Sex and the Billionaire Crime Boss

Ch. 2: We Meet Again

I arrive at Baggage Claim after a long trek through the Miami airport. I glance around, and then spot a woman who looks like she's in her early twenties waving to me and heading in my direction. She's absolutely stunning, and I just stand there admiring her style as she approaches.

Her lipstick-red sleeveless tank dress is ruched slightly on one side, with a tulip hemline. Her dark hair is shoulder-length and falls in those soft waves that are so often demonstrated on TikTok tutorials but are, at least for me, impossible to achieve.

"Hadley Reese . . . Jones?" she confirms, with the Jones sounding almost like an afterthought.

"Yes." I take her extended hand. "My grandfather sent you?"

"I recognized you from the photo he showed me. The one where you received some award in Philadelphia. I'm Martina Santana Diaz."

"It's nice to meet you." If she thinks it's odd that the photo my grandfather has of me is from a news clipping, not a family picture, she's too polite to say so.

I turn my attention back to the long circular conveyor belt, and the chute that is starting to spit luggage onto it. A classic black Louis Vuitton suitcase cruises past me and I watch it continue around the curve. I glance up, half expecting to see Max. It's exactly the kind of luggage I imagine he owns.

I reach up absently and touch my lips, then drop my hand when I see the jerk who splashed coffee on me snag the bag and hurry away, pulling it behind him as he heads for the sign labeled Ground Transportation.

I look back at the conveyer belt just in time to see my own bag slide past unnoticed. Great. Now I'll have to wait until it completes the loop and comes back this way again. Unless I want to push my way through the crowd running after it like an idiot.

Max probably has people who pick up his bags for him. Did I really expect to find him standing here waiting at baggage claim? He's probably sitting in the back of a hired car right now, checking his emails.

He was just flirting with you on the plane, that's all, I tell myself. But that kiss. If I close my eyes, I can still feel it. I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit I've never felt such a strong instant attraction before. He looked at me like he knew exactly what I wanted.

I reach in the pocket of my jeans and touch the card he gave me with his number.

I remind myself of the look in his eyes when he asked me to point out the guy who carelessly burned my arm. How it made me feel like there was something beneath the surface that could be dangerous.

Before I can spiral, my bag – which is definitely not Louis Vuitton - comes around again, and this time I focus my attention before it's too late.

We grab my luggage and head for the short-term parking area, where Martina points to a large SUV. She must see the look on my face, because she explains that it's a rental.

"You rented an SUV to pick me up at the airport?"

"Well, the law firm did, not me personally. Because you could fit maybe one of those bags in the trunk of my car. If you're lucky."

"You know," I tell her as we load everything in, "I could have just gotten an Uber."

"Mr. Reese prefers the personal touch."

If that were true, he would have picked me up himself. Not that I would have enjoyed being trapped for the length of the car ride to downtown Miami with the man who, until recently, appeared to be in denial about my entire existence.

"So, you work for the law firm?" I ask her as she merges into the multiple lanes of traffic exiting the airport.

"I do." She turns a brilliant smile on me. "I'm your new legal assistant."