53. Sabrina
53
Sabrina
O kay.
Life in the Gilded Cage, Version II, is… different.
Definitely different.
Less ‘distracted sex with really good catering’ and more… actual cohabitation? With a man who, against all odds, seems to be genuinely trying to de-asshole himself. It’s a work in progress. For both of us.
Four days since the Great Wingsuiting Retirement Announcement and Luca Briggs’ dramatic stage-left exit. Four days of navigating the ensuing PR shitstorm, which, thanks to Leo actually listening to my advice, has been downgraded from a Category Five hurricane to a manageable tropical depression. Okay, maybe that’s a little optimistic. Downgraded to a Category Three hurricane. No higher, though.
We’re still bailing water, but the boat, Maxwell Capital, is no longer actively sinking.
And us? Leo and Sabrina?
Well, that’s a whole other level of complicated .
Every night, no more retreating to the guest suite. I stay in his ridiculously large bed.
Tangled in his ridiculously expensive sheets.
Snuggled in his ridiculously buff arms.
And the sex…
Holy mother of god, the sex.
It’s not just simple rutting anymore. It’s… this super deep, super passionate connection. Like we’re both finally, tentatively, showing our true, vulnerable selves to one another.
It’s terrifying.
And amazing.
And the days?
The days are still a weird tightrope walk between ‘PR consultant managing billionaire client’s dumpster fire’ and ‘single mom trying to co-parent with said billionaire client who also happens to be the father of her child and occasionally makes her forget her own name with his mouth.’
It’s a niche market, I guess.
I’ve actually taken on another new client since this whole saga began, for a total of two in addition to Maxwell Capital.
The new clients are smaller gigs, of course, nothing that clashes with the Maxwell Capital behemoth, but necessary. Taylor Strategic Communications needs to, you know, strategically communicate with more than one entity if it’s going to survive.
I mentioned the new clients to Leo the other day, half-expecting some kind of possessive billionaire meltdown. Instead, he just… nodded. Seemed genuinely pleased I was getting more work. No jealousy. No interrogation. Just… support.
Which, frankly, was more disorienting than if he’d thrown a tantrum .
Which brings me to today. And the email currently burning a hole in my inbox.
An acquisition offer from Vanguard Global. Vanguard is one of the biggest PR conglomerates on the planet, and the offer they’ve made for Taylor Strategic Communications is eye watering. It’s a number that would mean financial security (without having to beg Leo for more work, not that I’d ever do that, but you get the idea). Money like that would also allow me to expand. I could get a fancy downtown office again, maybe even one with windows.
But it would also mean… giving up control. My autonomy. My independence. I’d be a cog in their massive machine, not the scrappy yet determined captain of my own ship.
Assuming the offer is real, of course, and not some kind of scam.
I’m still staring at the offer when Leo walks into the home office.
He’s… so much softer now. Since the decision. Since his mother’s visit. Since... us.
He’s more present .
He still has that restless energy, but it’s channeled differently now. He spends hours with Mia, patiently enduring endless rounds of ‘pat-a-cake’ and ‘where’s your nose?’ When he’s doing that, his green eyes, her green eyes, are always filled with a tenderness that still makes my heart ache.
“Hey,” he says, perching on the edge of my desk, that familiar scent of ozone and fig leaf (and now, faintly, baby powder) washing over me. “You look like you’re about to launch a hostile PR campaign against a small nation.”
I manage a weak smile. “Close. Just wrestling with an offer from Vanguard Global.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Vanguard? An offer? They’re making a play for Taylor Strategic?” He sounds… surprised. And maybe a little impressed.
“Apparently,” I say. “Assuming it’s real, it’s… a significant offer, Leo. Life-changing, potentially. Have a look.”
I show him the email.
He reads it, then he’s silent for a moment.
I brace myself for the inevitable.
The possessiveness.
The ‘you can’t sell, you work for me ’ speech. The ‘you’re mine’ speech.
Instead, he just nods slowly. “Okay. So, what’s the catch?”
Catch?
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Vanguard,” he replies. “They’re one of the companies we tried before you. One of the companies that failed us. Miserably. They’re sharks. Apex predators. They’ve been buying up smaller, innovative PR firms in New York for the past two years. Six of them, last I checked. Absorbing them. Neutralizing the competition.” He leans closer. “Are you sure they want to acquire Taylor Strategic, Sabrina? Or do they just want to… eliminate it? Buy you out, shut you down, and take over your client list, including, ahem, your most lucrative and currently most newsworthy one?”
My stomach plummets. He’s right. I’ve been so focused on the financial angle, the prestige, that I hadn’t considered… that. Vanguard isn’t known for nurturing boutique agencies. They’re known for assimilation. For creating a monopoly.
“Fuck,” I whisper, the realization dawning. “You think…? ”
“I think,” he says. “That you’ve built something incredible, Sabrina. From scratch. While raising Mia. While dealing with… well, with me . And I think you deserve to see it thrive. On your own terms.” He pauses, then adds: “And selfishly? I don’t want to lose you to some faceless conglomerate. I like having my PR miracle worker in-house.”
“Leo…” I start, not sure what to say.
“So,” he continues, an almost predatory smile spreading across his face, the one that usually precedes a mind-altering kiss. “Here’s a counter-offer.” He leans back, steepling his fingers. “Maxwell Capital will invest in Taylor Strategic Communications. A significant investment. Higher valuation than Vanguard, obviously. More resources. Access to our network. Full autonomy for you, of course. You’re the boss. But… you stay. With us. With me .”
I stare at him, stunned into silence. An investment? From him ? This isn’t just about keeping his PR consultant on a short leash. This is… a partnership. A business one.
Based on respect.
On belief in my abilities.
And maybe… something more.
“You… you’d do that?” I finally manage.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he says. “In fact, I’ve been thinking about it for a while now. You’re the best, Sabrina. I’ve seen what you can do. You’re a fucking force of nature. And Taylor Strategic? It’s got unlimited growth potential. It’s a smart investment.” He pauses, an almost boyish look flickering in his eyes. “And yeah, okay, maybe… maybe I also don’t want to imagine doing this whole ‘responsible billionaire father trying to rebuild his empire and not completely fuck up his life’ thing… without you by m y side.”
My heart swells. This isn’t about control or possession. This is about support. This is him, Leo Maxwell, the man who built an empire on aggressive risk and ruthless ambition, offering me a partnership.
In every sense of the word.
“Oh Leo,” I say, my voice thick with emotion. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. “Not even thank you. Because you deserve this. You deserve the best. And I won’t have the mother of my child treated like anything less.”
I blink away the tears, and a slow smile spreads across my face. “All right, Leo. All right. I suppose Taylor Strategic Communications is officially ready to discuss terms. But,” I add, a teasing glint in my eye. “You should know, my rates have gone up. Considerably.”
He throws back his head and laughs. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
He leans forward, capturing my mouth in a kiss that’s filled with the promise of… everything.
Later that night, after Mia is asleep, after we’ve sketched out the preliminary terms of our new partnership on a cocktail napkin (because apparently, that’s how billionaires do business), after another mind-blowing lovemaking session, we’re lying tangled together in his massive bed while the city lights glitter outside.
“So,” I murmur, tracing the line of his jaw with my fingertips. “This investment… you’re sure it’s not just… you know… because of… us? Because you feel obligated? Or guilty? Or…”
He stills my hand, his green eyes serious. “Sabrina. I’m investing in Taylor Strategic Communications because it’s a goddamn brilliant company run by a goddamn brilliant woman. Period. The fact that I happen to be completely, irrevocably, and terrifyingly in love with that woman? That’s just… a bonus. A really fucking incredible bonus.”
My heart stops. Then restarts, hammering against my ribs.
Did he just say that magic word? Love?
“Leo…” I whisper, my own voice choking with emotion.
“Yes, I love you, Sabrina,” he says, the words a quiet confession that shatters the last of my defenses. “More than wingsuiting. More than the firm. More than… than anything.”
Tears of pure, unadulterated joy stream down my face. “I love you, too, Leo Maxwell,” I manage. “So much.”
He kisses me. It’s soul-searing. Solidifying. Sealing the promise.
“You know,” he murmurs against my lips. “Maybe someday… when Taylor Strategic has conquered the entire fucking PR world… you might consider a merger. Maxwell & Taylor. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”
I laugh, a weak, happy sound. “Whoa there. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” I pull his head down, kissing him again. “But… it’s definitely something to consider. For long-term strategic alignment, of course.”
He groans, pulling me closer, his hard body against mine. “Fuck strategic alignment. Right now, I just need… you .”
And as he makes love to me again, slowly and impossibly tender, the promise of a future I never dared to dream of stretches out before us.
And I know, with absolute certainty, that this… is forever.
And for the first time in my life, I’m not afraid.
I’m just… happy.
Utterly, completely happy.