Revenge Wears Prada: The Devil Returns. Lauren Weisberger
despite being a whip-smart, good guy who was ceaselessly devoted to his friends and family. Emily and Miles predicted Max would be single until his forties, at which point his overbearing mother would place enough pressure on him to produce a grandchild, and he would marry a knockout twenty-three-year-old who would gaze at him worshipfully and never question anything he said or did. Andy knew all of this – she had listened carefully and done some research of her own that seemed to confirm everything Emily said – but for a reason she couldn’t quite pinpoint, the assessment felt off.
‘No story, really. I smoked in college with everyone else, but I never really liked it. I would sort of slink off to my room and stare at myself in the mirror and take a running inventory of all the poor decisions I’d made and all the ways I was deficient as a person.’
Max smiled. ‘Sounds like a blast.’
‘I just sort of figured, life is hard enough, you know? I don’t need my supposed recreational drug use making me unhappy.’
‘Very fair point.’ He took a drag off his cigarette.
‘And you?’
Max appeared to think about this for a minute, almost as though he were debating which version of the story to tell her. Andy watched his strong Harrison jaw clench, his dark brows knit. He looked so much like the newspaper pictures of his father. When his eyes met hers, he smiled again, only this time it was tinged with sadness. ‘My father died recently. The public explanation was liver cancer, but it was really cirrhosis. He was a lifelong alcoholic. Extraordinarily functional for a large part of it – if you can call being drunk every night of your life functional – but then the last few years, with the financial crisis and some tough business fallout, not as much. I drank pretty heavily myself starting in college. Five years out it was getting out of control. So I went cold turkey. No drinking, no drugs, nothing but these cancer sticks, which I just can’t seem to kick …’
Now that he mentioned it, Andy had noticed that Max only drank sparkling water during dinner. She hadn’t thought much about it, but now that she knew the story, part of her wanted to reach out and hug him.
She must have gotten lost in her own thoughts because Max said, ‘As you can imagine, I’m a really great time at parties lately.’
Andy laughed. ‘I’ve been known to disappear without saying good-bye just so I can go home and watch movies in my sweatpants. Drinking or not, you’re probably a better time than I.’
They chatted easily for another few minutes while they finished their cigarettes, and after Max led her back to the group, she found herself trying to catch his attention and convince herself that he was nothing more than a player. He was remarkably good-looking; Andy couldn’t deny that. Usually she was allergic to the bad boys, but tonight she thought she saw something vulnerable and honest. He hadn’t needed to confide in her about his father or admit to his drinking problem. He had been surprisingly forthright and totally down-to-earth, which were two qualities Andy found immensely appealing. But even Emily thinks he’s bad news, Andy reminded herself, and considering her friend was married to one of the biggest party boys in Manhattan, that was saying something. When Max said good-bye a little after midnight with a chaste cheek kiss and a perfunctory ‘Nice to meet you,’ Andy told herself it was for the best. There were plenty of great guys out there, and there was no need to get stuck on a jerk. Even if he was adorable and seemed perfectly sweet and genuine.
Emily appeared in Andy’s room the next morning at nine, already looking gorgeous in miniature white shorts, a batik-print blouse, and sky-high platform sandals. ‘Can you do me a favor?’ she asked.
Andy draped an arm across her face. ‘Does it involve getting out of bed? Because those margaritas crushed me last night.’
‘Do you remember talking to Max Harrison?’
Andy opened an eye. ‘Sure.’
‘He just called. He wants you, me, and Miles to go to his parents’ place for an early lunch, to talk numbers for The Plunge. I think he’s serious about investing.’
‘That’s fantastic!’ Andy said, not sure if she meant it more for the invitation or the news about the funding.
‘Only Miles and I are having brunch with his parents at the club. They just got back this morning and they’re raring to go. We’ve got to leave in fifteen minutes and there’s no getting out of it – trust me, I tried. Can you handle Max on your own?’
Andy pretended to consider this. ‘Yeah, I guess so. If you want me to.’
‘Great, it’s decided then. He’ll pick you up in an hour. He said to bring a bathing suit.’
‘A bathing suit? I’m sure I’ll also need to—’
Emily handed her an oversize DVF straw tote. ‘Bikini – high waisted for you, of course – the cutest little Milly cover-up, floppy sun hat, and SPF 30, oil-free. For afterward, bring those belted white shorts you wore yesterday and pair them with this linen tunic and those cute white Toms. Any questions?’
Andy laughed and waved good-bye to Emily before dumping the contents of the tote on her bed. She grabbed the hat and the sunblock and tossed them back into the bag, adding her own bikini, jean shorts, and tank top. There was only so far she was willing to go with Emily’s dictatorial costuming, and besides, if Max didn’t like her look, that was his problem.
The afternoon was perfection. Together Andy and Max went tooling around in Max’s little speedboat, jumping in the water to cool off and feasting on a picnic lunch of cold fried chicken, sliced watermelon, peanut butter cookies, and lemonade. They walked on the beach for nearly two hours, barely noticing the midday sun, and fell asleep on the cushy lounge chairs beside the Harrisons’ glistening, deserted pool. When she finally opened her eyes what felt like hours later, Max was watching her. ‘You like steamers?’ he asked, a funny little smile on his face.
‘Who doesn’t like steamers?’
They each threw one of Max’s sweatshirts over their bathing suits and jumped in his Jeep Wrangler, where the wind whipped Andy’s hair into a wonderful, salty mess and she felt freer than she had in ages. When they finally pulled up to the beach shack in Amagansett, Andy was converted: the Hamptons were the best place on earth, so long as she was with Max and there was always a bucket of steamers with cups of melted butter beside her. Screw city weekends. This was heaven.
‘Pretty good, aren’t they?’ Max asked as he shucked a clam and tossed the shell in a plastic discard bucket.
‘They’re so fresh some of them are still sandy,’ Andy said through a full mouth. She munched her corn on the cob unself-consciously despite a dribble of butter running down her chin.
‘I want to invest in your new magazine, Andy,’ Max said, looking her straight in the eyes.
‘Really? That’s great. I mean, that’s more than great, it’s fantastic. Emily said you might be interested, but I didn’t want—’
‘I’m really impressed with everything you’ve done.’
Andy could feel herself blush. ‘Well, to be honest, Emily has done almost everything. It’s incredible how organized that girl is. Not to mention connected. I mean, I don’t even know how to put together a business plan, never mind a—’
‘Yeah, she’s great, but I mean everything you’ve done. When Emily approached me a few weeks ago, I went back and read almost everything you’ve written.’
Andy could only stare at him.
‘The wedding blog you write for? Happily Ever After? I have to tell you, I don’t read much about weddings, but I think your interviews are excellent. That feature you did on Chelsea Clinton, right around the time she got married? Really well done.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was a whisper.
‘I read that investigative piece you did for New York magazine, the one on the restaurant letter-grading system?