I'm impressed again with how much smoother traveling is when you fly by private jet. Immediately after we land we're in a limo, headed for Manhattan.
Max is completely ignoring me. He never returned to his seat on the flight, and he's been on his phone since we got into the limo.
The sun shining in through the car window reflects off my bracelet, and I study the intricate pattern of joined hands, crown, and heart. Why is this gift so important to Max? I honestly thought returning it to him was the right thing to do. His reaction was so unexpected.
When Max gave me the bracelet, he explained that its design was a part of his heritage from his mother's side of the family. Celtic. That it symbolizes loyalty and friendship. I do a quick search on my phone and discover that the Claddagh symbol means a little more than that.
It also signifies love. And particularly romantic love.
Is that why Max is so angry? Does he feel like by returning the bracelet I'm throwing his feelings for me back in his face? I know I was falling for Max. To be brutally honest with myself, I'd already fallen.
Is it possible that Max had also truly fallen for me?
The more I've gotten to know him, the less I feel I understand him.
And the more I wish things could be different.
When we arrive at the luxury hotel overlooking Times Square, it's no surprise that we're booked into a concierge level premier suite.
With one bedroom and a king size bed.
We're standing in the middle of that bedroom right now, and Max has hung up his suit bag and other items in the closet. I've not started unpacking anything yet.
I give Max a pointed look after Gabe leaves for his room, which is nearby on the same floor.
"Don't act so surprised that we'll be sharing a bed," Max says. "I made the reservation last week."
"Reservations can be changed," I point out.
"This one won't be."
"What if I would rather not sleep in the same bed with you?"
His jaw tightens. "Then that's your bad luck because I'm not getting you a separate room in the hotel."
I jut out my own chin. His tone bordered on arrogance, and I'm annoyed that he apparently has no clue how difficult this situation is for me.
"Then I'll just call down to the front desk and arrange for my own room and pay for it myself," I tell him.
"You absolutely will not."
Max walks over and faces me, standing so close I have the urge to step back. But I don't. I tilt my head to look up at him. His voice is low, measured.
"Would you prefer to ward off Gino's advances all weekend?" he asks me. "Gino has a fondness for young, smart, beautiful women. And he's not accustomed to them saying no."
My eyes widen as Max continues.
"I've made it absolutely clear that you belong to me."
He's not touching me, but our bodies are so close I can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the pricey cologne that he always wears, mingled with the clean scent of his skin. Only a fraction of an inch separates us, and I want more than anything to close that gap and press my lips against his, wrap my arms around that strong, lean body and let his lips and his hands make me forget all the reasons we can't be together. The electric charge passing between us is so intense I feel my body trembling.
"What are you afraid of Hadley?' He asks me, his voice low. "Do you think I won't be able to control myself once I have you in my bed? That I would just take you without your consent? That just because you've slept with me before, I think I have that right?
"No. No, I don't think that." My heart is pounding and I'm waiting for him to close the gap between us. His eyes are so intense and I don't know what my own eyes are revealing to him, but I can't look away. I can't tell him that what I'm afraid of is losing the battle between my head and my heart if I'm staying in the same room with him, much less sleeping in the same bed.
Max takes a step back. "Be ready in an hour. We're having a late dinner, then drinks with Gino and Joey D. I have some business to take care of first.
Then he's gone, and I'm staring at the doorway wondering how I am ever going to get through this night.
I text Martina to let her know we've arrived, and she gets right to the point.
"So, one room or two?"
"One," I respond, adding an unhappy emoji.
"Oh, honey," Martina texts, "good luck!"
I put down my phone and sigh. Good luck. I'll need it.
* * *
I'm wearing a short black halter-style cocktail dress and a pair of strappy heels. My only jewelry is a pair of drop pearl earrings, and the Claddagh bracelet.
Since Max didn't say how fancy the restaurant is where we're meeting Gino and Joey D, I figured an LBD was a safe bet.
Max wears the same expensive suit he wore on the plane, but just switches out for a fresh shirt. When he puts on the jacket, I feel that familiar tingle of attraction. The suit fits like it was tailor-made for him, which it probably was.
"You look amazing," Max says, and gives me a look that under other circumstances would melt my panties off. If I hadn't promised myself not to sleep with him again.
And if we weren't about to go to dinner with two guys who are part of the mob, and I have no idea why I was invited to this meeting.
Gabe meets us on the way to the elevator, wearing black pants, a black t-shirt and a grey jacket. We step into the all-glass elevator and watch the interior balconied hallways in the hotel atrium whiz by as we descend to street level, where a Black Uber is already waiting.
The short ride to Little Italy in lower Manhattan goes by quickly. I was expecting one of the fancy restaurants near Time Square, so I'm surprised when we arrive at a small restaurant that doesn't look very impressive from the outside. It's part of a city block of brick buildings with various storefronts, and the entrance is actually down a set of cement steps below street level. It's so unassuming that if you didn't know where to find it, you would probably never notice it driving by. I'm nervous and wondering what to expect.
Max gets out first, and extends a hand to me to help me out of the car. His hand is warm and firm holding mine, and some of the tension eases out of me.
A long black limo pulls up just behind us, so perfectly timed that I wonder if they were parked around the corner waiting for us to arrive. Gino gets out, followed by a man I haven't seen before. He's medium height, with dark longish hair curling over his collar in the back. He looks very Italian, and the suit he's wearing was probably not off the rack. He's clean shaven, and has classic features. As I'm studying him, he angles his head and looks directly at me for a few seconds, and I involuntarily squeeze Max's hand tighter. I can't explain it, but there's something in his eyes. Something cold. I just know instinctively that this is someone to be afraid of.
I look away quickly as the next man gets out. Malcolm. Gino's brother-in-law and lawyer, who I met in Las Vegas. Malcolm smiles and nods his head toward me, and I do the same, a little of the tension relaxing.
Next comes Joey D and his bodyguard, Bull.
We walk downstairs together in a group, Gino in the lead, and he is welcomed by the maître d' with a combination of familiarity and obsequiousness. Max guides me through the doorway with his hand possessively on the small of my back. Since the halter dress leave my back bare almost to the waist, I can feel the warmth of his skin against mine.
Ordinarily that kind of proprietary gesture would annoy me. But right now - especially when I notice the man Gino brought looking at me with those expressionless eyes - I'm relieved to be so obviously under Max's protection.
We are led to a table in a little alcove away from the rest of the customers. Gabe, Bull, and the other man sit at a table just outside the alcove, with a clear line of sight to both our table and the entranceway. The decor is old-world Italian, and the tablecloths are crisp and white.
An elderly male waiter brings a bottle of wine to the table without asking, then pours a small amount into a glass for Gino's approval, while a young woman a black shirt and pants sets several small bowls with salted nuts and a plate of large, fat olives on the table, then walks back through the main seating area and disappears behind what I presume is the door to the kitchen.
Gino nods, and the waiter pours for all of us, then discreetly retreats.
It feels surreal, sitting here in the small inconspicuous restaurant in Little Italy, and I can't help but think about scenes from mob movies. I'm half expecting a couple guys with machine guns to burst through the door, and I try to get control of my imagination.
I must be visibly tense because Max reaches under the table and squeezes my knee reassuringly.
The waiter comes back with menus balanced on his arm and gestures questioningly to Gino. Gino shakers his head and waves the menus off. He turns to first Joey D and then Max. "May I?"
Joey D nods. Max says "of course. We'd be honored."
Gino turns back to the waiter and gives instructions in Italian, as the waiter nods, not writing anything down. Then he shuffles away, and Gino turns back to the table, beaming like a magnanimous host. It's clear we are in his house.
"You will enjoy some of the specialties tonight," he says, directing his comments to me. "There is no other chef outside of Italy who compares."
"I'm looking forward to it," I tell him. It's been a long day and I haven't eaten much, and it's late. I think I'll be able to make a good showing sampling whatever dishes Gino has ordered.
"I've certainly never been disappointed," Max says, and I wonder if that's his way of letting mw know he's been here before with Gino. I glance at Max and smile slightly, then look back at Gino, whose attention is still focused on me.
"I appreciate you joining us this weekend, Hadley," Gino says, and I'm thinking, well, I didn't really have any choice. But I smile back at him and tell him it's my pleasure.
He continues. "I understand you've been working some pretty long hours at that law firm of yours."
The smile freezes on my face. How does he know that? Does this mean Gino is the one who was having me followed? Why would someone Gino hired try to force me into a car?