Page 38 of Maximum Dare
“I will, sir,” said Carl.
Max offered me a business card. “If you need anything, call me.”
I took it, a bit bewildered that he was willing to stay in touch with me after I’d nearly killed him tonight.
Max shut the car door.
I could still feel the buzz of chemistry shimmering between us.
He strolled back into the hotel, his broad shoulders and distinguished height inspiring respectful nods from those around him.
I threw one last glance his way as the car pulled into traffic. My fingers traced my lips, trying to soothe their burning desire. I was feeling the same sort of adrenaline rush I’d experienced when I’d slid down the glass chute.
Though certain I’d never call him, I tucked his card into my handbag.
Reaching inside my coat, I caressed that vulnerable spot where the button should be.
This wasn’t unusual for me…spending another evening alone, eating a bowl of spaghetti I’d ordered up from room service and sipping a chilled can of Miller Lite with my laptop open, trying to tackle an endless amount of work emails.
I’d attack the minibar later. Eat the caffeine infused crap in there to keep me awake late into the night. For now, I was numbing myself to do what had to be done.
I’d promised Dad I’d take care of the firm. He’d sacrificed so much for it, and near the end of his life I’d believed it had helped to hear I would continuehiswork. See his legacy honored by his only son.
Day after day, week after week—the years rushing by, one after another, as I put my head down and thrived on winning in court. Those wins were the reason my father had become addicted to this profession.
We defended those on the fringe of society. The kind of men you would never want to get on the wrong side of—the politicians, the businessmen, and the wealthy ones who had everything to lose. Our high-paying clients relied on us to do the impossible. This passionate dedication to the job was what had separated my parents—too many late nights and weekends spent in the office saving other people’s lives.
I was my father’s son, destined for the same future. Though I’d not be ruining my marriage because I would always be inaccessible—it was the easy way to prevent a divorce. The key to avoiding loneliness was to keep busy, obsessing over the fine print of the law, the legality that terrified others.
On the table my phone lit up with my office number. I picked it up and pressed it to my ear.
“Olá, Maximus.” Gylda’s bright voice was a welcome sound from home.
“Practice your English,” I teased.
My secretary cursed in Portuguese. “How are the family?”
“Great!” I told her.
Things were going well enough.
Gylda had worked for my father for decades. After his death, she’d stayed on to work for me. She was a competent and kind woman who liked to bore me with photos of her grandchildren. Secretly, I adored her.
She proceeded to share news of a potential client. “Maria Alves is distraught, Max,” Gylda said, compassion in her tone. “Her brother’s been arrested. He was protesting in front of the embassy, denouncing political corruption. She’s in a state of panic.”
“Not an unusual reaction when being threatened by the law,” I reassured her. “Put the client’s sister through.”
“I’m afraid it’s a waste of your time. Miss Alves is looking for a civil rights attorney. She’s asking about pro bono.”
I let out a sigh of frustration. “Well, then, we’re the wrong firm for her.”
“I’ve told her, but she’s very insistent. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Can you advise her, please?”
“I’m in it.”
“You mean, ‘I’m on it.’”
