Chapter 2

"Stacy?" Max prompted her again, his voice gentle. "Aren't you the same woman who's been telling me for three years romance is nothing but a myth made up by greeting card companies and florists? The one who keeps saying it's a line that men hand out to women? That you didn't have time for more than meaningless sex and a lot of laughs?"

"It was easier that way," she mumbled.

"Excuse me? I can't hear you." He cupped his ear. "Could you repeat that, please?"

"You heard me. I said, it's easier. You guys are all alike. All you want is a lot of laughs and a lot of sex and then a handshake when it's over. Or maybe not even the handshake. So if I don't take things seriously, I don't get hurt."

"Let's be clear. When you say 'you guys,' I assume you're lumping me in with the general male population?"

"If the shoe fits."

He stared. "I think I'm insulted. How the hell would you know if I'm like that? Do you follow me around?"

Her cheeks heated again. "No, of course not. But I see the parade of female characters in and out of your townhouse. They could almost be interchangeable."

"It's hardly a parade." Max leaned back and rested an ankle on the opposite knee. "Anyway, you're making a lot of assumptions here, Stacy. Maybe I just haven't found the right woman to get serious with yet. I lead a pretty busy life, you know."

"That's nothing but an excuse." She flapped a hand at him. "You make time in your life for me."

"That's—"

"That's what?" she demanded.

"Different," he finished in a lame voice.

"Because I'm not like a real woman, right?" she snapped. "I want conversation instead of getting naked fifteen seconds after we meet. I want to do something besides roll around on the sheets. And I don't want to have to fluff up the packaging every time I turn around. Go ahead. Say it. Out loud."

"Don't put words in my mouth."

"I'm sorry. Really. I'm just so depressed right now."

"Don't take what I'm saying the wrong way, but I'd think someone who writes features for a woman's magazine would have a different take. Or have you been so busy producing stuff—articles, whatever—to give other women their dreams that you forgot what it takes to have your own? So again, what's so different this time? And what makes Kurt so special?"

"He broke up with me two weeks before Valentine's Day." The words popped out of her mouth before she could stop them. "He told me he had something special planned. I guess this was it, damn it."

"Valentine's Day?" Max parroted.

"Yeah, you know. Big day for lovers? Hearts and flowers? Candy? Wine? Maybe jewelry? Big romantic dinner? The works?"

"Valentine's Day," Max said again, taking another swallow of beer.

"You say that like it's a foreign concept," she snarked. "It happens every February fourteenth. Surely you've heard of it before. Sent flowers to your gaggle of females. Oh, wait. You probably have so many, you order an assistant do it. Someone at the team complex."

Max slammed his beer bottle down on the floor beside his chair. "Stacy, what in the fuck has gotten into you tonight? I don't have a—what did you call it?—a gaggle of women, and you know that. I'm better than that. And I didn't think you were so shallow all that crap meant life or death to you."

She wanted to cry, something she seldom did. Why be nasty to Max because of her disappointment in herself, in what her life had become? All work and meaningless play.

"Stace?" he prompted.

"Every year we do a special issue for V-Day." She nibbled a fingernail. "Our issue this year is spectacular. Lots of shots of lovers in romantic settings. Great ads that promise all kinds of fantasies from pleasant dreams to gigantic orgasms. With the situation so hot and heavy with Kurt, I bought into the myth myself."

Max's eyebrows rose. "Gigantic orgasms? Where's that ad?"

She waved a hand at him. "You know what I mean."

He looked at her, curiosity stamped on his face. "I do?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I don't know if it was Kurt himself, to tell you the truth. All the women drooled over him, though, and I finally thought I was a big deal because we were a couple. He made it no secret when we broke up because he's trolling for his next conquest."

"And he's the guy you're crying over?" Max had an incredulous look on his face.

"Okay, I'll say it. He fed my ego." She let out a long sigh. "And now, I won't have a date for the big Valentine's party. Again. What makes it worse is he'll be at the event. The publisher demands everyone's attendance, so I'll have to show up and watch him playing touchy-feely with someone else while putting up with everyone's pity all night long." She brushed a stray hair from her cheek. "Damn, Max. How did I get it so wrong?"

"Maybe, subconsciously, you knew all these other guys weren't worth your time, so you forced the breakup. Did you ever think of that?"

"Huh?" She stared at him.

"Stace, don't get mad at me but think for a minute. If you were really into any of them, you'd be a lot more than ticked off. You'd be devastated. They might just not be what you're looking for. Maybe first you have to figure out what you really want."

"If I tell you what I want, you'll think I'm a brainless female."

"You're not," he protested. "You are a beautiful, desirable woman who happens to pick men who are self-centered jerks."

"Yeah, right," she snorted.

"Come on, honey," he coaxed. "This is me. Good old Max. We can say whatever we want to each other, right? So let's hear it."

"I'm going to sound really stupid." She sighed.

"The only stupid thing is not saying what's on your mind." His mouth curved in a crooked grin. "Go ahead. Let's hear it."

Stacy dropped her gaze to her lap. "I want—" She shook her head. "Never mind."

Max leaned his elbows on his knees. "What would you really like here, Stacy? Another man in your life? Someone to make Kurt jealous? Make him realize what he's thrown away so he'll come crawling back to you? Someone you can show off to the females you work with?"

Was that what she wanted?

Stacy nodded. "Yes. Like that. Sort of. Let him—all of them—see what they're missing." She chuffed a laugh. "And I want a really hot date for the Valentine's party."

"Clue me in on the party you keep talking about."

"The publisher hosts one every year for everyone on the editorial staff and in the marketing and sales departments. For five years, I've always been on the downside of a breakup. My so-called dates have usually been someone I coerced into going with me, or else I went alone." She glanced down in her lap. "Three of the women on the staff recently got engaged, and two more are in the middle of planning their weddings. One time—one time—I want someone to say, 'Wow! Look who Stacy showed up with.'"

"That's what you want."

"Uh huh. Oh, and preferably a guy who'll romance me for a week or so leading up to it, so the office gossips will be full of jealousy rather than pity."

"Romance you," he repeated. "Take you to the party."

"Yes. See? I told you it was stupid. " She rubbed her forehead." Forget I even brought it up."

"No, no, no. Not forgetting anything." Max picked up his bottle, drained the rest of his beer, set it back down. "Okay, then. I've got a suggestion."