Sex and the Billionaire Crime Boss - Season 2

Ch. 13: Above the City

But when I protested, he said allow me to indulge you just a little since I insisted you come with me this weekend, and I acquiesced. It still bothers me for him to buy things for me when I've told him we're done, but he had a point. It wasn't my choice to be here.

Given a choice, I'd have been spending time with my grandmother this weekend, not agreeing to draft more legal documents to help Gino and Joey D use Max's art gallery for illegal activities I can't even imagine. I'm sure money laundering is only the beginning.

Right now, I'm just busy reminding myself that probably hundreds of people come out on this platform every day, and so far none have plunged to their death.

I'm sure about that, because I just Googled it.

I tell myself to relax, it's perfectly safe here. Just to prove it, I pull out my phone and snap a selfie, with the incredible view of all of New York City in the background. I keep telling myself it's not any higher than the observation deck at the Empire State Building - I think - and I've been there before and really wasn't bothered by it. But somehow it feels different here. More exposed. The observation deck juts out from the side of the building, suspended over nothing but air, all the way down.

My mind flashes back to the person who came up behind me in Gino's club last night and I put my phone back in my pocket and move a little further back toward the building, looking around for Max. He went to get us drinks. Maybe I should have gone with him. And I remind myself again not to be paranoid. No one is going to come up behind me in broad daylight with all these people around and try anything.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath, then open them slowly. I'm looking out at the panoramic view of New York city a hopefully safe distance back from the edge, one hundred stories up. And it is pretty amazing. You can see the entire city skyline, from the tip of Central Park all the way past the Statue of Liberty.

But I have zero interest in standing on the large triangle of clear glass that showcases the view of city streets directly beneath your feet.

Max, of course, comes striding right across it, carrying two glasses of champagne.

"Come stand in the middle with me. It's like you're on top of the not just the city, but the world."

I pull back. "I don't think so."

"Are you afraid of heights, Hadley?" He's looking at me like he's surprised and I feel myself flushing with embarrassment.

"Not usually," I tell him, adding, "Okay, yes, I might be kind of afraid of heights. But you have to admit, this is pretty extreme."

"You should have told me. We didn't have to come up here."

I shrug. I don't know why heights bother me, and it's not something I like to admit. I'm fine if I'm moving fast, like on a roller coaster. But you couldn't pay me to step into one of those little cars on a giant Ferris wheel.

I'm not surprised Max isn't bothered by it, though. He probably really likes the feeling of being above the city, watching everything that's going on below. It fits with the way he likes always being in control.

I glance over and notice that some of the visitors are actually leaning facing forward against the glass walls, which angle out, and I feel dizzy for a moment.

"Come on," Max says, moving me away from the glass floor and toward a set of stairs against the building that provide seating and still showcase the view. When I sit down and rest the fancy little bags of purchases on a wide step, Max reaches over and takes my hand in his, turning it over and tracing my palm with his thumb. His touch sends little sparks shooting up my arm.

I turn my head and study him, pulled in as always by the intensity of those startlingly blue eyes.

Then I drop my gaze to our joined hands. "Gino isn't here, Max, so you don't need to do this."

"Not everything I do is for Gino's benefit." His voice is low, smooth.

"We broke up, Max," I say more sharply than I intended, and pull my hand away.

Max doesn't say anything and the silence between us is somehow worse than an argument. If he would just argue with me, try to talk me into staying together, then I could explain all the reasons why it won't work. Instead, he lets the silence build, and the battle I'm fighting is with myself.

Now I feel kind of silly yanking my hand away like that. His hand is resting on his knee, and I find myself wanting to reach back and put my hand in his again, feel that warmth and those little tingles I always get when he touches me.

So I set my champagne glass down and put both hands in my lap, clasping them together like a small child who knows they shouldn't touch the display in the candy store but can't trust their fingers to obey their brain.

I can feel him watching me.

When I look at his face now I see something in his eyes that looks almost like . . . pain. Then his expression changes, his face is as unreadable as always, and I wonder if I imagined it.

"Are you that repulsed by my touch now, Hadley?" he asks, and my breath catches in my throat. Is that what he thinks?

"When I pulled you into my lap at the pool earlier today and kissed you and you kissed me back, that was all a pretense then?"

Obviously it wasn't. He had to know my response was real. Damn him.

"No." My voice is quiet, and I can't look at him. Instead I turn slightly in my seat and stare out at the view.

The teasing Max who suggested earlier that we could go back to the hotel suite to change clothes and he'd "help" me out of my bikini is gone now.

"Because I'm trying to understand, Hadley, why it's so offensive to you that a man who beat his girlfriend badly enough to put her in the hospital got exactly what he deserved."

I look around, but no one is sitting near us or listening to our conversation. But still.

"I really don't want to talk about this here."

"Fine." Max stands up, picks up my packages, the reaches out a hand to help me to my feet.

"Where are we going?"

"Back inside, where we can have some privacy."

We take the elevator to the top floor and I realize that this isn't just a bar but also an exclusive restaurant, with a killer view of the city through tall floor to ceiling windows. We don't have a reservation, but it's not a problem. I'm not sure if that's because of the folded bill Max slips to the hostess, or because he asks for a secluded table off to the side, while most of the customers are sitting at the clearly preferred tables close to the windows to make the most of the view. I realize we're still holding our champagne glasses. Apparently that's the drink of choice here. Our server removes our glasses and brings us fresh ones.

I sit across the table from Max and wonder where to begin. I hate the awkward silence between us. I don't want to have to explain all over again to Max why it doesn't make sense for us to see each other. Especially not when I thought he understood.

I take a steadying sip of my champagne and prepare to dive back into the difficult conversation.

But as soon as our server steps away, Max turns to me and starts talking.

And what he says is nothing like what I was expecting.