While CJ gives their presentation, I watch Dylan. He is obviously uncomfortable, especially when CJ describes examples of sexual harassment incidents at law firms, quoting pretty much verbatim the two incidents we learned about involving Dylan at his old firm, but not naming any names.

Some of the partners at Dylan's former firm are at the event and I don't think it's my imagination that they look more than a little concerned. Probably wondering if CJ was really talking about what happened at their office, or if they were just being paranoid and that sort of thing is rampant everywhere.

Even as I turn my gaze back to CJ, I can feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I glance back toward another table and see Dylan staring at me. Our eyes lock for an unguarded moment and all I see is pure hate. Then his mask slips back into place and he smiles at me. But his eyes are cold.

A little shiver runs through me and I remind myself not to run into Dylan in a dark alley.

Because for that brief moment, he looked like he could do murder.

As soon as the presentation is over, most of the lawyers head back to their offices. I look around, relieved that I don't see Dylan among the stragglers who remain.

I wonder if he'll have the nerve to say anything to Jenny. When my grandfather and the rest of the lawyers from our office are all ready to head back, I tell him I'm going to stay behind and wait for CJ, who is still fielding some questions from the lawyers who approached her at the podium after she finished.

"I think CJ might bring in some business as a result of this," I tell my grandfather, and he nods.

"I expect you're right. This could open up a stream of referrals of clients of some of the business law firms."

"Not to mention," I add, "law firms themselves that have a sexual harassment issue internally, or just need some strong policies drafted."

"I'm glad we haven't had any trouble like that at our office," he says, and I bite my tongue. I can't tell him about Dylan having sex with Jenny. She told me - and Martina and CJ - about this in confidence, and it's only thanks to her that a disaster was averted. I can't repay her trust by betraying her secret, although I'm hoping I can convince her to come forward herself.

I also can't repeat what I learned about Dylan's actions at his previous firm from the legal assistant with the confidentiality clause, or the associate attorney who doesn't want to get blackballed in the legal community. I made promises to both of them.

So there's no way, at this point, that I can reveal to Andrew that he hired a serial harasser. Actually, an attempted rapist who may have used a date rape drug on at least one of his victims.

But I'm hoping that telling my grandfather what Dylan did to the slide presentation will be enough to convince Andrew to boot him, even if Jenny isn't willing to admit they both violated firm policy by getting into what at least Jenny thought was a romantic relationship. It's clear to me that Dylan was just using her to get access to whatever dirt he could on other lawyers in the firm - especially me. Receptionists know a lot more than most people suspect. They are the ones who put the calls through, the person sitting behind the reception desk who fades into the background and hears bits of all kinds of conversations as the lawyers walk through the lobby.

It's also clear that when the opportunity presented itself to discredit my grandfather, he seized it.

The question that still keeps coming back to me, though, is why? If Dylan wanted to push me out the door and make a play for partnership, how would embarrassing my grandfather at a Bar luncheon in his honor advance that goal?

There's obviously still a lot of things I need to figure out.

The hotel staff are busy clearing the room where the meeting was held, removing dessert plates and coffee cups on a cart, and putting the white tablecloths into a large rolling bin. I walk over to the tall windows and look out at the Miami cityscape while I send a text message.

What were you doing outside the meeting?

There's a pause so long I think he's not going to answer. Then I see the little bubbles that mean he's typing.

I had business at the hotel.

Really? He just happened to have business in the same hotel on the same floor at the same time as the Bar Association Luncheon? I'm not buying it. My curiosity is replaced by a burst of anger.

You need to stop following me and stay out of my business.

Max texts back. If you think I spend all day following you around Miami, you're delusional.

Okay, that stings. But I know he's just trying to push my buttons to distract me. I really want to know what he was doing here. If Dylan had actually been able to carry out his plan and accuse my grandfather of being way too involved with clients who were part of organized crime and corruption in Miami over the past decades, the last thing we'd have needed would be for someone to spot the current head of Bennett family criminal enterprise loitering in the hallway outside the awards ceremony.

I don't believe in coincidences, I text.

Max has betrayed me in the worst way I could imagine by taking me on that whirlwind romantic trip to Paris, all the while he knew that it was the end. He knew that he was already committed to marrying Angelica and still he let me believe the fairy tale could come true. He let me weave my dreams of a life together, as we stood under the Arc de Triomphe, strolled through the Louvre hoping to view the Mona Lisa, had lunch at a sidewalk cafe on the Avenue des Champs-Élysée.

Now all I can think of is whether he'll do those same things, go to those same places, on his honeymoon with Angelica. I know I'm just torturing myself, but I can't help it.

Max Bennett broke my heart. I no longer have any place for him in my life. Not as lover, friend, or protector. I glance down at the Claddaugh bracelet that still encircles my wrist and rub my hand lightly over it. My reluctance to pack it away in the back of a drawer, or make another attempt to return it to Max, belies my insistence to myself that Max is now completely out of my life. I can't seem to cut that final cord.

Stay out of my business, I repeat.

His response comes fast. What makes you think I was there for you?

I start to test back Who else . . . Then slowly delete the words. My grandfather. Max was there for my grandfather. He somehow found out what was going on - probably Martina called Gabe - and he was here to do something to protect Andrew. But what?

I'm still thinking what to say next when another text from Max comes through.

I have to go. I'll call you tonight.

No! I can't stand catching a glimpse of him in the hallway. Talking to him on the phone is out of the question. I don't bother texting him back and telling him not to call. He'd call anyways. Max does whatever Max wants to do.

CJ is wrapping up with the last person who had questions.

Once that person exits the room, CJ walks over to me, big grin on their face, their hand extended for a high five.

"Complete success," CJ says.

"Looks like in addition to stopping Dylan in his tracks, you also managed to bring in some new business. My grandfather was really pleased. And he doesn't even know the half of what was going on."

"What are you going to say to him?" CJ asks as we unplug the laptop and gather up any papers by podium.

"I haven't decided. I need to tell him what Dylan tried to do, but without putting Jenny in a bad position. She's mortified that she slept with Dylan, and she knows it was against firm policy."

"I can't believe your grandfather would hold that against her. It's obvious that Dylan took advantage of her and manipulated her. You saw how he was always hanging out around the reception desk, flirting with her, pretending to be interested in whatever she had to say."

"You mean milking her for any information he could get about any of the lawyers in the firm, and use to his advantage," I say.

"And especially with his history . . ." CJ's voice trails off. "Right. But we can't say anything about that."

"I've been thinking about that. Since we're all part of the same law firm, and Maria Fuentes gave us the information under attorney-client privilege, we could -"

I stop myself before even finishing the thought. "We can't. You know we were bending the rules just talking to her under that pretext. My grandfather is such a straight arrow he'd never use information we obtained that way. He'd absolutely say it was unethical and shut down the conversation before we even got started. And he wouldn't be very happy with us for rolling right over the confidentiality agreement Maria signed with her old employer."

"Damn. I know you're right." CJ shoves the laptop into a leather tote that has the law firm's name embossed in tasteful gold print, and we start toward the doorway.

"You want to grab us an elevator?" they ask. "I have to stop in the restroom."

"Sure."

The hallway is deserted, except for an occasional staff person who walks by on their way to set up another meeting room. I walk over to the elevator and press the button and wait, my thoughts going back to Max and how I'm both looking forward to and dreading his phone call tonight, in equal parts.

The less I see him, talk to him, the easier it will be to just let that part of my life go and move on. I have another date with Brad later this week - just dinner and a movie - and I'm looking forward to it. I picture what life could be like with Brad if we do get serious. Traveling with him to some of the interesting places he goes as a travel writer when I can take the time off from my job. Talking about things like monuments and restaurants and the best way to see the countryside in Italy. Brad is sweet and patient and interesting. Max is dangerous.

Am I just a stereotype falling for the bad boy?

Max is a third-generation crime boss, and unlikely to change. You don't build a life with someone who is likely to end up in prison or dead. That last thought sends a shudder through me.

The chime rings and the elevator door opens.

He comes out of nowhere. He must have been in the alcove by the men's room, waiting. It's on the opposite end of the hall from the one CJ went into.

Dylan reaches out, grabs my arm, and pulls me into the elevator with him.

"I have a few things to say to you. Alone."

I shove him back. "Like hell," I say, but I can't quite loosen his grip on my arm. I use my body to keep the elevator doors from sliding shut.

"Get away from me!" I raise my voice louder, hoping one of the hotel staff will walk past again.

Instead it's another voice I hear.

"Hadley? Are you ok?"

It's CJ, coming around the corner. Dylan drops my arm and I stumble back, watching as the door slides smoothly shut. My last look at him is the smirk on his face, and his low promise, "I'll see you later, Hadley."