Page 38 of After Felix (Close Proximity #3)

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

FELIX

The conference is being held in a very upmarket hotel.

I fully expect Max to abandon me early on because he’s immediately surrounded by smiling people who call out to him happily.

Instead, he stays near me, promising to meet people afterwards.

He gets me a drink and finds me a seat, leaving me only when I force him to, and his name has been called by the organiser four times in an increasingly agitated voice.

I smile at her consolingly as they walk away.

Max could have wound up Saint Francis of Assisi.

I expected to be bored by the conference, but it’s actually very interesting.

It’s comprised of journalists and editors from the world’s press, and I sit sipping my drink and listening to the different languages being spoken around me.

Max fits in seamlessly, and as I watch the men and women around him, I wonder how difficult it was for him to leave this.

With hindsight, I’m able to recognise how stretched thin he’d been when we’d first met, like a part of him was always somewhere else.

When we ended, I’d presumed it was solely because of Ivo, but now I wonder whether a lot of his weariness was about leaving this life. It must have been like leaving a big chaotic family united by a common bond. I remember how Zeb once said Max was always searching for his own family.

The organiser announces Max, and I sit up straight, all thoughts leaving me as he saunters onto the stage.

He’s predictably wonderful. He doesn’t seem to possess even a shred of nerves as he starts to talk, and within seconds, he has the audience in the palm of his hand, making them roar with laughter one minute and quiet with emotion the next.

I notice many of them looking at him with affection and feel a sudden desperate pride.

His performance is doubly impressive because he wrote this speech on the back of an envelope while we were on the train, and I was trying to beat him at backgammon.

Afterwards, everyone gets up and makes a beeline towards the bar, and I hover awkwardly, not sure what to do. Should I head to the bar myself, or wait for Max to come and get me?

“Hello.”

I turn to find a handsome man looking at me. He has brown hair swept back from a fine-boned face and very blue eyes.

“Hello,” I reply rather uncertainly.

“You’re with Max, aren’t you?”

“Oh, yes. He should be back soon,” I say, still unsure why he’s talking to me.

He looks me up and down, and I blink because it’s been a while since a stranger so methodically stripped me with the power of his eyes.

“That’s good,” he drawls, and I realise that he’s American. “I haven’t seen Max since Shanghai.”

“Oh, yes?” I say brightly, because call me cynical, but I’ve got a feeling where this conversation is going.

This is one of Max’s conquests. I wait to feel the customary rage that for two and a half years has been my unacknowledged companion, but for the first time, it doesn’t come.

I only want to laugh. “And when you say Shanghai, you don’t mean The Bund or the Yu Garden, do you?

You actually just mean shagging him. Poor Max.

I don't know where he gets his stamina from. ”

He stares at me in astonishment and then laughs. “I can see why he was hovering over you like your ass was made of gold.”

“Was he?” I say startled.

He grins. “Yep. It was kind of scary, to be honest. I haven’t seen Max like that before.”

I jerk. “You haven’t?”

“Fuck no.” He winks. “And I’ve seen him in many permutations, if you get my meaning.”

“Like you’ve hit me over the head with it,” I say wryly.

He laughs again. He has an open cheeriness about him that I like. As if everything is a joke.

He edges closer. “I thought about asking for a repeat, to be honest. My boyfriend is here too, and he remembers Max and Ivo very fondly.”

“That Max. Such a bad boy.” I jerk. “Wait. Max and Ivo?”

He grins at me. “Have you met him? Lots of blond hair and attitude.”

“Only the once,” I say grimly. “But he certainly made an impression. So, you and your boyfriend and Max and Ivo all…?” I hesitate, looking for a polite word. I give up. “You all shagged, then?”

He laughs. “Like rabbits all night. It was wild.”

“And it was definitely with Ivo?” I’m a bit startled and I don’t know why.

“Of course. I remember it because that French accent was fucking sexy, and well, it was Max. He’s memorable all on his own.’

“He certainly is,” I say faintly. “Like a dose of the clap.” I hesitate. “Did they do that often?”

“Oh yeah.”

Someone shouts at him, and he grins at me and wanders off.

I stare after him, thoughts roiling in my head.

I’m astounded by that revelation. Max never shared me.

Not that there’s anything wrong with sharing.

I’ve been in many a threesome and had a wonderful time.

But Max never made any attempt to do that despite us not being exclusive, and he’d had opportunities.

I remember one night in a club when a bloke approached us while we were dancing.

He wound himself around us, and I’d never seen Max move so quickly.

We were out of the bloke’s boa constrictor grip and in a taxi within five minutes, and Max had fucked me hard that night.

I find myself wondering about the exact nature of Max’s relationship with Ivo, something I’ve never wanted to do before because I’ve always taken his declaration of love for Ivo with the same certainty as he’d proclaimed it.

I remember Zeb’s words after I’d left Max. At the time, Zeb’s insistence that Max had convinced himself he was in love with Ivo had rung as a hollow assurance, a salve for my hurt feelings. But maybe it wasn’t. There was nobody in the world who knew Max as well as Zeb.

“Hello.” A voice interrupts my thoughts.

I turn to see the large man who I remember Max pointing out as his old editor, Kevin. He’s easily six foot four and has a mane of silver hair pushed back from his face. His eyes are very clever-looking.

“Hello,” I say. “You’re Max’s old editor, aren’t you?”

His grin is full of charm. “The wrinkles and grey hair are all Max’s doing. I’m actually only twenty-three.”

I burst out laughing. “You have my sympathy,” I say solemnly. “I bet he was a bloody handful.”

“My own and several other people’s too,” he says wryly. “I’m surprised I never imploded what with dealing with him and Ivo.”

I smile at him. For some reason, Ivo’s name only gives me a slight pain, and I wonder why that is. “I bet it was worth it,” I say lightly.

He looks past me at the group of people surrounding a grinning Max. They’re laughing at something he’s saying, their faces full of light and humour.

“He was the best,” he says simply. “I’ll never have another like him or Ivo.

They were a formidable team. Max had an eye for a story and could get anyone to talk, and Ivo took the most heartbreaking pictures.

Beautiful and terrible, if you know what I mean?

” He glances at me, and I nod. “Max was a fucker though. Ivo at least had some self-preservation, like a cat who knew exactly what he was doing and would end up on his feet. But Max would plunge headfirst into whatever was happening without a second’s thought. He was a fearless fucker. ”

I think of him shaking after his nightmare on the Orient Express the other night and bite my lip. “Do you want him back?”

“I should say I’d have him back tomorrow, but I can’t.

” I must look startled because he smiles.

“Being a journalist teaches you after enough years that people are expendable, but I can’t feel like that about Max.

” He shrugs. “I was relieved when they both retired.” He looks at Max, and a fond smile appears.

“I was worried about Max, though for ages afterwards. Ivo retired first and seemed okay, but Max couldn’t seem to settle and kept trying to come back.

I’ve seen it in so many journalists. They get addicted to the high-octane existence and can’t settle to normal life. I thought we’d lose him.”

I stiffen. “Why?”

“He was careless, drinking too much, not paying attention. Once Ivo left, he seemed lost. Like his mooring rope had snapped.”

“Are you still worried?” I hold my breath for his answer.

He laughs. “Nope. Not after the conversation I had with Connor yesterday.”

My brows furrow at the mention of Max’s agent. “Why?”

“Because Max is settled now, or nearly there.”

“He doesn’t appear to be even remotely settled.”

He grins at me. “I’ve known him since he was a lad and he’s definitely found his peace now. Ivo found his, and Max needed to do the same.”

“And what is it that’s given him peace?”

“Maybe you should ask who has given him peace ,” he advises me. Someone calls his name. He offers me a genial smile and, after clapping me on the shoulder, he saunters off, leaving me alone with my mind teeming.

Max finds me a few minutes later. “Alright?” he asks.

“Yes, fine,” I say quickly. I eye him. “You were predictably not too terrible,” I say.

His laugh is loud and lovely, and several people around us smile.

“Ah, Felix, how I do live for your pearls of praise. They make everything worthwhile.”

I smile at him .

He scrutinizes my face, his eyes going dark. “Let’s go and get some food,” he says abruptly.

“Don’t you want to eat here?” I ask, startled. “I thought you’d want to tell old stories and meet your old mates.”

“Not many of those left now,” he says. “Not at these things. This is the new guard.”

“Does that make you feel sad?”

His eyes get a far-away look for a second. “No,” he says. “I actually feel rather proud of the contribution I made to cracking stories that really made a difference to ordinary people. But now it’s their time. I have other things to do. Important things.”