I meet Martina at 5:30 in the morning at her gym, and wonder if I'm crazy. My routine has always been to work out in the evening at least three times per week, after work not before it. But Martina told me her evenings now are usually spent with Gabe, and I guess I can't argue with that. If Max and I were still together, there would be a lot of things I'd rather do in the evenings instead of going to the gym.

Now, though, I have plenty of time on my hands, both before and after work.

"I don't think I had enough coffee to really wake up yet," I tell her as I take another swig from my water bottle, and she laughs. The water just isn't helping much.

"We'll hit the juice bar after," Martina promises.

I spent the weekend just hanging out with my grandparents. After everything my grandfather told me Friday night, I feel like we have so much lost time to make up for.

Saturday my grandmother and I spent the morning in the garden. Dementia is so strange. She thinks I'm Laura, and could not tell you what year it is or anything that's going on in the world. But she remembers the names and proper care for every flower in the garden.

Afterwards we have a light lunch and she takes a nap. Then the three of us go for a drive along the water, and stop for dinner at an outdoor cafe. I know my grandfather chose it because it's enough out of the way - and early enough in the day - that we weren't likely to run into anyone they knew.

Sunday I spent the whole day relaxing and reading. I think I really needed this break to decompress from everything that's been going on lately.

It's Monday now and promises to be a busy day at the office. That's good. I need distractions so I can stop picturing Max with that woman. Angelica. Every time I think of him touching her, I get this pain in my chest that feels like indigestion but isn't. I've never had my heart broken before, so I'm guessing this is what it feels like.

Martina talked me into trying out her gym, now that I no longer live in the condo building with all the fancy amenities. Honestly, if I asked, my grandfather would probably have a custom home gym installed for me, but I'm seriously in danger of becoming a homebody at 25 years old, so I've made a commitment to get out there a bit more.

This is the first step.

While Martina and I are side by side on exercise bikes, she asks me about the event at the gallery on Friday. So I guess that means Gabe hasn't told her anything about the scene I had with Max afterward. Or maybe Max didn't mention it to Gabe.

I don't regret blocking Max, but it's kind of driving me crazy wondering how many texts he's sent but I never saw.

Or maybe he just gave up when I didn't call him Friday night.

"The event was really nice," I say. "I enjoyed meeting the artist."

She gives me a sideways look. "So what aren't you telling me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Come on, Hadley, I can tell from your voice that something happened."

I keep pedaling, not sure how much to say.

She doesn't press me. It's a tactic I'm familiar with from questioning witnesses in depositions. Let the silence stretch out until they feel compelled to fill it.

"He's seeing someone else," I finally say.

She actually stops pedaling for a moment and turns in her seat to face me.

"Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"Well, are you sure?"

"I stopped by his apartment unexpectedly and she was there," I tell her.

"Well that doesn't mean-"

"She opened the door wearing nothing but one of Max's shirts."

"Oh crap. That bastard."

"So . . . Gabe didn't say anything to you about Max seeing someone?"

"Quite the opposite. I went out with him Saturday night and he told me Max is still upset about the two of you breaking up. I can't believe he'd do this."

"I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. But, you know, we aren't together anymore. We broke up. So it's not like he's actually cheating on me." I turn my head back to the monitor on the bike that measures my heart rate, my pulse, and how far I've ridden. I stare at the numbers but they don't mean anything. Max said he loved me.

"He didn't cheat," I say, "but it sure feels like it."

"Of course it does!" Martina says, resuming pedaling. "I can't believe he didn't even wait a few weeks before moving on."

I stare straight ahead. I'd shrug if my arms weren't already occupied.

"Maybe this is just his way of getting over me."

"If it is," Martina says, "then he's a dick."

"Yeah."

"Hey," Martina says after we been pedaling silently for awhile. "Pick a night this week. Any night. We'll go out. Just you and me, no saying that you think you'll be a third wheel. I don't have to see Gabe every night."

"Sure," I say. "I'll think about it."

But right now going out clubbing doesn't seem like something I'll want to do for awhile. Going to a club makes me think of going to Max's club.

Hell, everything makes me think of Max.

I don't know how I'm going to get over him. But I do know I need to try.

* * *

I'm sitting in a small meeting room at the art gallery. I've been emailing back and forth with Malcom all week, and he flew in last night so that he could sit down with Max and me this morning and go over a few points in the contracts in person. I'm trying to act like everything is normal. The last thing I want is for Malcolm to report back to Gino that there's some problem between Max and me.

But apparently I'm not doing a good enough job.

Malcolm looks up from the latest revisions he's been reviewing on this laptop and looks first at Max then at me.

"Is something going on here?"

"Just a little miscommunication," Max say smoothly. "Nothing that affects our project." He's looking at me pointedly. "Isn't that right, Hadley?"

"Yes," I say. "A miscommunication."

That miscommunication was me ever thinking you were in love with me. That's what I want to say. But the one thing I'm sure Max and I agree on right now is that our personal drama is none of Gino's business. Therefore it's none of Malcolm's business.

"Okay, then," Malcolm says after a brief pause. "I'm glad to hear that."

I notice his gaze drop to my wrist and he sees the bracelet Max gave me, and there's a shift in the atmosphere in the room. Malcolm relaxes.

I almost didn't wear it today, but then I remembered the look that was exchanged between Gino and Max at our dinner in Little Italy when Gino first noticed me wearing it. And I remembered Max telling me that part of what the bracelet signified was that I am under his protection.

So I wore it. I may not particularly want Max's protection or anything else from him at the moment, but I'm not stupid. I also don't want to inadvertently send some kind of message to Gino or to anyone else that things have changed.

Malcolm has some additional information about the "investor" who we all know represents Gino and Joey D's interest, information he apparently didn't trust to an email or a phone call. It involves off-shore accounts and wiring instructions for money, and some formula for payment that Gino and Max have agreed on.

I pay attention - sort of - but I also recognize that some of this is information I not only don't need to know, but actually don't want to know. I think about the two FBI agents. The less I know about the behind-the-scenes details of this deal, the less things there are that I might have to lie about.

Malcolm leaves, with the understanding that I'll get the final changes made to the contracts and go over them in person with Max tomorrow afternoon. Malcolm needs to head back to New York tonight.

When he's gone and Max and I are alone in the meeting room, it feels like the temperature has now dropped to frigid. The mask he was wearing for Malcolm's benefit has dropped away now, and he's looking at me like he's the one who has the right to be angry.

Unbelievable.

I start to get up but he gives me a look that has me sinking back into my chair.

"I'm so disappointed in you, Hadley."

I think my jaw drops open. "You're disappointed in me?"

"Do I have to repeat myself?"

I do my best to match his icy tone, when what I really want to do is throw something at him.

"I get that we aren't together anymore," I tell him, in as calm a voice as I'm capable of at the moment. "I get that what you are doing is moving on. But did you have to throw her in my face like that?"

My answer is a cold stare.

"I remind you, Hadley, that I told you I had something come up that I had to take care of, and I'd talk to you later. But instead of going home and waiting for me to call like I told you to, you ditched my Uber and went back to the gallery, then showed up at the club. And instead of texting even from the main floor of the club, you just marched right up to my apartment and knocked on the door without any idea what you might be walking into."

How dare he try to turn this around so it's somehow my fault.

"Well I guess I found out what came up," I say. The anger in his eyes is the coldest I've ever seen, and I wonder for a moment if I've actually gone too far.

This is Max, I remind myself, as a trickle of fear works its way down my spine. This is Max, who came when I called and found my grandmother. Max who has told me he loves me.

Max, who beat Ramon Suarez with a lead pipe and put him in the hospital. Max, who has probably killed people or ordered them killed.

"How do you think I would have felt," he says in a deceptively reasonable voice, "if I had walked in on you and a mostly naked man in your condo?"

"You would have felt angry, hurt, betrayed." Like me. "You would have demanded an explanation."

He nods. "Yes, I would have." Then he leans forward and pierces me with his stare. "But you didn't give me a chance to explain, did you Hadley? You just assumed the worst, hurled insults at me, slapped my face, and ran away. And when I texted you, you didn't respond. When I told you to call me, you didn't bother."

"Fine," I say. "Explain now."

He leans back in his chair. "You know what Hadley? I don't think I will. As you keep pointing out, we are no longer together. And you don't deserve an explanation."

"Then I guess there's nothing more to say," I tell him, pushing my chair back from the table, and turning to walk out the door.

He stops me before I am all the way through.

"Be here tomorrow at 2:00 and we'll wrap up this contract. After that, I don't expect I'll have further need of your legal services."

The dismissal in his voice cuts through me to my soul. He'd know it would.

"Fine," I say, without turning around. I stiffen my shoulders, hold my head up, and walk through the door. It closes behind me as firmly as the metaphorical door closing on my romance with Max Bennett.