49. Sabrina
49
Sabrina
L eo’s question hangs in the air of my tiny Brooklyn office/bedroom.
There’s a terrifying amount of vulnerability in it.
I actually already deleted my carefully drafted resignation email, the one that was supposed to be my grand gesture of self-preservation.
Of course I’m not going to quit now ... after he just retired from wingsuiting for Mia . For… us . And not after he laid bare his childhood trauma, his fears, his goddamn soul, right there while sitting on my desk.
“And now,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady even though inside I’m a mess. “Now, we have a brand to rebuild. A narrative to reshape. And a certain rogue ex-partner to strategically neutralize.” I allow myself a small smile. “Quitting? Leo, please. Taylor Strategic Communications doesn’t abandon a client mid-crisis. Especially not when the crisis just got upgraded to DEFCON Freakin’ Insanity.”
He blinks in surprise, then lets loose this big belly laugh. It’s so unguarded, so real that it makes my stomach do that stupid little flip again. “You’re… you’re not quitting?”
“Are you kidding?” I scoff, trying for a light, breezy tone that doesn’t quite match the frantic hammering in my chest. “After that press conference? This is PR gold, Leo! Tragic hero, devoted father, betrayed partner… we can spin this a hundred different ways. The media will eat it up.”
And I’ll be mainlining Maalox for the next six months, but hey, details.
“Besides,” I add, a softer note creeping into my voice. “Your retired from wingsuiting. That… changes things. That was the narrative I couldn’t spin, Leo. The one my heart wasn’t in. But this? A man choosing his daughter, choosing… a different future? That’s a story I can get behind.”
Even if it scares the absolute hell out of me.
“Thank you, Sabrina. I really mean that.” His eyes become soft, intense, that familiar green gaze locking onto mine. He leans closer, and his eyes drop to my lips…
And then, of course, because the universe clearly has a twisted sense of humor and hates to see me even momentarily not teetering on the brink of an emotional meltdown, my mother pokes her head around the doorframe.
“Everything okay in here, sweetie?” she asks, her eyes flicking from me to Leo and back again, her ‘protective mom’ radar clearly on high alert.
Leo startles, leaning back abruptly, that familiar guarded mask slipping into place. He clears his throat and stands up from where he was sitting on my desk. “I should let you get back to work, Sabrina. Call me.” He nods curtly, then excuses himself, retreating from my tiny office .
My mom escorts him to the front door, and when I hear it shut, I exhale.
I’m not sure whether to be furious at my mother for her impeccable timing or profoundly grateful.
Probably the latter.
Because I was this close to saying something stupid, when I’m not even done processing everything he just told me. Something like:
Actually, Leo, your heartfelt confession about choosing us over wingsuiting kind of makes me want to rip your clothes off right here on my IKEA desk and ride you like a stallion. PR strategy be damned.
Yeah. Probably best Mom interrupted.
I spend the rest of the afternoon in a blur of damage control. Luca’s bombshell about starting his own firm, effectively declaring war on Maxwell Capital (the new, slightly less catchy name for what’s left of Maxwell & Briggs), has sent shockwaves through the financial world. Investors are spooked. The portfolio companies are panicking. It’s a fucking mess.
“The key, Leo,” I explain later on a conference call that feels more like a therapy session for traumatized billionaires. “Is to frame this proactively. Maxwell Capital is evolving. Streamlining. Focusing on a new era of sustainable, responsible investment under your sole, clear-headed leadership. Luca’s departure, while unfortunate, allows for a more cohesive vision.”
Blah, blah, blah. Standard corporate spin.
God, I’m so good at this.
Mia gurgles happily in my lap. I’m on diaper duty while simultaneously trying to salvage his empire.
Multitasking, thy name is single mother.
“And the wingsuiting retirement?” Leo asks.
“That,” I say, bouncing Mia gently, “is the emotional core of the new narrative, Leo. The ‘priorities have changed’ angle. Devoted father. Man of substance. It plays beautifully against Luca’s… well, Luca’s Luca. The reckless gambler. The old school shark.” It’s a good angle. A strong angle. And the fact that it might actually be true is just… a bonus.
A terrifying, hope-inducing bonus.
Over the call, we work late into the evening, strategizing, drafting statements, coordinating with his legal team. It’s almost like old times, the two of us, a well-oiled machine. Except now, there’s a whole universe of unspoken things hanging in the air between us.
Just as I’m about to hang up, thinking I might actually get more than four hours of sleep tonight, my phone buzzes with a news alert.
Page Six.
Oh, for fuck’s sake. What now?
The headline hits me like a freight train. It’s a sledgehammer to the carefully constructed brand image we’ve been painstakingly building.
Maxwell’s Mayhem: Billionaire’s Bedroom Secrets EXPOSED! Trainer Spills on Coke-Fueled Romps and Office Affairs!
My hand trembling, I click the link. It’s Jen Takahashi. Of course it is. The scorned ex-fuckbuddy or whatever she was to him, back for another round.
And this time, she’s not just making vague threats.
She’s naming names.
Dates.
Locations.
Explicit, lurid details about Leo’s past. Lines of coke snorted off her breasts in his home gym. Secret trysts with other employees. Michelle Park, his PA, Victoria Kowalski, his Chief Legal Counsel. How he turned Maxwell & Briggs, now Maxwell Capital, into his personal fucking harem.
My stomach churns. I knew, on some level, that Leo’s past was… colorful. The tabloids had hinted at it. And I’d seen the jealousy in Michelle’s eyes when Jen was in the office that day. Plus, there were all those snide remarks Luca had made.
But seeing it laid out like this, in graphic, humiliating detail… it’s different. It’s viscerally real. It’s public… and disgusting.
This isn’t just a PR crisis anymore. This is a character assassination. And it’s aimed not just at Leo, but at everyone in his orbit. Including me.
Professionally? This is a goddamn nightmare. It torpedoes everything we’ve been working on. The ‘responsible father’ narrative? The ‘stable leader’ image? Up in flames. Personally? It makes me feel… sick. Humiliated.
“Sabrina?” Leo’s voice, still on the line, cuts through my shock. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I can barely speak. “Jen Takahashi,” I manage, my voice a choked whisper. “Page Six. It’s… it’s bad, Leo. Really bad.”
There’s a heavy silence on the other end. Then, a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. Followed by a weary sigh. “Fuck. Okay. We’ll… we’ll deal with it.”
Deal with it? How do you deal with this? This isn’t just about spin anymore. This is about… trust. About character. About whether the man who just swore he was changing, who just retired from wingsuiting for his daughter , is actually capable of being the man he claims to want to be.
Or if he’s just… a reckless, selfish ad dict who leaves a trail of broken hearts and shattered reputations in his wake.
“Leo,” I say, all pretense of professionalism gone, “I… I don’t know if I can do this anymore. This… this is too much. I can’t… I don’t think I can be your PR consultant anymore. Not after this.” The words tumble out, unplanned. But true.
The silence on the other end is deafening.
When he finally speaks, his voice is quiet. “Sabrina… please. You can’t...”
“I… I need to think, Leo,” I say, my own heart aching. “I just… can you let me sleep on it?”
I hang up before he can argue, before I can change my mind.
I stare at Mia, sleeping peacefully in her crib, oblivious to the fresh hell her father’s past has just unleashed. My fierce determination to protect her… feels so fragile right now. Because how do I protect her from this ?
From a legacy of scandal and self-destruction?
My fingers, almost of their own accord, dial Tatiana.
She picks up on the first ring, like she has a sixth sense for my meltdowns.
“Sabrina?”
“Tati,” I choke out, tears finally breaking free, hot and fast. “It’s… it’s Leo. Page Six. Jen Takahashi. It’s… everything. Cocaine off her tits, office affairs… it’s all out there. And he… he just… he just told me he retired from wingsuiting. For Mia. For us . And then this hits.”
My voice dissolves into sobs.
“Oh, honey. Slow down. Breathe,” Tatiana says, her voice a steady anchor in my storm. “Jen Takahashi. What a vindictive little… well, never mind. Not surprising she’d pull something like this.”
“It’s so… graphic , Tati,” I tell her, pacing my tiny living room. “The details. It makes me feel sick. How can I spin this ? How can I work for him, pretend everything’s fine, when I know… when everyone knows… that? ”
“Okay, first, the professional Sabrina,” Tatiana says, her tone becoming a little more brisk, the one she uses when she’s shifting into problem-solving mode. “The PR angle. Yes, it’s a shitstorm. But it’s also… old news, in a way. His past. His reputation was already ‘reckless billionaire playboy.’ This just adds… specifics. Ugly ones, sure. But is it fundamentally changing the core narrative you’ve been trying to build? Probably not. Maybe it even reinforces it, if you frame it as the ‘before’ he’s trying to leave behind.”
I sniffle, trying to process. “You think?”
“I think it’s spinnable, Sabrina. Hard. Messy. But not impossible. You’re the best. If anyone can navigate this, you can.” She pauses. “But that’s the professional side. What about you , Sabrina? How are you feeling about all this? About Leo?”
“I… I told him I’m not sure I can stay on,” I confess. “I told him I needed to sleep on it, but… I don’t see how I can stay. It’s too much. Too complicated. Too… humiliating.”
“Humiliating how?” Tati asks gently.
“Because I actually… I actually started to believe him, Tati. Started to think maybe… maybe he was different. That we could be… something. And then this. It just reminds me that he’s… he’s Leo Maxwell. With a past longer and more sordid than a Senate hearing. How can I trust him? How can I build a life on that?”
“Okay,” Tatiana says softly. “So you’re scared. Scared he’s going to hurt you. Scared he’s going to revert. Scared he’s just like your father.”
“Yes!” I almost shout. “Isn’t that reason enough to run?”
“Maybe,” she concedes. “Or maybe… maybe you’re running from the possibility that he isn’t like your father. That this time, it could be different. And that’s even scarier, isn’t it? Letting yourself be vulnerable. Trusting someone that much, especially someone with Leo’s track record. But you said he just told you he retired from wingsuiting. For Mia. For the both of you . That’s what you always wanted, isn’t it?” She pauses again, letting her words sink in. “Listen, is it fear, Sabrina? Fear of him? Or fear of… love? Fear of letting yourself be happy, because you’re so braced for it all to fall apart? Sometimes they look a lot alike, you know.”
Her words hit me, hard. Fear versus love. Am I so trapped in my own history, my own abandonment issues, that I can’t see the difference? Am I projecting my father’s sins onto Leo, even when he’s actively trying, in his own flawed, chaotic way, to be better?
My own commitment phobia… is it just as bad as his used to be?
“I… I don’t know, Tati,” I whisper, sinking onto my sofa, the fight draining out of me. “I just… I don’t know anything anymore.”
“Then sleep on it, honey,” Tatiana says gently. “Like you told Leo. Sometimes, a little distance, a little quiet, helps clear the fog. But don’t let fear make all your decisions for you. Okay? ”
“Okay,” I agree, though my mind is still a tangled mess.
After we hang up, I find myself staring out at the glittering, indifferent lights of Manhattan from my tiny Brooklyn window.
Tatiana’s words echo in my head. “Is it fear, Sabrina? Or... love? Sometimes they look a lot alike.”
Am I running from Leo because I’m afraid he’ll hurt me and Mia?
Or am I running because I’m terrified of actually loving him?
Of trusting him?
Of letting him in, only to have him disappear, just like my father did?
My own commitment phobia, the one I’ve been projecting onto him, suddenly feels uncomfortably familiar.
The next morning, after I’ve had a good, long sleep, I pick up my phone.
My fingers hover over Leo’s name.
This can’t be resolved over email, over a sterile conference call.
This needs… face to face. Vulnerability. Honesty. The kind that scares the absolute hell out of me.
Somewhere Mom can’t interrupt.
Leo, I type, my thumbs trembling. We need to talk. This evening? Your place. Just us. Mia will be with Mom.
I hit send before I can second-guess myself. Before the fear can win.
Because maybe Tatiana is right.
Maybe it’s time to stop running.
Maybe it’s time to face my own fears, and his, and see if there’s anything salvageable in the wreckage of Leo Maxwell’s complicated and utterly fucking irresistible life.
Or maybe I’m just setting myself up for the biggest heartbreak of all.