Page 13 of About That One Night
MaxMc: Zo, I’m almost there. I’ll pick you by the entrance.
Zoe: I have a car.
MaxMc: One of my guys can take care of it later, just like last night.
Zoe: Are we going to another game? What is it now?
MaxMc: You don’t like sports?
Zoe: Not live sports. I’m okay watching them from the comfort of my home—or a bar. We’ve already been through this.
MaxMc: It doesn’t matter, I’m not taking you to a sporting event.
Zoe: Where are we going?
MaxMc: My place.
I pull up to the curb outside Zoe’s office building, watching the revolving glass doors expectantly. After a few moments, she emerges, her high heels clicking rapidly on the concrete. Even from a distance, I can see the weariness on her face, her shoulders slumped under the weight of another long day.
As she approaches the car, I lean over and push open the passenger door. “Hey there, beautiful. Rough day?”
Zoe slips into the seat with a sigh. “You could say that. Back-to-back client meetings all afternoon.” She pulls the door shut with more force than necessary.
I fish the thermic bag with food and a plastic cup from the backseat. “Well, I come bearing gifts. Turkey and avocado grinder on a gluten-free roll, and that fresh-squeezed lemonade you love.” I hand them over with a smile. “A little snack for the road.”
She accepts the offerings, her frown softening slightly. “You didn’t have to do that. But thank you.”
“I wouldn’t want to leave you hungry this evening. You might be burning a lot of energy,” I say suggestively as I watch her unwrap the sandwich and take a grateful bite. The urge to reach over and massage the tension from her neck is strong, but I restrain myself. All in good time.
“Tell me, what’s the plan for tonight, Max? I haven’t agreed to it just yet,” she mumbles between bites, a smear of avocado on her lip.
“The moment you accepted the sandwich, you agreed to it.” I put the car in drive and pull away from the curb, merging into the busy evening traffic.
“Your logic would never hold in a courtroom,” she scoffs, but I catch the playful glint in her eye.
“So, I was thinking,” I begin casually. “What do you say we have a quiet night in?”
Zoe takes a long sip of lemonade before responding. “Quiet night in? I like that.”
As we drive through the streets of Boston, a sleek, modern building looms ahead. When I glance at Zoe, I notice her nose wrinkles in distaste. “Ugh, what is that monstrosity? It looks like a giant glasspaperweight someone dropped in the middle of the city.”
I chuckle. “That, my dear, is cutting-edge architecture.”
“It has no soul,” she protests. “Where are the brownstones? The cobblestone streets? This thing looks like it’s trying to pick a fight with history.”
“Come on, Zo. Embrace the future,” I tease. “Next thing you know, you’ll be complaining about flying cars ruining the skyline.”
She rolls her eyes, but I see the smile tugging at her lips. “Just promise me we’re not spending our quiet night in that glass behemoth.”
“I won’t tell you,” I say mysteriously, but steer the car toward the underground garage.
As we pull in, Zoe’s eyes widen. “You live here?” she says, unimpressed. “In this modern monstrosity?”
“The brownstones and old buildings don’t have the amenities I need,” I defend, keeping my tone light. “Sometimes function trumps form, Zo.”
Instead of heading to the penthouse, we stop at the floor below, where the gym and other amenities are located. Zoe’s eyes dart around, taking in the state-of-the-art equipment and the gleaming pool visible through glass walls.
“So you brought me to show off your building?” she says, still not impressed.
