Page 85 of Party Favors

“Has that happened before?” he asked.

“It has. That’s why the policy exists.”

The alarm on my phone sounded, alerting me that I needed to do one final walkthrough because it was almost time for people to start arriving. “I have to get to work, but I’ll check in with you later.”

He nodded. “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

It was silly and romantic and I didn’t know how to respond other than to say, “Okay.”

So stupid.

I was mentally berating myself as I started toward the kitchen when I heard him call my name. I stopped and he walked over to me, taking my hands again.

He said, “Tonight, after the party? I think you and I should talk.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

It was a good thing that there was so much to do—it made it so that I couldn’t spend my entire evening thinking about what Max had said.

What did he want to talk to me about?

For all I knew he might have wanted me to dog-sit Basta or something. I decided I probably shouldn’t read too much into it.

I kept an eye on Max as I took care of the rest of my responsibilities. I had ordered a backdrop specifically designed for photos and social media videos that had a beautiful scenic shot of the Monterran royal family’s palace. Max seemed to be spending most of his time there, and it didn’t surprise me in the least that Hyacinth’s friends wanted to take photo after photo with him.

When dinner was served, I went into the kitchen. Hillary was handling things expertly, but I was desperately hungry and wanted to grab a plate of something before I waded back out into the fray.

I had just served myself a plate when I felt a hand sliding along my back. My entire body tingled in response, knowing it was Max.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Very,” he said in a low, growly voice that was doing funny things to the backs of my knees.

“Have a bite of the steak,” I told him. “It’s delicious.” Without thinking, I cut him off a piece and held it out to him. He leaned forwardto take the bite, his lips wrapping around the fork, slowly pulling the steak into his mouth, and although I knew he hadn’t meant for it to be sexy, it was.

“It is delicious,” he agreed. He was so close to me that I could have kissed him if I’d been braver.

“My favorite couple!” a loud voice boomed, and I turned to see Bartolomeo. “How are you this beautiful evening?”

“Wonderful. And the food is divine,” I told him.

“This is why you are my favorite customer,” he said with a wink.

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“I do!” He laughed and Max and I laughed with him. “But in your case, it is true. Please excuse me, I have to oversee the next course.”

Bartolomeo was an incorrigible flirt. Maybe it was just how men were from that part of the world.

Meaning everything Max said and did were empty gestures.

That thought made me sad.

And he didn’t help things when he said, “I get where Bartolomeo is coming from. You’re my favorite, too.”

My heart seized in my chest, unable to beat. His favorite? Favorite what?

Friend?

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