Chapter 15

Margaret's penthouse glowed warm against the Miami skyline. Julian stood at her door, still wearing his shame like a second skin. "You look terrible," she said. "I feel worse." "Come in." She wore silk loungewear. Chanel, probably. "Drink?" "Please." The living room sparkled with old money elegance. Everything matched. Everything belonged. Unlike him. "Scotch?" She lifted a crystal decanter. "Anything strong." "Bad night?" "You saw the news?" "TMZ already has the video." She handed him a glass. "Security cameras." Julian sank into her leather couch. "Perfect." "Could be worse." "How?" "They could have pressed charges." She sat beside him. "Maxwell showed restraint." "Don't say his name." "Touchy." Her perfume filled the space between them. Something expensive. Something nice. "Why am I here?" he asked. "Because." She touched his hand. "You need to be." The scotch burned going down. Macallan 25. Even her liquor was perfect. "I made a fool of myself." "Yes." "Not