Lenore
I t’s 3pm on Thursday afternoon and Gabe Dempsey has barely looked at me all week. Gone is the man who smirked at me through the window, his dimples so deep I could see them across the room. Gone is the man who held my gaze as he swigged from a stainless steel water bottle, his throat working as he drank, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and winked.
I’m empty. Hollow. Cold to the tips of my toes. Stumbling through day after endless day in this beige hellhole, now with only my fashion sketches in the first drawer of my desk to make me feel alive.
Of course, I can’t let Gabe see that. Can’t show how badly his sudden rejection has hurt me. If he doesn’t want to play anymore, if he’s pushing me away, just like my own freaking family does, then… fine. That’s his call.
He probably doesn’t even know my name. Doesn’t know the first thing about me, and it’s my own fault for getting so weirdly attached to a handsome stranger. Who does that, anyway?
Whatever. One day soon I’ll graduate and take off across the country, no more ties, no more stuffy family rules, and I’ll start over somewhere completely fresh to build a life of my own. A life with color and music and friends and delicious food. A life where no one huffs at me if I eat something fattening, and where no one rolls their eyes when I walk in wearing a brand new dress I designed.
Had I started to picture Gabe Dempsey alongside me in that nightly fantasy?
Ugh. Yes.
But will I let this latest rejection break me?
No, sir. Even if my chest stings like crazy.
“I spy, with my little eye… something beginning with ‘m’.”
Rhonda from payroll leans her hip against the kitchen counter, dunking a chamomile tea bag in her steaming mug. Her purple hair has been straightened mercilessly into a jaw-length bob, and her false nails have spiky tips. She smirks out of the break room window, eyes sharp, as young, strong construction workers climb up and down the scaffolding out there.
God. My fingers itch to snatch the glasses off her nose and break them in two. I huff and hope to god I never looked like that when I was playing my don’t-blink-first game with Gabe. Like a hungry lion licking her chops. Hypocritical, I know, but I can’t help it.
It felt different with Gabe. Special.
Mutual.
You know, until he stopped looking at me at all. Now I feel like a complete creep, my cheeks constantly hot with shame.
“M?” My brain is slow today, the gears rusty in my skull, but I force myself to play along as I peer out of the window. “Metal? Mallets? Uh. Men?”
Rhonda’s smirk widens even further. “Man candy,” she says, dunking that tea bag over and over and over.
Gross. My chair scuffs back over the linoleum, and I snatch up my own lukewarm coffee. Better to hide on the top floor and look anywhere except the window, than sit here and listen to this. If she drools over Gabe like that, I’m gonna yank out my own hair.
I’m being unreasonable, I know. Rhonda’s not really hurting anyone, and lord knows I can’t talk, but…
I don’t want her looking at Gabe like that. Like he’s nothing but a piece of meat. It’s driving me crazy.
And I’m so ashamed. As I trudge to the elevator, swilling my stale instant coffee in my mug, I wish I could go back and redo the last few weeks.
I shouldn’t have stared at him like that. Shouldn’t have magicked up some deep connection between us in my brain, kidding myself that he liked me too.
Should have kept my head down, done my stupid work, and never looked out of the window.
Now I’m no better than Rhonda. Bleurgh.
The elevator doors slide open on the eighth floor, and I’m greeted by my makeshift prison cell. It’s sparse and stifling hot, the heating always cranked on full, even on sunny days like today. It smells like the burning dust that cooks on the radiators. The same dried-out plants lie dead in their pots, a soulless landscape painting hangs on the wall, and a bluebottle hums and headbutts the ceiling.
“You and me both, pal,” I mutter, shuffling to my desk. The chair squeals as I sit down, rocking madly on its broken wheel, and I’ve never felt less inspired in my life. Never felt so drab, so trapped, so hopeless. When will it end?
When my family decides I’ve atoned for my sins, I guess.
So: never.
As I bring up Uncle Roderick’s schedule for next week on the monitor, I do not look out the window. I can take a freaking hint, and I’m already sick with all the shame sloshing around my belly. I’m never gonna stare at Gabe Dempsey again. I’ve learned my lesson.
So I’ve got no warning when the elevator pings, then grinds its doors open. No one ever comes up to this floor if they can help it, because, you know. Uncle Roderick is a petty blowhard.
Glancing up from my desk, all the air rushes from my body. The clock tick-tocks on the wall, and my pulse thrums in my wrists, and meanwhile, I’ve turned to stone, staring wide-eyed at the man strolling toward me.
“Hey, beautiful.” He grins.
And… holy crap. I thought Gabe Dempsey was a powerful sight when he was out there , safely separated by stone walls and glass. In here, only a few steps away…
I can’t breathe. Can’t move. My tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth, and I’m squeezing my chewed-up pencil so hard the wood creaks.
His tan work boots thud against the floor, and Gabe pushes his windswept hair back as he approaches, though it immediately falls over his forehead again. There’s a smear of dirt on his left cheekbone, and his red flannel shirt is clouded with dust. His green eyes root me to the spot easier than if he’d lassoed me and tied me to the chair.
“The boss wants a progress report. Is he ready for me?”
Right. Duh.
Gabe’s here for work reasons, not to see me. It’s stupid thoughts like that which got me so crushed in the first place. I duck my head and click around the screen, even though my vision’s gone all blurry.
“Um,” I say. “Let me just check.”
I can do this. I can be normal with the man who broke my heart without ever saying a single word to me.
“Thanks, .”
Gabe Dempsey knows my name? How?
And if he knows my name, why did he call me beautiful just now? Is he messing with me? Or does he flirt with everyone?
A low voice floats through Uncle Roderick’s office door, finally registering with my frazzled brain. It’s half a conversation, and by the way he’s droning on in there, Uncle Roderick is warming up for a full lecture. The sound of his own voice is my uncle’s favorite thing in the whole world.
“Would you like to take a seat?” I say through numb lips. Can’t look at those steady green eyes, so I address Gabe’s shirt collar instead. One side’s gotten flipped up by the wind, and now that I’ve noticed it, I can’t look away. “He’s on the phone in there, and that could be a while. You’d better make yourself comfortable.”
There’s a long pause as Gabe Dempsey peers around the room, looking for the chair I’ve just stupidly offered. Nothing. Nada. There’s nowhere for him to sit at all, not unless he fancies hopping up on the ancient photocopier in the corner and making copies of his perfect butt.
My cheeks burn. “Oh.” Is this one of Uncle Roderick’s shitty power plays? Bet he read about it in some awful business book. Assert dominance by hiding all the chairs! “S-sorry. You can take mine—”
I rocket to my feet, chair spinning out behind me, right as Gabe holds up a palm and says, “Forget it, gorgeous. It’s fine.”
Gorgeous. Beautiful. If he stays here much longer, what else might he call me?
At least we’re both standing now. Gabe Dempsey is taller than me, much taller, but he’s not looming like he was. Without thinking, I reach across the desk and flip his folded-up collar down, smoothing the warm fabric with my palm.
He’s so sturdy under those clothes. Like his chest is made of carved stonework too.
Oof. What am I doing?
I go to snatch my hand back, but Gabe catches my wrist. He waits for me to meet his gaze, then raises one eyebrow.
His smile is slow and teasing, like before. Like it was before he started acting like I don’t exist. My insides quiver, even as my heart gives a pang.
The callused pad of his thumb circles my pulse point. Green eyes bore into me, hungry and tense behind the smile, and I can’t bear how hot and cold this man blows. How impossible he is to follow.
“Why did you stop?” I blurt, flushing impossibly redder. “Why won’t you look at me anymore? Did I… did I do something wrong?”
All his humor drains away, and Gabe shakes his head slowly. He’s solemn now, dragging in a deep breath like he needs to shore himself up, but he’s still holding my wrist. Still tracing circles over my pulse point.
And something tugs low in my belly, because that’s his hand. Big and warm and dry. Gabe Dempsey’s flesh and blood hand, with nicks and scars and calluses, gripping my bare skin. Holding me carefully, like something precious.
My nipples harden beneath today’s purple blouse. Standing this close together in this hot, airless room, I can smell the fresh air on his clothes. The brick dust and car exhaust from outside; the crisp October bonfire smell.
And beneath that… sweat. Soap. Male musk.
I swallow.
“You did nothing wrong.” His voice is deep, with the faint accent that you hear in the city docks and the rowdiest bars. Gabe Dempsey was born in this city—born and bred, native in a way that I’ll never be, even though I grew up here too. “Never think that, okay? I loved our game, . I just can’t play anymore, that’s all.”
His mouth twists, and he frowns as he watches me, willing me to understand.
I don’t understand, not at all, but I’m not about to force my attention on someone who doesn’t want it. That’s jerk behavior.
Gabe makes a low noise when I tug my wrist free—like I kicked him in the gut. I’m back to staring at his collar, though it’s all fixed now.
“If you’d rather go back outside, Mr Dempsey, I could signal one of your men once my uncle is ready for you.”
Another grunt, and Gabe sounds pained , like this stiffness and distance between us feels all wrong to him too. As unnatural as a dog playing piano.
“Is that what you want, beautiful?” The question rasps out of his throat, even though unlike most of his workers, Gabe’s not a smoker. I noticed, obviously. I noticed everything about this man; studied him like it was my full time job. “Want me to go wait outside?”
My shrug is robotic. Gabe gusts out a long breath, then rounds the desk in three strides.
I blink up at him, startled, as he tucks my hair behind my ear, cupping my elbow with his other hand. And he’s closer now, close enough for me to feel the warmth of his body, close enough to make all the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. He’s touching me.
And that pull between my legs is getting worse by the second; I’m aching down there. My body’s crying out for this man, even as my heart harrumphs and turns away.
He didn’t want you, idiot.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you before.” Gabe speaks quick and low, one eye on my uncle’s office door. His dark blonde hair is all messy from the wind. “I loved our game, okay? Loved having you watch me, baby. But girls like you and guys like me… we don’t match. Everyone knows that. And I couldn’t stand being a one time thing for you; couldn’t stand just being a game you play when you’re bored.”
I raise my chin, heart galloping., and even though there’s no hope here—I want to set the record straight. Let it be known that I was all in, different backgrounds or no. I may be a Hattworth, but I’ve never been a snob.
“Who says it would be one time? Who says it was a game?” Ass , I add silently, but he definitely hears that too. Gabe’s mouth tugs up at the corner, and he steps all the way in so that our bodies brush together.
“Oh?” He’s less tense now, the stress bleeding from his frame. “So you’re not trying to walk on the wild side?”
Um. No?
I’ve never walked on any side before, but I don’t point that out. The last thing this man needs to hear right now is that I’m looking for him to swipe my v-card. He’d probably jump out of the window, James Bond style.
Instead, I wrinkle my nose up at him, tugging my elbow free. “You stopped playing, mister. You don’t get to tap back in whenever you like.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“That’s harsh. What if I messed up?” Gabe ducks his head, running the cold tip of his nose along my jaw, laughing when I suck in a breath. “What if I want a do-over?”
“Th-that’s too bad.” My words are strict, but the way I’m melting against him, clutching two fists of his shirt, gives me away. My whole body’s on fire for him right now, quivering and cooking under my clothes—and I’m so glad he’s talking to me. So glad he’s looking at me again. The last few days have been the loneliest of my life. “You had your chance, but you didn’t want me.”
Gabe scoffs, nuzzling my earlobe. “Like hell —”
A few muffled steps is all our warning, then Uncle Roderick’s door slams open. We’ve already sprung apart, both red faced and breathing hard, but he doesn’t even notice how close we’re standing or how rumpled we are. He’s too busy waving his visitor inside, scowling down at his wristwatch like he’s too important to even look Gabe in the eye.
A thousand harsh words line up on my tongue, but I bite them back and sink back into my desk chair. Gabe Dempsey doesn’t need me to fight his battles—and definitely not against a complete dweeb like Uncle Roderick. It’s not even worth his time. He’s smarter, stronger, and more capable than my uncle will ever be, and we both know it. That’s what counts.
The builder turns back right before the office door closes, taunting me with a sexy grin.
I spend the next twenty minutes floating somewhere up near the ceiling.