleep with her?”
Max’s feet froze to the ground as his hands folded into fists. The faint white light above the door turned a hazy red in his vision.
“Sullivan,” his brother said carefully. “Nobody needs that kind of trouble.”
True. Breaking this guy’s nose would do nothing to help Chloe, and it probably wouldn’t be great for Max, either. Plus there was always the danger that the guy would fall over and crack his head open on a table. Not worth the risk of manslaughter charges. Max managed to move one foot closer to the door, and then the other.
“Let me give you my card,” the guy was saying, but Elliott opened the door and Max forced himself to walk through it.
When he glanced back at the closing door, Max caught another glimpse of Chloe’s face glowing from one of the television sets. Another channel. Another gossip reporter with a gleeful smile. He stepped out of the bar and rolled his shoulders, trying to pull in a tight breath of salty air. Not that salty air ever did anything good for his nerves. “You sure you don’t mind your name mixed up in all this?”
Elliott huffed a laugh. “Nah. It’ll do wonders for my reputation. And they don’t deserve the truth.”
Once they were a dozen feet out on the sand, Max looked back at the bar. For once, the parking lot was full of cars. “Listen. How would you feel about ditching this place tomorrow?”
“Sure. I’ve got all the boating skills down now, thanks to you. Let’s get the hell out of Dodge. It’s lost its charm anyway.”
“By charm, I assume you mean Jenn?”
“Whatever.” Elliott threw a glance in Max’s direction. “Are you coming back to my place in D.C.?”
It suddenly felt like the inside of Max’s skull was lined with sandpaper. His brain hurt. He couldn’t think. Chloe’s wild eyes kept interfering with his vision. Monday was going to be an awful day for her, especially if the rumors about her ex-fiancé were true.
Max steeled himself. It wasn’t his concern. He wasn’t responsible for Chloe. She’d told him so herself. She had her family. She had Jenn.
Don’t. Do. It.
But if she had her friends and family, that meant she didn’t really need Max. That meant he could offer moral support the way any normal person would do. She didn’t need rescuing, she just needed a friend. The justification proved irresistible.
Max tried to lock his jaw, but the words pushed themselves out like gleeful ghosts. “You know what? Why don’t you drop me in Richmond.”
He couldn’t help but think that anxiety had a way of making everything sound like a bad omen. Surely this would turn out fine.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHLOE’S APARTMENT WAS STIFLING. Sweat tickled her hairline and made her scalp itch. She tossed an evil glare toward the window air conditioner. Oh, it was pretending to do a good job, blasting cool air out in gales, but the room stayed thick with heat. Or was it just her?
Pacing, she swiped a shaky hand over her forehead. She couldn’t breathe. The air pressed in on her, squeezing her throat like two strong hands. “Oh, God.”
She tried to make herself breathe, but there was something wrong. She needed to get out of her tiny place. Rushing for the window, she edged up one blind and pressed her nose close to the pane, hoping some miracle had scattered the group of paparazzi like a flock of startled birds. But no, they were still there. If only an unwed actress would get knocked up. If only some starlet would lock herself in her house and start smashing windows. Then they’d all go away, lured by bloodier meat.
Her heart twisted and pounded in her chest.
“It’s a panic attack,” she told herself. “You’re not dying.” It had only happened once before, and it hadn’t been so bad. She’d hyperventilated until she’d passed out, and then everything had been fine when she’d finally woken up.
Chloe sprinted to the door and opened it, ducking down as soon as she did. The cameras could see her from one little corner, but the solid wood railing protected her if she crouched down. Chloe edged out and sat down on the first step. The sun made it hotter here, but there was a breeze and her throat opened enough to calm her down.
She’d managed to get through this month with anger and denial, but both of those emotions were starting to peel away. There was something worse ahead; she could feel it coming like a bad storm. And since she’d lived with the fake death of her fiancé, followed by his brutally public betrayal, something worse had to be pretty bad. And Chloe was very, very afraid it had something to do with Jenn.
Her best friend’s behavior had grown increasingly erratic since they’d left the island. Jenn had become more than stressed…she’d become furtive. Secretive. Jumpy.
Chloe slipped her cell phone out of her pocket. It had quieted down since she’d started blocking all the unfamiliar numbers that popped up. Jenn had stopped calling, too. She’d only sent a few text messages about how slammed she was at w
ork. Chloe had called her twice, but Jenn hadn’t called her back.
Even as she told herself to let it go, she pressed in the first few numbers of Anna’s cell. A pause and a few deep breaths later, she hit the last number and held her breath. If Chloe didn’t know what was going on with Jenn, maybe Anna did.
“Chloe!” Anna’s voice sounded low and rushed.