"I suggest you take your hand off her arm," Max says, his voice calm but his eyes intense as I turn to look at him. "Right now."
Dylan glares back at him, his confidence cranking up quickly to pure arrogance. "I'm just walking her to her table. No big deal."
"Is that right?" Max is asking me the question, but he's still looking directly at Dylan, who shifts slightly but holds his ground. And he still has a grip on my arm.
"No, it's not," I say to Max, relieved that he's here, then turn to stare at Dylan. "I want him to leave me alone."
Max narrows his eyes. "I don't believe you heard me the first time," he says, and takes a step toward Dylan.
Dylan drops his hand but doesn't lose the attitude.
"You touch me, and I'll fucking sue you," Dylan says. "I'm a lawyer."
Max gives a low laugh. "Will you really."
Dylan seems to get the picture, finally, that he's messing with someone he shouldn't be messing with. He takes a step back.
I didn't even notice until now that another man has appeared silently out of the crowd. He's standing slightly to the left of Dylan. It's a guy who looks like he spends some serious time in the gym. He's wearing a black button-down shirt and black pants. He's got some kind of ear bud in, and dark glasses. I'm guessing bouncer.
He puts a hand on Dylan's shoulder. Dylan looks for a moment like he's going to twist free, then takes a good look at the guy and apparently thinks better of it.
"Are you here with friends?" Max asks, his voice still that deadly calm that somehow seems more threatening than visible anger.
"I'm – yes," Dylan says. He glances over toward the bar on the other side of the floor, suddenly stripped of all his bravado.
"I suggest you rejoin them. Gabe will make sure you get there." Max narrows his eyes. "In my club, when a woman says she doesn't want your company, you walk away." He pauses. "I hope it won't be necessary for Gabe to remind you of that rule."
Dylan doesn't say anything, but his eyes show sudden recognition of exactly who he's talking to.
"No problem," he says quickly and turns away, Gabe following closely behind him.
Before I can say anything to Max, Martina is there. She's still with the last guy I saw her with.
"Hey! Hadley meet Tony. I invited him to come have a drink with us." Then she notices Max and seems to clue in that something is going on.
"Is everything okay?"
"Yes. The guy I was dancing with didn't understand what 'No, thanks' means." I look back at Max. "Max explained it to him."
"Don't worry," Max says, "Gabe handles security for me. He'll make sure no one gives you any trouble. Either of you," he says, flicking a glance at Martina.
"Hey," Tony says, lifting his hands palms up, "I'm not looking for any trouble."
"Good to know," Max says, giving him a measuring look.
Martina slips her arm around Tony's elbow. "He's cool."
But Max isn't paying any attention to her now. He's looking at me, and it's almost too intense.
Martina looks back and forth between the two of us. "Um, we're heading back to the table. See you in a minute?" she asks, and I nod.
"How did you know that guy was bothering me?" I ask Max once Martina's out of earshot. "I thought you were in a meeting."
He moves closer to me, so close we're almost touching. Meanwhile, people dance all around us.
"I always know what's going on in my club."
And there it is again. This undeniable, instant attraction. I lick my lips, gazing up at him.
"So, do you have to go back to your meeting?"
"Unfortunately, yes." He reaches out, lightly tracing his fingers down the side of my cheek to my jaw. Sexy little neurons fire all over my brain cells.
What is it about Max that affects me like this, clouds my judgment?
"I'll see you soon," Max says, then disappears into the crowd on the dance floor. After a moment to catch my breath, I head back to the booth where Martina and her new friend Tony are waiting.
By the time I slide into my seat, Leah is back checking on the table. I don't drink very much, or very often, but right now I think I could really use one.
"Let's get some shots," Martina suggests. "Kamikazes?"
"Definitely not. That guy Dylan wanted us to go do them at the bar, and he gives me the creeps. Something else." I look at Leah. "What do you recommend?"
Leah considers. "Since you like cranberry juice, I know just the thing."
"Great," Martina says, "surprise us."
"So that guy sounded like an asshole," Tony says, after Leah goes off to get whatever ingredients she needs.
Martina smiles half-drunkenly at him. "You're not, though."
I'm feeling the effects of the alcohol myself, so apparently her strategy of sweating it out of us on the dance floor isn't entirely working.
"Maybe we shouldn't actually be doing shots," I say.
"Hey," Martina giggles. "We've got Max's guy Gabe watching out for us, and we can take an Uber home. Might as well get lit. I'll get my car tomorrow."
"Lit?"
"You know, wasted."
"Right." I probably have to brush up on my urban slang. Thank you Dad for such a sheltered life. Even the last few years in Philadelphia didn't bring out my wild side, but maybe Miami will.
Leah is back with a tray of something red in tall thin shot glasses. And she brought the bottles for more. I squint at the labels. "Peach Schnapps, Jägermeister, and cranberry juice."
"Works for me," Tony says, and picks one up. We down them together. It tastes smooth and way too easy to drink more of.
"What do you call these?" I ask Leah.
"Red Headed Slut."
"Seriously?" I ask.
She nods. "It's better than ordering a Blow Job. Although some guys seem to get a kick out of giving me their order."
"Yeah," Martina pipes up. "That's like Kahlua and Bailey's and whipped cream. You're supposed to drink it and not use your hands."
I wrinkle my nose. "Sounds more like dessert. And what's with the no hands thing?"
"Messy," Tony says. "These are pretty good though." He accepts a second one from Leah and tosses it back.
I drink three. I probably shouldn't have. I'm remembering that I never had dinner. I took a nap all afternoon and the arepas and slice of key lime pie I ate at the café Martina and I stopped at while shopping now seem like a distant memory.
At least the alcohol is stopping me from overthinking everything I've learned about Max, and all the questions I have. The way he handled that situation with Dylan made me feel . . . safe. Which is the opposite of how I should be feeling if Max really is the kind of person Martina thinks he is.
A few more drinks and I won't be able to think about anything, which, for right now, is okay with me. I just want to soak up the atmosphere of the club and spend a little time not trying to figure out what I'm feeling about Max. And more importantly, what, if anything, I'm going to do about it.
Martina looks a little unsteady on her feet when she rises from the booth a little while later. With Tony's arm around her, she manages to head off again to the dance floor. I pass on joining and ask Leah for a bottle of water.
I lean back and close my eyes for a moment. It's like I can feel the music seeping into every pore. The DJ has cycled back to an EDM mix now and I'm swaying my body slightly to the music without leaving my seat.
I sense rather than feel him slide in beside me.
"Max," I say, and open my eyes. "Is your business done?"
I think I'm slurring my words a little and hope he doesn't notice.
"Yes," he says, with just the faintest smile. "Have you been enjoying yourself?"
"I have. Your place is awesome." I look out at the dance floor again and know exactly how to purge it of that unpleasant memory of Dylan. "Dance with me."
"Of course." He shifts over and steps out of the booth, then takes my hand to help me out as well.
When I step out, I lose my balance and fall against him. Max steadies me, then puts both hands on my shoulders and looks closely at my face.
"What?"
"Hadley Jones, I believe you're drunk."
"I'm not drunk," I protest. "Well, maybe just a little." I sway against him. "I think I just stood up too quickly."
His eyes narrow. "How many drinks did you have?"
"I'm not sure. It's your fault. You told Leah to keep bringing them."
He gives a low laugh. "It's okay that you're drunk, Hadley. You're safe here."
"So dance with me."
"I don't think so. I don't want you to throw up on my shoes."
"I would never throw up on your shoes," I say indignantly. But inside I'm thinking yeah, that might be a possibility. Because the room is starting to spin, and I don't think it's just the light show.
He looks around and instantly, Leah appears again. It's almost like she's psychic.
"I'm taking Hadley upstairs. Make sure her friend Martina knows she's okay, and have Gabe see that she gets home safe."
Then we are headed back behind the tables, around a corner, and into what I can only describe as a secret door. It leads to an elevator.
"Are you taking me to your office?" I think those shots are really starting to hit me in some kind of a delayed reaction, and I'm no longer making any pretense of being able to stand up on my own.
"No," he says. The elevator whisks us upward. When the doors slide smoothly open, he doesn't bother helping me walk. He just picks me up and carries me down a short hallway.
"I also keep an apartment here in the building," Max says. "I'm taking you to my bed so you can sleep it off."
"Okay. My head is leaning against his shoulder. He smells really good. I close my eyes and a little moan escapes. It's nice being carried. Romantic.
I'm not worried about tonight. Whatever else Max might be, he's not the kind of guy who'd take advantage of me having too much to drink.
What's worrying me is how I'll feel tomorrow morning when I wake up not only in a crime boss' apartment, but in his bed.