Tuesday goes by smoothly. I'm getting acclimated in the office, and I even spoke with a business client of my grandfather's whose nephew has a rather impressive collection of speeding tickets and parking violations. The guy is now teetering on the edge of losing his license - which has already been suspended - and being charged with a felony traffic violation. I make an appointment to meet with him later this week.
Tuesday night I'm only mildly disappointed when Max texts me that he's caught up in an all night poker game with some important business thrown in, and won't not be able to call me. A day without a late night phone call from Max is probably a good thing. It's been getting pretty intense, and I have to keep reminding myself how little I actually know about this man.
Now it's Wednesday, and today I'm having lunch with Samantha Rolling, an old law school friend of one of my supervising attorneys back at the Philadelphia PD's office.
Like my colleague in Philly, Samantha is also a supervising attorney, but in the Miami-Dade PD's office. She offered to let me shadow two of the lawyers in her office later this week—one in misdemeanors and one in felony—and introduce me to several of the judges. Every court has some different procedures, and I can't expect the system here in Miami to function exactly like the one in Philadelphia that I'm familiar with.
I'm counting on the fact that I'm a quick learner, and her help in smoothing my transition to a criminal practice here in Miami is going to be invaluable. I want to be able to hit the ground running.
When I walk across the lobby toward the elevators heading out to meet up with her, I stop short. There's a man leaning against the counter talking to Jenny, the receptionist, and I know he looks familiar. I'm trying to place him when it kicks in.
It's the asshole who kept hitting on me at the club.
I walk up to him.
"Dylan, isn't it?"
He turns, and then smiles as recognition hits him. But the small doesn't reach his eyes.
"What a nice surprise," he says. "What are you doing here?"
"I was about to ask you the same thing. I work here."
"Well isn't that interesting," he says. "It's possible that I'll be working here soon, too."
"This is Dylan Barclay," Jenny says helpfully. "He has a meeting with your grandfather in a few minutes."
Dylan's eyes widen and he studies me. "Hadley as in Hadley Reese Jones," he says slowly.
"That's right," I say. "I'll be sure to let my grandfather know you're here."
I turn on my heels and head directly for his office.
I tap lightly on the doorframe before walking in, and my grandfather looks up.
"Hadley. I'm sorry, I have a meeting in a few minutes."
"I know," I say, stepping over to directly in front of his desk. "I ran into him in the lobby."
He frowns. "Is there a problem?"
"Are you thinking about hiring him? Because that would be a mistake."
He leans back in his chair, tenting his hands and pressing his fingertips together in a gesture I've noticed he does when he's focusing.
"Sit down. What do you know about him?" If he's surprised that after being in Miami for less than a week I already have an opinion on another lawyer, he doesn't say so.
"I was checking out the Miami nightlife, " I tell him, sitting down on one of his visitor chairs in front of his desk. "He tried to pick me up, and when I made it clear I wasn't interested, he got pushy."
Andrew's eyes narrow. "What do you mean, pushy? Did he put his hands on you?"
"No, nothing physical. Well, he did put his hand on my arm, but he didn't grab me or anything."
"Did he touch you anyplace else besides your arm?"
"No. But he was persistent. He didn't back off until someone stepped in."
Andrew sighs. "I don't like that, obviously, but it could have just been a case of mixed signals. Two single people in a club."
I nod. "I realize that, and I don't want to overstate it. But something about him just seemed off."
Andrew pauses, still pressing his fingertips together, then puts his hands down, leaning forward on the desk.
"Let me tell you what I know about Dylan Barclay. He's a very well respected up and coming young lawyer at a top securities law firm. He wants to join a firm with a more varied practice in business law, while still focusing himself on SEC cases. He comes from a well-connected, wealthy Miami family. He would be an asset in bringing in and retaining business. In fact, he's assured me that his entire book of business will come with him."
"So why is he leaving his current firm?"
"Like I said, he feels limited practicing in a boutique setting that only handles securities law. To be honest, I thought that the securities law expertise could be an asset in establishing us in the white collar criminal law area. There's a potential for considerable cross-over."
"You know I want the prerogative of selecting new hires for the criminal law section." And there is absolutely know way I want this guy working in my department.
Aside from how pushy he was at the club, there's just something off about him. He's got this smooth veneer to him that makes me think it's covering something devious underneath.
"And I agreed to that. Dylan would not be joining the criminal law section. Are you going to tell me having a top notch securities lawyer in-house wouldn't be an asset to you in certain white collar criminal cases?"
"Obviously it would."
I want to tell him it's something more than just what happened at the club. A guy instinct. But I just don't have anything concrete to back up my wariness where Dylan Barclay is concerned. And I can tell already my grandfather is a man who deals in facts, not feelings.
"Did he know who you were when he met you?"
If he had, maybe that would change my grandfather's mind. But I can't lie.
"No," I tell him. "But that shouldn't matter. When a woman says no, you back off."
Andrew leans back in his chair. "Back in my day sometimes no meant maybe and maybe meant yes." He gets one look at my face at this statement and raises his hand up to cut off the retort I'm planning to this ridiculous misogynistic comment. "I know, I know. Times have changed."
"No always means no. And I don't like the idea of practicing with a man who doesn't respect that 100%."
He gives a short laugh. "Now I'm not sure if you're talking about me or Barclay. I hear you, Hadley. But unless you can give me something more than this guy was a little too persistent at a nightclub, I think I'd be foolish to let him go to one of our competitors. I do promise to keep an eye on him, and remind HR to make sure they emphasize that sexual harassment training. But that's the best I can do unless you've got information that he's actually crossed the line between aggressive and harassing."
I have to consciously stop myself from clenching my fists.
"No," I say, "he didn't. But I can't get it out of my head that this guy has an issue with boundaries."
"I am glad you shared your concerns, Hadley," he says, but it's clear he's already made up his mind. "I want you to come to me with issues like this - even if I don't always agree with your assessment."
"So you're going to hire him."
He's brushing aside my concerns. What did I expect? After all, Andrew Reese and I are still nothing but strangers. But if I'm going to stay here and be his partner, he can't continue to be this dismissive when I'm looking out for the best interests of the law firm.
I remind myself that these things take time, and bite back any further objections.
"Yes, if we can come to terms in other areas, it's the right decision for the firm."
I stand up. "Fine then. I just hope you aren't making a mistake."
There's really nothing more I can do or say to convince him. I just know in my gut that Dylan Barclay is bad news.
***
Friday morning, I wake up to the sun streaming in through my bedroom window. It just seems brighter for some reason, and I'm pretty sure that reason is that Max gets back tonight.
And I'm meeting him at the club at midnight.
My plans are to get out of work, take a nap, and maybe spoil myself with a scented bubble bath in that fancy whirlpool tub. I might as well enjoy the luxury of this condo while I can, since even on the lucrative salary the firm is paying me I'm not going to able to afford anything like this for some time.
After my lunch on Wednesday with Samantha I had the chance to meet the assistant State Attorney who's handling that traffic case, and got a good deal for my client. I was able to sit down with the client and his uncle on Thursday and get it all worked out, after putting the fear of God into him over what the consequences could have been. He won't be losing his license, and the charges were knocked down to a misdemeanor.
It's a way better deal than he deserves, and I hope it's a wake up call. At any rate, his uncle appreciated it and it didn't hurt that he called Andrew with a glowing review of the work I did.
I also talked to Max last night, and he persuaded me to share, in embarrassing detail, a little fantasy I have about riding in the back of a limo. It involves fancy clothes at some charity event, Max in a tux and me in some designer dress with a plunging neckline and an open back. And no panties.
The two of us dancing close, then leaving the event early. A bottle of champagne waiting for us on ice as we step out of the hot Miami night and into the cool air and smooth leather seats of the limo.
Then it's all about what Max does with his hands on a very long ride through the city streets and along the coast. And how without him taking anything but his jacket off, I somehow end up completely naked in his lap.
When I got to that breathless point in the fantasy, Max took over and told me in considerable detail exactly what he would do to me with his hands, with his mouth, and finally, me straddling him, unzipping his pants and then me riding him hard and fast until I shattered, over and over again.
As usual, all it took was his voice, with a little assist from my hand slipping under the covers, to send me spiraling into a mind-numbing orgasm. I can't even imagine what it will be like when he's touching me with more than his words.
With any luck at all, I'll be finding that out tonight.
The day flies by, and I'm almost able to put out of my mind Andrew's plans to hire that scumbag Dylan. And yes, I know I told Andrew I would give the guy a chance.
The thing is, I make my mind up pretty fast about people. And it isn't often that I change it.
I breeze into the condo at 5:00. Apparently everyone at the firm—even the lawyers—try to get out early on Fridays. It kind of makes up for the long hours they work the rest of the week.
I have my agenda already in mind. Snack. Nap. Bath. Slather my entire body in scented lotion. Then take my time with my hair and make up before I slip into the sexy gold dress and ridiculously high shoes and take an Uber to Max's club.
I'm staring at the open door of my refrigerator, about to implement the first point on my agenda, when my phone rings.
"Max!" I can't keep the giddy pleasure out of my voice. "Are you on the plane yet?"
I know it's a little over a five-hour flight from Las Vegas to Miami. I looked it up.
"Hadley," he says, "there's been a change in plans."
My heart sinks.
"You can't make it back tonight," I say dully. "It's okay."
"It's unavoidable. My meetings are going to run through the weekend. I won't be returning until late Sunday night."
I try to swallow the lump of disappointment in my throat.
"We can do it another time," I tell him.
"No."
"No?"
"I want you to come to Las Vegas. Right now."
"What? I can't - how is that even possible?"
"Gabe is on the way. He'll pick you up in 20 minutes. Just throw a few things in a bag, and don't worry about anything else. Or don't even bother to pack. We can get everything you need right here. Gabe will bring you directly to me."
"You mean - tonight?"
"I told you I'd have you in my bed tonight, Hadley. I keep my word."
Then he says he has to go back into his meeting and disconnects the call. And I just stare at my phone, my heart racing.
This is reckless. It's crazy. It's not the kind of thing I do in my regular, planned life.
But ever since I made the decision to come to Miami, something in me has changed. Is the new Hadley really someone who would throw caution to the wind and jet off to Las Vegas for a whirlwind weekend with a man who just might be a crime boss?
Then again, what's the worst that could happen?
I don't have an answer to that question.
I guess I'm going to Las Vegas.