Sex and the Billionaire Crime Boss - Season 2

Ch. 25: Weekend Plans

When I get home from work on Wednesday, I have a message from Joe, the doorman, that a package has arrived. I tell him I'll stop down in the lobby, but he says he'll bring it up. When I open the door, I get why he offered - it's a huge fancy box with the logo of a local boutique that I can't afford to shop at, secured with a giant bow.

"Wow," I say as I hand him a tip after he carries the box in and puts it on my coffee table. "That's an impressive package. Thanks for hauling it up here for me."

"It's my pleasure, Miss Hadley," he says, and I realize not for the first time that I'm going to miss this level of personal service when I move out of the corporate condo the firm is providing for me.

Max has discouraged me from being in any hurry to do so, since the security is excellent, and the amenities are way better than I'll be able to afford, even on the salary the law firm is paying me.

It just doesn't feel right, though, staying in the condo owned by the law firm, and I'm concerned that people in the office might start to think I'm taking advantage. Plus, as long as I'm living here it's not available for its actual purpose, which is providing short-term accommodations for out-of-town clients, experts, or others here in Miami on law firm business.

It's only a matter of time until that jackass Dylan starts trying to make something of it.

I'm wondering if after the little show he put on in the conference room this morning maybe my grandfather will start to appreciate why I was so opposed to hiring him, regardless of the book of business he brought in. He actually seems to have some sort of a grudge against me, although the way he covers it up with his overly-solicitous attitude just makes it worse.

I'm convinced he would do anything he could to undermine my position in the firm, even to the point of sabotaging my relationship with clients. I don't like the feeling of having to watch my back all the time. Especially not when I'm already dealing with Gino's unpredictability, and the FBI breathing down my neck.

As soon as the door closes behind Joe, I walk over to the coffee table and pull the ribbon on the giant box, lift off the lid, and push the delicate tissue paper aside.

The dress is breathtaking. And I'm realizing now that this event on Saturday is a lot fancier than I imagined.

It's a sleeveless gown, embellished with crystals and sequins, in a color that can only be described as platinum. It has a straight neckline that managers to be modest and sexy at the same time, and thing straps that go over my shoulders - also bedazzled. It has to be designer. I check the label and I can't help myself - I Google it.

This dress retails for almost $4,000. Who spends $4,000 for a dress to wear to the opening of a show at an art gallery?

I text Max. This is a ridiculously expensive designer gown. What were you thinking?

A reply comes back almost immediately. I'm thinking how much I will enjoy seeing you in it.

Damn. I, of course, have no way to know what is appropriate to wear to an event like this. But if this is it, then I can't imagine what he'd spend if he were escorting me to one of the fancy Miami galas held in ornate ballrooms downtown. Then I see the matching thin strapped high heeled sandals that go with it.

I text him again. You can't spend money like this on me. We're not dating. I pause, then add: And even if we were, you can't spend money like this on me.

Max texts back. Actually I can. I have to be at the gallery beforehand to oversee set-up, but I'll send Gabe to pick you up at 7:00.

I just sigh. Max wants to dress me up like a princess, then send me home alone.