48. Leo
48
Leo
T he press conference has turned into a clusterfuck. A Category Five hurricane of PR disasters. No thanks to fucking Luca.
Jesus.
I didn’t think he’d try to upstage me the way he did. I thought we’d handle our falling out privately. With lawyers. NDAs. That sort of thing.
Not this public shitshow.
I should have known better.
Luca is a big fan of scorched earth.
I try to get to Sabrina, try to cut through the goddamn feeding frenzy of reporters, but it’s useless. They shove their microphones in my face and shout questions that blur together into a deafening roar.
“Mr. Maxwell, what prompted your retirement!”
“Is Luca Briggs starting a competing firm!”
“What happens to Maxwell & Briggs now!”
“Are you losing your edge!”
By the time Charlie and Darius, my ever-present security bulldogs, manage to carve a path through the media mob, she’s gone. Leaving me to face the fallout alone.
Again.
Luca Briggs has also exited stage left, the fucking coward, leaving me as the sole chew toy for the media jackals. Their excitement, or bloodlust, depending on how you look at it, is practically a physical force.
So, I do what I do best. I put on the mask. Answer a few carefully selected questions, spin some bullshit about amicable separations and exciting new ventures, and then let Charlie and Darius extract me from the chaos.
When we’re finally making our way from the venue, instead of heading back to the empty penthouse, I instruct Darius to take me to Brooklyn.
To her.
When we arrive, her brownstone looks… small. Quaint. A million miles away from the sterile, glass-and-steel world I inhabit.
Just like I remember it.
My leg aches as I climb the stoop, a dull throb that’s nothing compared to the ache in my chest. I knock, my hand surprisingly steady.
The door opens, and it’s not Sabrina. It’s her mother.
Diane Taylor.
The woman who, a few weeks ago, basically accused me of being Sabrina’s father reincarnated, minus the charm and plus a few billion dollars. She looks surprised to see me, but there’s a flicker of something else in her eyes too. Understanding? Maybe even sympathy?
Fuck knows. Women are a goddamn mystery.
“Mr. Maxwell,” she says, her voice softer than I remember. “Sabrina’s… busy. ”
“I need to see her,” I say, my own voice raw, stripped of the usual arrogance. “Please.”
She hesitates for a moment, then nods, stepping aside to let me in.
The apartment is… just as I remember it, that first time I stepped back into Sabrina’s life. It’s cozy. Lived-in. Toys are scattered across the floor. The air smells faintly of baby powder and something sweet, like vanilla.
It’s a world away from my penthouse. It feels… alive.
And more like a home .
Then I see her. Mia. My daughter. She’s in a playpen in the corner of the living room, babbling happily as she tries to stuff a plush giraffe into her mouth.
She looks up as I enter, her startlingly green eyes, my eyes, widening in recognition. A gummy grin spreads across her face.
And something inside me, something I didn’t even know was still capable of feeling, just… breaks.
The carefully constructed walls, the layers of cynicism and bravado I’ve spent a lifetime building… they crumble.
I cross the room in four quick strides, ignoring the protest from my leg, and scoop her up, holding her close.
Her tiny body is warm, solid, real. She smells beautiful.
I bury my face in her soft curls, trying my hardest not to fucking cry in front of her grandmother.
“Hey, Killer,” I whisper, my voice choked. “Hey, baby girl.”
Mia giggles, patting my cheek with a sticky hand. And in that moment, surrounded by the comforting chaos of Sabrina’s life, holding my daughter in my arms, I know, with an absolute, bone-deep certainty, that I made the right choice.
I set Mia gently back in her playpen, my hands trembling slightly.
Diane is watching me, a small, almost imperceptible smile playing on her lips.
“Sabrina’s in her office,” she says quietly, gesturing towards a closed door at the end of the hallway. “Her bedroom, actually. It’s… been a long day.”
I turn, heading toward that door.
But then her mother speaks again.
“It must have been hard,” Diane says gently. “What you did today, I mean. At the press conference.”
I glance over my shoulder at her and manage a wry smile. “Harder than jumping off a mountain, maybe. But also… easier. Because honestly, it was the easiest goddamn decision I’ve ever made, Ms. Taylor. Once I finally pulled my head out of my ass.”
She nods slowly, a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Go talk to her. She needs to hear that.”
I walk down the short hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Shit shit shit.
I can do this.
This feels more terrifying than facing down a hostile boardroom or threading the needle through Viper’s Tooth with a crosswind trying to tear my suit apart.
I knock twice. Gently.
Sabrina’s tired voice answers. “Come in.”
I find her hunched over her laptop, surrounded by stacks of files and empty coffee mugs. Her makeshift home office. She looks exhausted but beautiful, her dark curls pulled back in a messy ponytail. She doesn’t look up when I enter.
“Sabrina,” I say, my voice softer than I intend.
She jumps, startled, her head snapping up. Her eyes widen when she sees me, filled with a mixture of surprise, wariness, and hope. Or maybe I’m just imagining the latter.
“Leo?” she says quickly. “What are you doing here?”
“We need to talk,” I say, closing the door behind me, shutting out the rest of the world.
Just us.
“If this is about the PR fallout from Luca’s… announcement,” she begins, the professional mask already in place.
“No, Sabrina,” I cut her off, walking towards her. I perch on the edge of her desk. I need her to see me. The real me. “Honestly? I don’t give a fuck about the business right now.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Who are you and what have you done with Leo Maxwell?”
The joke breaks some of the tension, and I find myself laughing.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question,” I admit. “The guy who lived for adrenaline, who measured success in zeros and exits... I don’t recognize him anymore.”
She watches me uncertainly. “So if you’re not here about the firm...”
“I’m here about us,” I reply.
She flinches, her gaze dropping to her keyboard. “Leo, I…”
“No, let me talk.” I reach out, gently but firmly tilting her chin up so she has to meet my eyes. “Please. Just… listen.”
I take a deep breath, the words I rehearsed in my head suddenly feeling inadequate. So I just… talk. From the gut. From that vulnerable place I usually keep barricaded.
“Wingsuiting…” I begin. “It wasn’t just about the adrenaline. Just about the escape. It was also about control. Because you see, when I was a kid, my father… his drinking… there was no control. Just... fear.”
I see a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She knows about fathers who disappear, who fail.
“And I didn’t want to be him,” I continue, the admission costing me more than I care to admit. “I didn’t want to be a failure. Didn’t want the firm to fail. So I kept pushing. Kept moving. Kept winning. Kept… fucking. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t look back. Couldn’t feel . And the noise in my head, all that pressure, all that fear of not being good enough… it only stopped, truly stopped, when I was hurtling towards the earth in a wingsuit, inches from oblivion. So yes, it was also an escape. From the pressure. From myself. The escape from the escape.”
I pause, searching her face. Her expression is unreadable, but she’s listening.
“But then… Mia happened. And you.” My voice cracks slightly. “And suddenly, that peace I chased in the sky… I found it here. With you. With her. Holding Mia, watching her sleep, arguing with you, even… it’s… it’s real to me, Sabrina. More real than any fucking funding round or IPO, any jump, any line of coke.”
“When I was crashing in Chamonix, in that moment before I blacked out, I saw your face,” I tell her, watching her eyes widen. “I didn’t understand it then. Why you, someone I barely knew from a one- night stand I couldn’t even remember. It felt like some cosmic joke.”
I swallow, my throat dry with emotion, but I press on. “But now I know. It wasn’t chance. It was... a warning. Or maybe a fucking gift. Showing me what I’d be leaving behind if I kept on that path... leaving behind everything that matters. You. Mia. Even though I didn’t know she existed, yet. But somehow, my consciousness knew. My subconscious. My sixth sense. Call it whatever the fuck you want. But I knew. That there was something about you. Something that mattered. Something that changed everything. That with you, my real life awaited. That with you, I could live , not just exist .”
I swallow again. “What I’m trying to say is... you matter, Sabrina. More than the risk. More than the rush. More than the money. You and Mia… you matter more than life itself.”
I see tears welling in her eyes, and my own throat tightens. “That’s why I withdrew from Chamonix, Sabrina. That’s why I’m giving up wingsuiting forever. Because I can’t… I can’t risk that again. Seeing your face, Mia’s face, knowing I might be leaving her fatherless, leaving you … I can’t fucking do it. I just can’t. It’s not worth it.”
She’s crying openly now, silent tears streaming down her face. I reach out, gently wiping them away with my thumb.
“I know I fucked up,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. “Lying to you. Scaring you. Unintentionally pushing you away. But I’m trying, Sabrina. I’m really fucking trying. To be better. To be the man Mia deserves. To be the man… maybe… you deserve.”
I don’t say I love her. The words are too big. Too terrifying.
But I think she hears it anyway, in the raw honesty of my voice, in the desperate plea in my eyes.
“That’s all I wanted to say,” I tell her.
She gets up then. “Oh Leo.” She hugs me tight, and I just hold her. Just hold her there for I don’t know how long. Seconds. Minutes. All I know is I don’t want to let go. I want to keep holding her.
Forever.
Finally, she pulls away, and dabs at her eyes with a tissue she produced from her desk.
“You’re good at ruining my makeup,” she jokes.
I laugh, and she giggles a bit too eagerly. I realize this is all I’m going to get from her for now. She needs time to process what I’ve just said. Needs time to come to her own conclusion.
I’m not going to force it.
She’ll take me back when she’s good and ready.
And I’m fine with that.
I glance at her laptop. She was likely deep in ‘work’ mode before I walked in. Hell, half her mind is probably still there.
So instead I shift gears. I hadn’t intended to talk about the company, but... “Would you like to speak about Maxwell & Briggs?”
“Please,” she says enthusiastically, confirming my intuition.
“Or should I say, the company formerly known as Maxwell & Briggs,” I continue. “There’s not going to be a Briggs in it any more. I’ll need a new name, I suppose. Maybe...” I’m about to suggest Maxwell & Taylor, but that feels too premature. I don’t want to scare her away, not when I’ve barely clawed my way back into her good graces. If I even have .
“Maxwell Capital?” I suggest.
She nods. “It’s as good a name as any.”
“All right, Maxwell Capital it is. My company needs you, Sabrina. More than ever.” And I need you, more than ever. “Luca walking out… it’s a fucking mess. But it’s also an opportunity. To rebuild. To redefine.”
“About that...” It’s her turn to swallow nervously. “You could choose any other PR firm. Maybe you don’t... maybe you don’t need me.”
My heart drops. Is she rejecting me, after everything I told her? After bleeding my heart out to her?
“No,” I say. “I just want you, your firm alone. No others. Look, I can’t do it without you. You know this case better than any other consultant. You know me . Please. I need this. I need you.” I gesture vaguely between us. “I don’t want anyone else, Sabrina. Only you. Only Taylor Strategic Communications.”
She takes a shaky breath, her dark eyes searching mine. “Leo, I… I was going to quit.”
The admission hangs between us.
My heart is pounding now. “Quit?”
“Yes, after today’s press conference. I even had the email ready. I just… I couldn’t do it anymore. Spinning the wingsuiting narrative as positive. My heart wasn’t in it. I realize now that I can’t spin a narrative I don’t believe in.”
“And now?” I ask, my voice barely audible, holding my breath.
You can’t do this.
After everything.
Please don’t.
Please believe in second chances.
The ball is entirely in her court.
My entire fucking future, our future, hangs on her next words.