I stare at my grandfather across the table. Was everything else he told me to get me here a lie?
"So that's the reason for all of this. For getting me here to Miami. Did you even want to start a criminal law section in your firm, or was that just a carrot to dangle to get what you really wanted?"
I'm clutching the napkin in my lap even tighter now with both hands. If it was paper instead of cloth it would be in shreds.
"It's not the only reason. But it's all connected."
"What do you mean?" I feel disoriented, off balance. This isn't the way I expected this conversation to go. And I have the beginnings of a headache that will probably keep me up all night.
He flakes off a forkful of salmon, lifts it to his mouth, and chews slowly. But it doesn't look like he's enjoying it, or even tasting it really. It's just something to do.
"Part of it was Patricia. She pulls me back with her to what seems like another life. I may not have her much longer. And after my recent heart episode, I've also had to face the fact that I'm not actually going to live forever."
He looks straight at me then. "You think I researched you for our meeting with the firm today."
"Of course." He'd rattled off my credentials like he memorized them for a test.
He shakes his head no. "I didn't have to. I've been following your accomplishments, your education, and now your career, ever since you were born."
I don't know whether to believe him, so I make no comment. If it's true, I don't know how to feel about it.
He keeps talking, apparently oblivious to the confusion this is causing me.
"It was your venture into criminal law that actually got me thinking about a change of direction - an expansion - for the firm. And it made sense. The things I said at the meeting today were absolutely true. We are losing business to our competitors who have expanded into white collar crime. I've been thinking for some time about approaching you after you had a few more years experience in the PD's office, but before you made the jump to some fancy Philadelphia firm."
He may have studied my credentials, I realize, but he obviously doesn't know me at all.
"That wasn't something I was planning. I don't do what I do for money or prestige."
He nods. "That's your father in you."
I bristle, and he says, "It's not a criticism, Hadley. It's just a fact."
"So if I understand you correctly, you would have reached out to me eventually. But my grandmother's condition has sped up your timetable."
"I have a reputation for being ruthless, Hadley. You probably have that opinion of me already. I go after what I want and I don't care about collateral damage. I've been called a heartless bastard by plenty of people."
He's not wrong. Andrew and Patricia Reese are the two people my father has described all my life as cold and heartless, although he never wants to talk about the details other than to say they cut my mother out of their lives. I have some cherished memories of my mother before she died, but I was so young. Family has always meant my dad and me against the world.
I have another memory, too. Once I don't like to think about. My mother had stopped getting up much, spending most of her time in bed. She was so weak, and I was afraid. Then my father went away, and a neighbor came in and stayed with us. I don't know how long he was gone. It might only have been a day or two. But when he came back, something had changed.
I remember hearing them talking in hushed voices. My father was telling her something that had happened, and although he was the one who was always so strong, it was her comforting him. I remember her soft voice telling him it didn't matter. That everything was going to be alright. But I knew it wasn't.
I think that was the moment I realized my mother was not going to get better, and nothing was ever going to be the same again.
Had my father gone to Andrew and Patricia for help? Had he asked them to come see her and they said no? Could they have been that cruel? It would explain the bitterness on my father's face every time I ever asked about my mother's family, and how he would only say that they had done something unforgivable.
If Andrew did refuse to come see his dying daughter one last time, then he is the heartless bastard he claims people call him.
My grandfather leans forward, dragging my thoughts back to the present. "Despite what people may think, I do have a heart," he tells me. "I'm reminded by the almost unbearable pain in my chest every time Patricia asks for Laura. Know this. I would do anything to spare her that pain. Anything."
***
By the end of the meal, I've agreed to meet with the specialist who is treating my grandmother for dementia. My grandfather has his cell phone number - because of course the normal business hours of a medical practice don't apply to him - and I now have an appointment to meet with Dr. Bancroft immediately upon his return next week from a medical conference he's speaking at in New York on various forms of dementia. Apparently he really is a nationally recognized expert on the topic.
I also tried again to bring up the topic of Max Bennett and why my grandfather reacted so strongly to the name, but he shut that down immediately. I'll have to find another way to find out what happened between my grandfather and Max's father, because it doesn't look like either Max or Andrew are going to tell me.
When I get back to the condo, I'm thinking about my dad, so I pull out my phone to give him a call . It had been in my purse on silent during dinner, and there's a text from Max, sent about an hour ago.
Still at the office?
I reply, Just got back from dinner. Then I add, with my grandfather.
Maybe Max will finally answer my questions about his father and my grandfather.
When he doesn't respond right away, I assume he's back in meetings by now, and sigh. Then I see the little bubbles indicating he's sending a text and I wait impatiently as I head into the bedroom to kick off my shoes and change out of my work suit.
His text appears on the screen. In mtg. I'll call you later.
I'm about to just sent back a thumbs up and set my phone down when the little bubbles appear again.
But it won't be to talk about your grandfather.
I remember our last phone call when I shared a fantasy with Max. And the way his words shot me right over the edge as he promised to make every bit of that fantasy come true.
I'll be waiting, I text back, and this powerful, sexy, a little bit scary man who might be a crime boss sends me back a winky emoji.
A winky emoji.
Before I get too caught up, I push Max and my anticipation for the late night call out of my mind and make the call I was planning to my father before I saw the text.
He doesn't bother with a greeting. "So have you come to your senses yet?"
"Dad."
"I can't help it sweetheart, I don't want you there with those people."
Those people is how he has been referring to my mom's parents for as long as I can remember.
"Did you just get home from work?" he asks me. "First day on the job and that bastard is already working you to death."
"Dad. I was out to dinner." I pause. "With Andrew."
"Oh, Andrew is it now?"
"Come on Dad, what you expect me to call him? Mr. Reese? Grandfather? He hasn't earned that."
I can hear my father taking a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "So," he asks in a more reasonable tone, "did you go out to their house? Do they still have that ridiculous mansion on a private island?"
My father takes pride in living a modest lifestyle, even though he now earns a decent paycheck and has invested wisely over the years. It's not like the early days - the dark days after my mother died - when he struggled to get out of bed every day, and we barely had enough money to get by. He's told me that after losing her the way we did he doesn't think he would have survived if he hadn't had me to take care of. Because of me, he had to move forward. Because of me, he had to live.
"I don't know - I haven't been to the house yet. He took me out to dinner after work today."
"So how was the first day?" my dad asks grudgingly.
"It was fine. I laid out my terms, and he agreed to everything. There was some pushback, but when I stood strong he agreed."
"Good for you. You know I don't want you there, Hadley, but if you insist on doing this, at least do it on your terms."
"Thanks, Dad." At this point, I'm not telling him anything about my grandmother's dementia diagnosis, or what my grandfather wants me to do. There's no point in upsetting him, and anyway, I want to see what the doctor has to say next week.
I put him on the speaker while I walk into my bedroom, take off my suit jacket, and hang it in the closet. I slip out of the expensive heels and put them on a shoe shelf designed to hold ten times as many shoes as I would ever want to own.
"He says if I stay two years he'll give me 49% of the firm."
There's silence for a few moments, then my dad starts laughing. But it's not a happy laugh. "Well isn't that ironic," he says.
"What do you mean?"
"Never mind. It's not important. Hadley, don't trust him."
"Believe me, I don't. I wrote it all down and I made him sign it."
"I wish I could have been a fly on the wall. The mighty Andrew Reese, beaten in a negotiation by his own granddaughter."
I shrug. "It's probably not enforceable anyway. I just want to have it to shove in his face if he tries to backpedal later. I'm not having him make decisions about the criminal cases I take on, and the ones I turn away."
"That's my girl. I still wish you weren't doing this, but I believe in you. I know that whatever happens, you'll make the right choices."
I wish I felt that confident myself. But I don't tell him that. I don't want him to worry any more than he already is. Instead I say, "I love you, Dad."
"I love you, too, Little Biscuit," he says, reverting to the childhood nickname he used to call me, which tells me although he still doesn't like my decision to come here, he's not mad at me anymore. "Call me. Anytime."
"Right back at you."
"And try not to work so hard. I know what you're like."
"You'll be happy to hear that I actually have made a friend – somebody from work, but that counts – and we went out to a Miami club." I omit the part where I got drunk and spent the night in the bed of a man who may or may not be a crime boss.
"That's wonderful," my dad says. And I tell him maybe he should take his own advice, since when he's not at work or volunteering for some political cause, he can mostly be found at home on the couch in front of the TV.
After we hang up, I finish getting changed, pulling on a comfy pair of loose yoga pants and an oversize t-shirt. I go out to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of wine and take it and the romantic suspense book I picked up at the airport into the living area. I use the remote to turn on the fake fireplace on a no heat setting, and lean back on the chaise end of the L-shaped sectional, where I have a view of both the fireplace and the floor to ceiling windows. It's dusk now, and soon the lights in all the buildings will create a spectacular view of Miami at night.
Before that happens, I must have dozed off, because I wake up with my book lying face down on my lap, and my glass half full of wine sitting on the side table. The condo is completely dark now except for the small reading light.
I sense something vibrating and realize it's my phone. There's only one person who would be calling me this late on a Monday night.
"Max."
His voice is low. Intimate. "Were you sleeping?"
"Hmm. I think so. What time is it? Or are you even in the same time zone as me."
"I'm in Las Vegas."
"That's where your business meetings are?"
I check the screen on my phone and am surprised to see that it's after midnight.
"The people I'm doing business with prefer to combine our business with high stakes poker," Max says. "But I didn't call to talk about them. Tell me about your first day, Hadley. You had dinner with your grandfather."
"Yes. Well, I actually met him in the office this morning.."
"Don't you find it odd that the first time you meet your own grandfather is in the office, not at his home?"
"Things are a little clearer now," I say, and I tell him about my grandmother's dementia diagnosis, and the bizarre request my grandfather has made of me.
"Did you agree to that?" Max asks.
"I'm meeting with the doctor who's treating her when he gets back to town next week. Apparently not even my grandfather has enough pull to yank him out a national conference he's presenting at." I'm only half joking.
"I imagine Andrew Reese is used to getting his own way about most things," Max says. "Don't let him push you into something you're not comfortable with."
Max seems to be relaxed, so I take a chance and mention something else my grandfather and I discussed.
"I told him about the Ramon Suarez case. He had a strange reaction when I mentioned you referred it to me."
There's silence for a few moments.
"Max?"
"And I told you I'd rather you didn't mention that I was the one who referred the case. Next time I don't want you to do something, I guess I'd better make myself a little clearer." His voice sounds calm, reasonable. But there's an undercurrent. I'm not sure if it's anger, or something else.
"Seriously, Max? When I asked you what happened between your father and him, you're the one who told me to ask my grandfather. I'm not sure how I would be able to do that without mentioning your name."
"So, what did he say to you?"
"That blood will tell."
"My father and I have the same name, Hadley. We're not the same person."
"I know that."
Should I say something more? I could just ask him if any of his businesses are engaged in illegal activities.
But I don't. Maybe I'm afraid of what the answer would be.
There's an uncomfortable silence, the first one we've had between us.
"So, Las Vegas," I say. And just like that the tension seems to drain out of the air and things are normal again.
"Yes."
"You like to gamble?"
"Not particularly. Sometimes it's a cost of doing business."
I'm trying to picture where he is right now.
"Are you staying in some fancy penthouse suite in one of those glittery casino hotels?"
"What do you think?"
"I think yes."
"Have you ever been to Vegas?"
"No. I've been to Atlantic City, though. It's a quick trip from Philly to the Jersey Shore."
"Do you like to gamble, Hadley?" He asks it like gambling is something sexy to do, instead of a good way to lose your entire paycheck in the blink of an eye.
"Gambling is a luxury unless you can afford to lose," I tell the man who can obviously afford to lose. Like he said, for him it's just a cost of doing business. "But I like the atmosphere on the casino floor. Plus the Atlantic City boardwalk, and the shows."
"When I walked through the casino tonight I imagined seeing you there, in a glittery dress with a very short skirt. And very high heels. Rolling the dice at the craps table. Or doubling down at roulette."
"I prefer games of skill over games of chance."
"Blackjack, then."
"Unfortunately, the dollar slots are about all I would be able to afford."
"Well." His voice is smooth, easy. I imagine him pacing in his fancy suite, looking out a huge window at a stunning view of all the bright lights and signs on the Vegas strip while he talks to me. "Maybe you decide to charge a stack of $500 chips to my account, and amuse yourself at the blackjack table while I'm in my meetings. You're sure you can pay it back with your winnings, and I'll never even know."
I take a sip of my wine, and settle back onto the couch again to listen to Max weave his story. At least he's not asking me to share another of my fantasies tonight.
I close my eyes and picture myself in the casino in Las Vegas wearing that glittery gold dress he hasn't seen me in yet, sitting at a blackjack table saying "hit me" to the dealer and watching the cards flip over. I would never take Max's money and gamble so dangerously, but the risk and allure of this fantasy of his is just so hot.
"How am I doing?" I whisper the question, already knowing the answer.
He sighs audibly. "Oh Hadley, I'm afraid not very well. That little stack of black chips is all gone. Now you're charging more to my account. Hoping to turn it around."
I lick my lips. "Is it working?"
"No. Apparently you forgot that the house almost always wins."
"How far down am I?"
"At this point, you seem to have lost around $50,000. Of my money."
"Oh, my. Am I in trouble, Max?"
"Yes, you're in trouble. I'm coming onto the casino floor to find you now. And I'm not pleased."
The fact that his voice is so calm is making me even more aroused. I shift a little on the couch and imagine I'm watching him walking toward me across the casino, his face determined.
"I didn't mean to lose all that money, Max." My voice comes out in a breathless tone that I don't have to contrive.
"You've been very irresponsible, Hadley. We're going up to my suite now."
"What happens when we get there?"
"I'm going to spank you."
I had an idea where this was heading, but just hearing him say the words sends this stab of arousal shooting through me. I've never done anything like that.
"I don't know if that scares me or excites me," I confess.
"Maybe we'll try it sometime, and find out."
When I don't answer, Max says, "Have a good sleep, Hadley. I'll see you Friday, regardless."
"Regardless of what?"
"Go back to sleep, Hadley. We'll talk again tomorrow."
"Good night, Max."
I lie there on the couch thinking about Friday, when I'll be meeting Max at the club at midnight. And the fantasy I shared with him that I'm pretty sure is going to become real.
I can't wait.
What I'm less sure of is the fantasy Max just shared with me, and whether I'd want that one to come true. My head is telling me no, but the throbbing between my legs at the thought of Max pulling me across his knee and spanking me is telling a different story altogether.
At least I don't have any plans to be in Las Vegas in the near future.
Unless there's something Max isn't telling me.