Page 12 of The Friends and Rivals Collection

SEPARATE-ISH

Hazel

I met the sharp-dressed Max more than a year ago at a book party.

I’d heard about him from Axel over the years, since agents were up there on the wheel of regular conversation topics after coffee is life, how I procrastinated today , and why didn’t I come up with that brilliant idea that’s at the top of bestseller lists.

At our writing sessions, there were a lot of Max says this , and Max says that, especially since their working relationship was newer.

Axel’s first agent had retired right around the time when we started writing together, so my agent, Michelle, had handled the deal for both of us for the Ten Park Avenue series.

Shortly after that was inked, Axel signed on with Max for his solo projects.

But I’d never met him. There was never a need or an opportunity.

Until we went to a launch party one evening at An Open Book. Axel snagged me from the post-reading crowd and said, “All right. Let’s do this. For four years of writing together, you’ve avoided meeting Max, but that ends tonight since he’s here.”

I nudged him playfully. “Yes. I’ve been darting and dodging him all this time,” I’d said.

You didn’t often meet your friends’ agents unless you all happened to be at the same industry fete together. Stars simply hadn’t aligned till that night.

Axel draped an arm around me and steered me to the man in the suit.

His back was to us while he chatted with a guy wearing a vest and a cowboy hat.

Another writer, Axel whispered. The writer’s name was Vince Caine, two short syllables that immediately set off pen name bells in my head.

As we waited for an opening, Axel and I made small talk about Vince’s ultra-manly moniker.

When vest-and-hat Marlboro Man and GQ agent were done, Max turned around.

And Max was all kinds of wow.

Those warm hazel eyes.

That scruffy jaw.

That delightfully arrogant grin.

Most of all, that tailored suit that hugged his thighs, his arms, his chest.

I like all sorts of styles on men, from the rough-and-tumble, leather-jacket-and-jeans look to the workout-casual, polo-wearing style, to this moneyed three-piece wardrobe.

I like men; it’s easy for me to write delectable heroes because I’m a woman who enjoys the male form a lot.

I just wish I could have what my heroines are having—toe-curling, sheet-grabbing sex.

Maybe someday I’ll have great sex. So far, I’ve only ever had just the slightly-above-average kind. Perhaps that’ll change for me soon.

“Hazel, this is the infamous Max,” Axel had said as he’d introduced us.

Max extended a hand. “Then you must be the notorious Hazel.”

Notorious? I’d take it. Nicknames were fun in my book. “The one and only,” I said, taking my turn with the flirting baton.

Axel dusted one hand against the other. “My work here is done,” he said, then with a flicker of relief in his eyes, he walked away.

For the next several months I dated Max, fell for Max, and nearly moved in with Max.

During our coffee-shop writing sessions, I told Axel little details about his agent.

How sweet he was for sending me tiger lilies, how fantastic the meal was at the new vegetarian restaurant he found, how clever he was for his double word score in Words With Friends (even though I’d nabbed a triple-worder).

Axel would want to know those details, I’d figured, since he’d introduced Max and me. Besides, when Axel had started dating a woman he’d met at a bar the year before, he’d told me the honeymoon details about how taken he was with Sarah. She was sexy and sweet, everything he’d wanted.

Well, until she left him, saying she’d grown bored .

The worst fear of a creative person was being dull.

Anyway, because I’d heard all about Sarah when Axel was falling for her, I did the same about Max.

I couldn’t shut up about how the man loved to give gifts.

From flowers to chocolates to restaurants, Max was the ultimate winer and diner.

For months, the cynical writer in me hibernated while the romantic allowed herself to be hook-line-and-sinkered.

The first night we had dinner, he ended the meal early to tend to a client call overseas then sent me truffles in the morning.

The truffles worked.

The part of me that doubts everyone, including myself, the part that knows that we are all drawn to those who can hurt us because it’s familiar, ignored all the circumstantial evidence over the months I spent with Max.

It took a photo of Max kissing another woman at a nightclub in Barcelona for me to see the truth. Max was there entertaining Axel and Vince at an international book festival. Axel was in the foreground toasting and Max was in the background kissing another woman.

I’d been fooled from the start, since the dinner and the truffles.

I kicked Max out of my life ten months ago, putting him at the tippy top of the whiteboard.

And there’s absolutely no need for me to chat with Max at the airport today. Except, for the little matter of adulting.

Max is Axel’s agent. I made a vow to behave better. No matter how sleazy Max is with love, he’s magic with books. Axel needs this guy in his life, so I grin and bear it, smiling painfully as I say, “Hello, Max. How are you?”

“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.

I draw in a breath. This is it. Just do it . I turn to my traveling companion, trying to erase any remnant of resting bitch face. In my head, I practice the next thing I want to say: “I was just saying ‘Let’s try to just get along on this trip . ’”

But those aren’t the words that come out of my mouth.

The ones that do make landfall? “I can’t believe you work with that lying, cheating, two-timing scum.”

Axel stares at me with wide eyes that almost, almost , twinkle with something like wicked delight.

But before he can say a word, his phone trills. With lightning reflexes, he reads the name, then swipes up. “Hey Mason,” he says, then walks away from me toward the nearby coffee stand.

Great. Just great. This trip is going to be so much worse than I’d thought.