18. Sabrina
18
Sabrina
L uca Briggs strolls in, radiating expensive cologne and effortless arrogance. I recognize him from the photos I’ve seen online.
“Sorry I’m late,” he says, flashing a blindingly white smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He glances at me, then at the clock on the wall. “Must admit, we don’t usually have appointments showing up quite so early.” A subtle dig couched in politeness.
The shift in Leo is instantaneous. The tentative warmth evaporates. His posture stiffens, his expression cools, becoming guarded, almost challenging. The easy back-and-forth we’d established vanishes.
“Sabrina was just walking me through her proposed strategy,” Leo says, his tone clipped, all business.
Luca drops into the chair beside Leo, across from me, and props an ankle clad in a ridiculously expensive Italian loafer onto his knee. He gives me a dismissive once-over. “Ah yes, the miracle worker. Hope you’re worth the hype, sweetheart. Leo here needs all the help he can get, especially now he’s entering his… wh at did you call it yesterday, Leo? Your ‘daddy phase’?” He chuckles, a low, condescending sound.
My blood runs cold.
Daddy phase?
Leo told Luca? Already? And Luca’s mocking him for it?
Leo shoots Luca a look sharp enough to draw blood.
“Knew I shouldn’t have told you, you fucker,” he bites out, low and venomous.
Luca just grins, utterly unfazed. “Hey, I’m your partner.” He leans back in his chair. “You don’t keep secrets from me. Besides...” He turns his vaguely predatory smile back to me. “Makes things more… interesting, wouldn’t you say, Sabrina?”
I just stare at him, my professional composure threatening to crack. This man… he’s not just Leo’s partner. He’s obviously poison. The casual cruelty, the way he undermines Leo, the possessive claim… it’s toxic. This is the influence that likely fueled the GHB in Vegas, that encourages the recklessness. My earlier assessment of Leo being unsuitable father material suddenly feels terrifyingly reinforced, not by Leo himself, but by the company he keeps. The company he partners with.
The rest of the meeting is strained. Luca interjects occasionally with comments that are either unhelpful or subtly designed to needle Leo. Leo remains cold, distant, his contributions purely analytical. The fragile connection, the potential for common ground we’d started to build, is gone, bulldozed by Luca’s presence.
Finally, Leo glances at his watch. “All right. We have enough to move forward. Sabrina, refine the phase one deliverables based on this discussion. Send them to Vivian by end of day tomorrow. We’ll circle back early next week.”
“Understood,” I say, gathering my tablet and portfolio, desperate to escape the suddenly frigid atmosphere.
“Pleasure meeting you, Sabrina,” Luca says, standing and offering a hand. His grip is firm, his smile slick. “Looking forward to seeing those miracles of yours.”
I murmur a noncommittal reply and turn, heading for the door on shaky legs. Leo remains seated, staring out the window again, lost in thought.
“Ah, Sabrina, one final item,” Luca calls out just as my hand reaches the heavy, imposing door handle. His voice is smooth as silk, that condescending charm back in full force, but there’s an undertone that makes my skin prickle defensively.
Oh, here we go.
I turn back slowly, schooling my features into neutral territory. “Yes, Mr. Briggs?”
“Did Leo talk to you about signing the NDA?”
I stare at him, confused. “The NDA?”
“Yes,” he replies. “Regarding the baby.” He gestures casually with a manicured hand, like he’s discussing the catering arrangements for a company picnic, not the most sensitive secret of my life. “A non-disclosure agreement. Standard procedure in... delicate situations like this. Vivian has it drafted and ready for your signature. Just ensures everyone’s on the same page regarding information control, moving forward.”
I stare at him blankly for several moment.
He thinks... they think... after everything, after guarding this secret with every fiber of my being for twenty goddamn months, that I would run to Page Six? That I would leverage my own daughter for some kind of payout or attention?
My face flushes hot, a wave of pure, unadulterated rage washing away the lingering fear and anxiety. The absolute nerve .
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
Before I can unleash the torrent of furious, probably career-ending words clawing their way up my throat, Leo speaks.
His voice is flat, devoid of inflection, cutting through the suddenly thick tension in the room. “That won’t be necessary, Luca.”
Luca turns to him, raising a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. The picture of condescending patience. “Leo, let’s be pragmatic here, shall we? We’re navigating an extremely delicate PR landscape.” The one I was hired to fix, you asshole . “Protecting the firm’s substantial interests, not to mention your personal reputation, requires certain standard formalities.” He shifts his gaze back to me, his smile thin and utterly devoid of warmth. “I’m sure Ms. Taylor, being a professional in this very field, understands the paramount need for absolute discretion. It prevents... misunderstandings.”
Oh, I understand, all right, asshole.
I understand he trusts me about as far as he could throw this ridiculously oversized conference table.
“My entire career , Mr. Briggs,” I say, my voice dangerously low now, “is built on discretion. It’s not just ‘understood,’ it’s the goddamn cornerstone of Taylor Strategic Communications. You hired me precisely because I handle sensitive situations without leaks, without ‘misunderstandings.’” The anger makes my voice sharp. I can feel my knuckles whitening where I’m gripping my portfolio like a life raft .
“Frankly, given that Mr. Maxwell apparently couldn’t wait five minutes to discuss his newfound ‘daddy phase’ with you,” I shoot a pointed look at Leo, and his jaw tightens visibly. “Perhaps he’s the one who needs the refresher course on confidentiality agreements, not me.”
Boom. Served.
Luca’s smile tightens until it’s just a thin white line.
Leo pushes himself slightly straighter in his chair, turning his head to look directly at Luca now, and the coldness in his green eyes isn’t directed at me this time. It’s aimed squarely at his partner.
“I said,” Leo repeats, each word clipped, distinct, and carrying unmistakable weight. “It’s not fucking necessary. Drop it, Luca.”
The finality in his tone hangs in the air. Luca looks momentarily stunned, clearly not used to being shut down so decisively by Leo, especially not in front of an outsider. A silent battle of wills seems to pass between them in a fraction of second.
Then, Luca gives a barely perceptible shrug and leans back in his chair. He’s defeated for now, but his eyes still hold a warning glint when they flick back to me.
“Thank you, Ms. Taylor.” Leo turns his gaze back to the window, effectively dismissing both of us. The fragile truce, the momentary flash of him defending me, or at least defending my integrity against his partner’s bullshit, evaporates as quickly as it appeared.
Without another word, I turn and practically flee the room, the heavy door clicking shut behind me with a sound like a cell door locking.
I reach the reception area. Michelle is on the phone. And sitting on the couch in the waiting area near the elevators is a woman I don’t recognize. She’s stunningly fit, dressed head-to-toe in high-end, hot pink athleisure that showcases her abs, with a sports bra clinging to her chest so tightly it looks like two overenthusiastic marshmallows are trying to escape a pink straitjacket.
Is she auditioning for a Baywatch reboot or something?
Other than her inappropriate office wear, she looks impatient and annoyed.
Just as I approach, I hear the conference door close down the hall behind me, and the clicking of a cane, receding.
The woman’s head snaps up, then she stands and rudely brushes past me as she makes for the hallway.
“Leo!” Her voice is sharp, demanding. “You weren’t in the gym downstairs. I came up to check on you. Why haven’t you been answering my calls?”
I glance down the hall just in time to see Leo turning around.
He seems weary. “Jen. Now’s not a good time. Gonna have to skip this week.”
Jen?
She steps closer to him, lowering her voice, but I can still hear her. It’s almost like she wants me to hear. Wants to show her claim on him.
Behind the reception desk, Michelle is fidgeting, too. Is that a glint of... jealousy in the assistant’s eyes?
Of course it is.
“How about your penthouse gym tonight, then?” Jen insists quietly. “I can bring the… usual recovery aids.”
Jesus, could she be any more obvious?
Leo shakes his head, avoiding her gaze, his eyes briefly flicking towards me before looking away again. “Too busy, Jen. Seriously. I’ll call you. ”
He moves away from her, heading down the hall toward a distant office, and leaves her standing there, fuming.
Her eyes narrow as she watches him go, then they land on me. Cold, appraising, hostile.
My cheeks flame. I quickly press the elevator button, desperate to escape this floor, this building, this entire complicated mess.
Then she starts walking toward me. Those tightly-bound boobs rock back and forth more menacingly than Jell-O shots in a conga line.
Oh god I hope I’m not trapped in the elevator with her. Come on, elevator! Arrive!
But thankfully she stops at the reception desk to chat with Michelle.
I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
The elevator finally arrives. I step inside hurriedly, worried that Jen will decide to ride down with me anyway, but she stays at the desk.
The doors gratefully close on Jen’s resentful glare (and those two distracting vacuum-sealed cantaloupes), on Michelle’s blandly professional mask, and on the fifty floors of Leo Maxwell’s complicated, messy life.
And all I can think is, I’m in way over my head.