The Playboy God (Gods of Olympus Book 7) Read online

“That’s the point.” She chuckles, and I feel even more offended. “I thought the bigger the ring, the more serious he was about the relationship,” I reason.

  “For most women. Besides, this is our first ‘date.’ You can’t ask me to marry you before our first date.” She pushes the offending box into my hands, and I have no choice but to take it.

  I sigh and sit back. “What if I told everyone I realized that I’d wasted the last three years and I had to ask you right away?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “For being the supposed love guru, you really suck at romance.”

  Touché. She doesn’t know the half of it.

  “Fine. But the second it feels romantic enough, I’m popping the question.”

  A smile touches her lips. “That sounds like a threat.”

  “Consider it one.” I put away the box in my coat pocket. Trust Max to turn down a ring that’s worth the same amount as a car.

  What a woman.

  “So where are we going?” she asks, breaking the silence.

  “You made me make the reservations,” I say, “so consider it a surprise.”

  She pretends to pout and looks out the limousine window. “Well, I couldn’t very well set up the reservations for our first date.” She crosses her arms and legs. “I’m not your personal assistant in this little fantasy of yours.”

  Yeah. That had been interesting. After having Max arrange everything for me for the past three years, I had to remember how to make reservations.

  Which is something a god doesn’t have to worry about that much in his existence.

  Having her as my fiancée will create some new, interesting dynamics between us. I’m going to have to learn how to do things for myself, which I’m not looking forward to.

  Also, as part of Max’s request to not ask any questions, the limo picked her up at work. I realize that I know where she lives, but I’ve never been there myself. She commutes to Manhattan from Jersey City every day.

  Meanwhile, I rarely ever leave Manhattan myself. My entire life is here, and as a god, I’ve done and seen everything interesting in my life. I have no reason to go to Jersey City, so I don’t know the area.

  I can feel Max’s eyes on me. “What?”

  She smiles softly. “You look…nice. A little nervous. But nice.”

  Me, look nervous? I’m Eros, for Zeus’s sake, I’m suave, cool, calm, and confident. I can make panties drop without hesitation. I can make men jealous and want to be me. And she thinks I’m nervous?

  She taps her chin knowingly. “You move your jaw forward just the slightest bit when you’re nervous. I’ve picked that up over the years.”

  I purse my lips, and, sure enough, my teeth need to realign a bit. Damn, she’s right. The mortal calling out the god.

  “Just a lot riding on this,” I admit finally. And it’s the truth. If Steven’s insane idea doesn’t work out, I’ll be back at square one. Possibly even worse off, because I’ll seem desperate. Sleazy. Disgusting. And love worldwide would suffer.

  She puts her hand on top of mine, the engagement ring glistening. “Hey,” she says softly. “It will be fine. I wouldn’t do anything to harm your reputation.”

  “And what about yours?”

  She shrugs. “I’m…well, no one’s really been interested in me for a while. So, as far as my own reputation, I don’t need to worry about that.”

  “I find that hard to believe. You look beautiful tonight.”

  And, like an idiot, I realize that I had said that without thinking. Her cheeks flush deep scarlet even in the dim light of the limo.

  “Thanks,” she says finally. “I guess this whole thing is going to take some getting used to.”

  Before we could get used to the idea any more, the limo stops, and she and I look out the window to see the porte-cochere of the restaurant. Max meets my eyes, and for the first time, I see blind panic in them. She’s been hiding it this entire time, but I can tell now that this is out of her comfort zone.

  “You’ll do fine,” I tell her gently. I take her hand and give it a squeeze. “We got this.”

  The valet opens the door and helps her out first, followed by me. He gives the tight grin of a man who hates his job but pretends to love it, and his face alights with false delight when he recognizes me.

  “Ah, Mr. Eros, good to see you again.”

  I give him a thin-lipped smile and hand him a twenty-dollar bill. “Good to see you, too.”

  We’re seated at the chef’s table by the kitchen. There’s already a bottle of Dom Perignon chilling in an ice bucket by our table. Max pauses at it before sitting on the side opposite it, like it’s a snake that will bite her.

  “You’re laying it on thick, Damien,” she hisses under her breath as I settle in next to her. “I thought you rich-types only drank that stuff for special occasions.”

  “It is a special occasion,” I tell her, glad that I’ve surprised her. “It’s what you get for making me make the reservations. I make special requests like this when I do.”

  She quirks an eyebrow in amusement. “You’re not making a good case against letting you make reservations.”

  “Then let’s get started.” I nod for the over-eager waiter to pop the cork and pour her a flute. He does so with the gusto of a man who knows the more of a show he puts on, the better tip he’s going to get. I’m supposed to be a man in love. Money isn’t supposed to be an object. So I’m going to give him that good tip, even though I can feel the money hemorrhaging out of me like my lifeblood.

  Although, looking at Max’s delight as she accepts the flute, I think that acting like a man in love won’t be too hard. She looks radiant as she takes a sip, her eyes fluttering closed. I always thought that she was a pretty woman, but there’s something magnetic about those walls of hers coming down and revealing her true self.

  She’s stunning.

  She opens her eyes and looks at me, questioningly. “What?”

  “It must be a good glass of champagne.” Safest answer.

  She grins. “It is. Should we toast?”

  “You’re supposed to do that before you drink it.” But I take my glass anyway. “To us.”

  Her eyes sparkle as she clinks her flute against mine. “To you.”

  I want to tell her that it’s not just about me. If I had known that something like this would help her shed her tough exterior and become this enthralling creature, I might have done it a long time ago. Might have.

  My wallet is still smarting from that huge paycheck I deposited into her account a few days ago. This is going to be an expensive exercise in repairing my public image. But if it works, it will be worth it. The ties of love will still be strong.

  Hell, I may even get back in touch with the god of love that I used to be. This may not be real love, but it’s helping me remember why mortals want it so badly.

  They are, after all, social creatures. With such a short time spent on Earth, they have to make the most of it. And if I were a mortal, I’d want to see Max like this every day of my short life.

  I get it.

  We go through seven courses of the Japanese/French fusion menu. Max is an adventurous eater—even though there are some questionable ingredients on our plate, even for a god like me. I never once see her hesitate or make a face with the experiment.

  She loves it. She loves when the waiter comes out to show us white truffle mushrooms and asks if we want to have it shaved on our sushi ravioli. She loves asking the waiter how every dish is prepared, testing the foreign words out on her tongue. Her eyes close. She inhales with every bite to savor it.

  I almost don’t even taste my own food because I’m just watching her.

  We talk.

  Small talk, really. You don’t work with someone for three years without going over a lot of the usual conversation pieces. At least, I think so, at first. But Max is like a flower starting to bloom, and I feel like I’m getting insight into the true version of her. As she gets more relaxed and gets more alcohol into
her, she loosens up.

  It’s a sight to behold.

  “I’ve never seen you like this,” I say, leaning my cheek into my hand and propping my elbow on the table.

  “Like what?”

  Like so many things, but I choose one word that encompasses all of her. “Relaxed.”

  She throws back her head and laughs. “Well, you may be surprised to know, Mr. Eros, that I’m not the stuck-up bitch at home that I am at your job.”

  “I can see that.”

  “I mean, no one can literally be that bitchy.” She smooths out her cheeks. “I think it’s giving me wrinkles. But I have to be to deal with your clients. They all want me to be at their beck and call. ‘Maxine, go do this.’ Shit like that. And then I have to deal with you…”

  “With me?”

  She snorts unattractively—which still manages to be cute because she’s so unguarded —and takes another sip. “You’re the worst of them all. You realize that I had to start dropping my son off at school forty-five minutes early, just so I can drag your ass out of bed?”

  Her cheeks color that she slipped a snippet about her family life.

  “Your son?” I ask.

  “I…” Her voice trails off, and she licks her lips. “I told you not to ask any questions.”

  “Yeah,” I agree softly. “About why you agreed to…this. But,” I give a bewildered laugh, “You’ve never willingly brought up your son.”

  Her gaze meets mine, all the joy and delight gone from her eyes. “I didn’t want you to know about him.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because.” Her voice falters. “I’m trying to protect him from all this. The spotlight. This world where someone criticizes you because you have a mole on your face. Or you forgot to put on makeup in the morning. I wanted to protect him from that.”

  “Max,” I say leaning in. “You agreed to be my fiancée in a very public way. He was going to be dragged into the spotlight at some point.”

  Her expression hardens. “There are sometimes when you get really desperate, Damien,” she says, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “Sometimes…”

  I put my hand over hers. “Hey,” I say. “I will do my best to protect him as well. Keep him out of the spotlight. There are plenty of celebrities who keep their kids out of the media. We can do the same for your son. Is he your only kid?”

  She snickers, and it’s half-choked because her face is still drawn tight. “Yes. The only one, stepdaddy.”

  We meet each other’s eyes, her sad ones against my own. Suddenly, everything makes sense. I can see why she decided to agree to this crazy idea. It wasn’t for greed or riches. It was for her son.

  She looks so vulnerable. My gaze drifts down to her lips, stained a deep rouge that makes her green eyes stand out against her face. We’re so close together I could kiss her. Maybe I should. She’s my fiancée after all.

  But, I don’t want our first kiss to be in such a public space. Which is ridiculous, because why else would I have paid so much for dinner? I want people to see me in love.

  But now, there’s something else here brewing, and I want to cultivate it as much as possible.

  It takes every ounce of willpower I have to sit back, and I lick my lips as I do so. “Just let me know if you or your son need anything, Max. Okay?”

  Her gaze, which had lingered on my lips as well, snaps to my face. She gives a slow nod. “Thank you,” she whispers. “I appreciate it.”

  “No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I appreciate what you’re doing for me.”

  Her smile comes back slowly, shades of the Max I’m familiar with coming back bit by bit. She lifts her glass. “Trust me; I think I’m getting the best part of this deal. Dom Perignon and food that I would have never been able to afford. It’s like a fairy tale.”

  I briefly entertain the idea of telling her that I was one of the ones responsible for creating fairy tales. Romeo and Juliet was inspired by my intervention. Tristan and Isolde. Lois and Clark. Peanut butter and jelly.

  All matches made in the heaven of me.

  But I don’t say anything. Right now, I’m just…Damien Eros.

  And that seems to be all right with Max.

  6

  One thing I hadn’t considered with all this was what to do with Max after every date. She flatly refused to let my driver take her to her house in Jersey City, even though it would be easier and she drank too much to drive.

  “I’ll just Uber and expense it to you,” she says, slurring her words together as we head back to my apartment building.

  “That’ll be around sixty dollars,” I say.

  “A hundred and twenty,” she clarifies. “Because I’ll have to come back in the morning for work.”

  I groan. “At least let me drive you closer to your place.”

  She shakes her head. “No need to. Your place is on the way to mine.”

  I give her a dubious look. She’s so stubborn. It’s infuriating.

  “You just spent two grand on dinner.” She has a point. It’s hard to argue with that logic when I’ve been spending money like this. “Besides,” she adds darkly, “this falls underneath that don’t-ask-questions agreement.”

  And that is going to drive me nuts throughout this whole arrangement. I give her a cool look before turning to the window to watch the streetlights as we pass them.

  “Do you think we did it?” Max asks. At my questioning glance, she adds, “Do you think people believed that we were on a date?”

  I nod. “No doubt about it.”

  “I thought there’d be more…cameras flashing. Or something.”

  “There was. You were on your third bottle of champagne at that point.”

  She gives an uncharacteristic giggle that reminds me of a young girl. “Whoops.”

  “I think you did fine,” I say.

  “So, what’s next?”

  “Well,” I say, considering it for myself, “we check to see what the news says about tonight. And we go from there.”

  “And if no one noticed?”

  “Then Steven is fired.”

  She chuckles again. “Without risk, there is no reward.”

  “Without publicity, why have a publicist?”

  “Good point,” she agrees.

  The limo pulls up to my apartment building, the moment I’ve been dreading the whole night. When it’s just her and me, am I expected to kiss her? There wasn’t anyone here to see, but we had to keep up the illusion, right?

  Including having her get home in an Uber.

  I frown as she takes out her phone to call a car. “Seriously, Max…”

  “Seriously, Damien,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “Please let me do this.” I bite back the protest as she finishes tapping on her screen. “Three minutes.”

  Three awkward minutes left with her. We both sit in the back seat of the limo, lost in our own thoughts. I’m not sure what to do or say to her. I can’t just let it end like this tonight.

  “Can I ask one question?” She narrows her eyes at me, and I smirk at her in response. “What’s your son’s name?”

  Her face falls. “Damien—”

  “A stepfather-to-be would know what his fiancée’s son is called,” I point out. “I don’t have to know anything else, but I should at least be able to say his name if someone asks.”

  For a long moment, I think she’s not going to give me an answer, but then she sighs and sits back. “Gotham. His name is Gotham. And he’s eleven years old.”

  “Gotham? As in the city in Batman?”

  I can’t help but sound shocked, which only makes her more prickly. She gives me a warning look. “His father was a fan of Batman. And I’ve regretted naming him that ever since.”

  “I’m sure he’s just as badass as that sounds.”

  She nods, although her eyes narrow slightly. “Yes. He’s a very strong kid.”

  I want to ask more, but there’s a flash of lights and the Prius pulls up, parking right behind the limo.


  “My ride’s here,” she says, eagerly, opening the door and slipping out.

  “Wait, Max,” I say, exasperated, as I get out behind her.

  She whirls on me, surprise on her face that I would follow her out here. “Damien?”

  I advance on her before I lose my nerve or make this look awkward, grab her face, and put my mouth on hers. Her lips are soft and pliable, as she hadn’t expected me to kiss her like this. Her mouth is slightly parted, and I find that it’s incredibly hard not to probe further, to see how she tastes.

  I force myself to hold back, because she is entirely different than any other woman I’ve dated. She’s Max. My personal assistant. The one woman who can keep me in line and doesn’t fall for my bullshit.

  Very few mortals have ever been able to do that to me. So I keep this innocent.

  Just a chaste kiss. One from two people who are trying to make this look natural.

  I pull back, and she looks at me, dazed.

  “Good night,” I tell her before I tilt my mouth to her ear. “If we were truly dating, you’d get a good night kiss. And possibly go up to my room for a night you wouldn’t forget.”

  “Right,” she says with an absent nod. She runs her hand over her mouth. I know my lips are still tingling. “I guess kissing would be a big part of all this.”

  I smile. “Give me a text when you’re home. That’s also something two people in a relationship would do.”

  “Yes,” she agrees. “I will.” She looks like she has something else to say, but she gulps audibly and shakes her head. “Good night, Damien. Good night, Charles!”

  I blink in confusion, wondering who Charles is. Then my limo driver leans his head out the window. “Good night, Miss Galloway!”

  Shit, I thought his name was Bob. I’ve been calling him that for years.

  She gives me a knowing wink as me at she gets into the Uber. It feels so odd, letting her leave like this, but I respect her boundaries and wave as the Uber pulls away. I lean toward the passenger window and tell Bob—shit, Charles—that I’m done for the night.

  “She’s a good one,” Charles tells me. “Unlike the others you see.”

  “Yeah,” I say at length. Damn, I wish I could tell him about our arrangement. So he’s in on it, too. “She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”