Chapter 40
GAbrIEL
ALEXANDER JARRELL, AMERICA’S SEXIEST FASHION MODEL—GAY—DATING BUSINESS MOGUL, ELIJAH GARCIA.
The bold headline runs across my phone. It’s from Boxed Out, an international entertainment company capturing the lives of the elite.
A picture accompanies the story—Alex and Elijah walking through a restaurant, Elijah with his arm around Alex’s shoulder. It’s captioned—“Love Triangle?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake.
Below that… “Supermodel, Alex Jarrell, spotted lunching with wealthy New York City business mogul, Elijah Garcia, owner of the popular upscale Bourbon Bar. Elijah, who is openly gay, is married to well-known Spanish artist and interior designer, Gabriel Garcia. They have a daughter, and have oftentimes been referred to as New York City’s power couple. ”
Ugh. I’ve always hated that title. But surprisingly, the media hasn’t caught wind of our divorce yet. Not that we’re keeping it a secret. We’d actually planned on releasing an official statement down the road, but now it looks like we’ll have to do some damage control sooner rather than later.
Frustrated, I get to my feet and go in search of Elijah.
He’s going to flip when he reads this. On any other occasion, we’d brush it off.
We’re used to the tabloids putting their gossipy spin on everything we do.
I’m sure Alex is also. But this invades Alex’s privacy, and that’s not something Elijah takes lightly.
Being gay by no means should hurt his career.
Pretty sure more than half of the male modeling population is queer.
But the fact that he hasn’t officially come out yet, and now has been stripped of that opportunity… well, that’s just not right.
I peek into Elijah’s office and find it empty, so I continue on to the bedroom. I push open the door and immediately jump back. Thankfully, Alex has his back to the door as he slips on a pair of swim shorts.
Fuck, he’s got a gorgeous ass.
In an attempt to become invisible, I press my back up against the wall. The last thing I need is for Alex to see me and whine to Elijah about boundaries again. Damn it! This was my bedroom too at one time, so he needs to relax.
Or maybe it’s me who needs to relax?
Actually, I am relaxed.
So much so that I glance down at my bare feet and quietly close the door.
I think I’ll go swimming.