20. Riley
TWENTY
What the fuckis that supposed to mean? I glower at Gabriel and consider making a snarky comeback, but he looks so self-satisfied and yeah, gorgeous, that any retort withers in my mind. I loathe that he does that to me, short circuits my brain with merely a look.
The more I”m around him, the deeper I fall under his spell.
There”s one sip left in my wine glass and I stare at the liquid, wondering if I should get another. I don”t want to get too drunk tonight. I want to remember this entire evening, savor every detail, feel regret for every moment that I could”ve done something different.
It”s like a slow-motion car crash; I know everything that”s about to happen, and I”m powerless to stop it.
I look up, and Gabriel”s studying me with those intense eyes.
”What?” I ask. ”Why do you keep looking at me like that?”
”I enjoy looking at you.”
The feeling is so obviously mutual, but I”m not going to say that aloud, not here and maybe not ever, to him. It feels like defeat, like giving in. And I know, deep in my heart, that I”m going to be giving so much more tonight...
”Riley, I have some bad news.” He swirls the wine in his glass.
Jesus, what now? ”Yeah?”
”We”re going to have to mingle.”
A genuine smile spreads on his lips, and combined with the utter seriousness of his voice, I can”t help but laugh. ”I didn”t take you for an introvert. The way you just said that makes me think you don”t wanna be here at all.”
He pushes out a breath. ”I”m afraid you have figured out my deepest, darkest secret. I am an introvert.”
”Well, your life must be pretty hellish, because I suspect you have to go to a lot of these types of things, don”t you?”
His smile is replaced by a grimace. Never once did I consider this when I first learned of the powerful and dangerous Gabriel Greco. It never crossed my mind when we were at his house. There, he seemed so at ease. Like the ruler of his kingdom. Even here, at this ridiculous party, he seems like he fits in. But only to a point. Now that I”m studying him up close, I can tell that he”s tense.
Maybe it”s the way he carries himself, with a ramrod-straight spine and cold eyes for everyone but me. Or perhaps it”s the way his gaze darts around the room, from person to person, never settling on any one group, all with a slightly haughty expression.
Or perhaps, this is just one of his many fa?ades. A lie, even, to put me at ease. I”m not sure what”s real at this point, honestly.
Still, for some reason I”m charmed by his admission. ”Let”s do it. But let”s also get another drink beforehand.”
”I like the way you think,” he murmurs, and a corresponding thrill sends tingles through my body.
He doesn”t touch me while we go to the bar, and I would be lying if I said I”m not a little disappointed. We get our drinks and step toward a group of people. They”re all smiling and greeting him like he”s their best friend—which is odd, since we passed by them twice and they didn”t say anything previously.
Maybe no one talks to Gabriel unless he talks first. Like royalty.
It”s as if we”re immediately launched into another, parallel universe. We move from group to group shaking hands, kissing cheeks, exchanging endless rounds of introductions. Thankfully, he keeps it professional.
This is Riley Murphy, the writer at the Tribune who is doing a profile, yes, she”s beautiful, and she”s also very talented.
Over and over, he says a variation of the same thing. Like a politician would during a campaign event. He”s great at staying on message. He speaks with a deep, commanding voice. It is smooth, a bit hoarse, and holds the weight of his authority, and every word makes me wet.
My smile is tacked on at this point, there to distract from the discomfort of my arousal and my awkwardness at being around all these people.
Just like my publisher, everyone expresses surprise when they hear that I”m shadowing him for a story. Some make jokes while others give knowing glances, as if to say of course he is giving her the access of a lifetime. He”s going to fuck her.
And they wouldn”t be wrong. Because the more I see Gabriel speak and network and circulate, the more I observe him, the more I want him. His power makes him even more attractive. In the span of a half hour, he”s offered football tickets, a fishing trip to the Bahamas, a deal for a new condo, hell even a comp meal at the nicest restaurant in town.
”Why don”t the two of you do an interview at my place?” the restaurant owner says.
Gabriel smirks, and retorts, ”Joey, you don”t need the press that bad,” and Joey laughs and laughs.
It”s as if no one wants to say no to Gabriel, and everyone wants to accommodate all of his whims.
For the first time, I realize that power in a man is sexy. It”s possibly the sexiest thing about him. Hotter than his molten dark eyes, more beautiful than his sharp cheekbones and razor-like jaw, more alluring than his wicked smile. The fact that he can walk into a room full of rich, influential people and get anything he wants with the snap of his fingers is a turn-on.
And being close to that is like teetering on the edge of a high cliff, held back from the abyss by only a thin rubber band.
I”m pondering whether any of the gangsters I met in Boston had this kind of magnetism when a woman walks up to us.
She”s tall, almost as tall as Gabriel, I”d say close to six feet. Statuesque doesn”t cover the description of her, and neither does model-like. Her dark hair is swept into an updo, and her makeup is understated to highlight her natural beauty. She”s thin, of course, in an effortless way, and if I had to guess, she spent a lifetime around show horses and polo players.
She”s gorgeous but more importantly, she”s just plain interesting to look at. For some reason she looks familiar to me, but I can”t place her.
”You should have told me you were coming,” she purrs at Gabriel, giving him a seductive kiss on the cheek.
”Really? Why is that, Lexi?” Gabriel”s tone is mild.
I sense there”s a history between them, and I don”t like the emotions this fact inspires in me. Of course he would have a history with a woman. Especially a beautiful, classy looking woman like this one. He”s not a virgin, for fuck”s sake.
She grins. ”We could”ve coordinated and had drinks or dinner beforehand.”
Gabriel laughs. ”Babe, I brought a date tonight.”
I hate that he calls her babe...
”Oh, really?” At this point, she hasn”t even acknowledged my presence, even though I”m standing less than a foot away from Gabriel.
He slides an arm around my waist and pulls me in ever so possessively.
”Well, something like a date. She”s actually one of you, a reporter. And she”s doing a story on me, so it feels like a date, on steroids. It”s that getting-to-know you phase, only very one-sided.” He laughs, and she does too, before turning to me.
I hold out my hand, trying to be polite when all I want is for the earth to open up and swallow me.
”I know you from somewhere,” I blurt. ”I”m so sorry, I forgot my manners. My name is Riley Murphy. I”m a reporter with the Tribune.”
”I”m Lexi Perkins. I used to be an anchor on Channel 8 news here in town. Now I”m in Los Angeles at a network there. But I”ve come back for this charity. I started it, after all.”
Oh. Now I know who she is. While she left town before I came, other reporters in the newsroom told me about her. She was a well-known local personality, beloved by viewers. Her career even survived a messy divorce with a local attorney, and the rumor that she screwed her personal trainer.
Interesting company that Gabriel keeps.
She immediately ignores me and begins talking to Gabriel, telling him a detailed story that I don”t quite follow, but I gather that it”s about a mutual acquaintance. I listen hard to determine if she”s talking about Doyle, the missing politician, but it doesn”t sound like it. She leans into me mid sentence. ”And this is all off the record. This doesn”t need to be in your story. You got that?”
I wave my hand. ”Of course, of course,” I say, but my curiosity is piqued.
They appear to be talking about a political consultant in Palm Beach who is in some kind of trouble with federal authorities. This is probably newsworthy, but my mind has hit maximum capacity. Gabriel seems bored and calls the guy a ”fucking idiot.”
Again, Lexi stares at me. Finally, I take the hint and excuse myself to go to the bathroom.
”Do you need me to walk you there?” Gabriel asks, and Lexi snorts.
”I think I can handle it on my own,” I say, and stalk off before he can say anything else.
I push my way through throngs of people and past giant Art Deco paintings on the walls.
A busty blonde in a black sequined dress bumps into me. I hear her high heels clicking on the ground, the jangle of bracelets, the low cut of her dress, and her perfume. I guess she”s a fan of champagne because I can smell the alcohol on her breath.
”Oh, you”re with Gabriel Greco, aren”t you?” she asks.
I nod and barrel on, feeling the eyes of dozens of people on me. It”s like I”m in a twisted carnival, one that I can”t escape. By the time I make my way into the bathroom, I”m sweaty and disoriented. I lock myself in a stall and shut my eyes for a moment. Holy hell.
I slump against the wooden paneled wall of the stall. I have no idea what to think about tonight, no idea how to feel about the out-of-control lust coursing through my body every time I look at Gabriel, no clue what to think about his cryptic conversation with Lexi.
Maybe I could just sneak out the side door. That would be the easiest, probably the most sane thing to do.
But I don”t have my purse, I don”t even have the keys to my house and my poor little shitty car is God-knows-where. Dammit. I suppose I could walk home, but in the shoes? No. Not a chance.
I am not a heels person, and the pair I”m wearing is already grating on the backs of my heels. I let out a sigh. What the fuck am I doing? That seems to be the only question I”m capable of asking. I think for a moment about Lorna, and know she would tell me to make the best of tonight. She would tell me to have fun and get as much information as I possibly could.
But I don”t know what Lorna would say about my fascination with the enigmatic Gabriel...
Steeling myself with a large inhale, I leave the stall and go into the washroom area with the sinks. The bathroom is huge, with black and white tile on the floor, and two giant gold and marble sinks on one end of the room. A massive gold and marble mirror hangs above it. The fixtures are jewel-toned and the commode bowl is a chic black. Even the trashcan is gold. The bathroom alone looks like a study in stark and sumptuous elegance.
I”m the only one in here, and I take a moment to study my face and check my lipstick.
Remarkably, whatever the makeup artist put on my mouth has staying power because it”s still there, blazingly red, almost garish against the bright blonde of my hair. As I”m washing my hands, I hear the strike of heels against the tile floor. I look into the mirror and see Lexi strut in.
I groan to myself. This isn”t what I need right now.
When she spots me, an amused smile spreads on her face.
”Oh, good. I found you.”
”Hi there,” I say in a chummy voice, shutting off the water and drying my hands with a paper napkin that”s so luxurious that it feels like cotton.
Lexi opens her designer purse and takes out a tube of lipstick. It”s a muted, soft pink tone, understated and elegant. Her dress is black, but without sparkles or embellishments. Everything about her screams money.
”I wanted to give you some advice about Gabriel.” She carefully swipes her bottom lip with the pink color.
”Oh yeah? Do you have some inside information for my article? I”d love to get some other voices in the story, from people who know him.” I ball up the towel and drop it into a gold-hued wastebasket.
”Cut the shit. You”re not doing a newspaper story. He”d never allow that.”
I shrug. ”That”s not what he told me.”
My response feels infantile, and I just want this conversation to end. I”m about to bid her goodbye and walk out when she swipes her perfectly bow-shaped top lip.
”He”s not looking for a relationship?—”
I cut her off. ”I”m not either.”
”Please. I can tell by the way you look at him you want more than a story.”
Is it that obvious? A dryness settles in my mouth, as if I”ve been following a camel across the Sahara.
”It”s just a story,” I say through gritted teeth.
She laughs and the sound echoes off the bathroom balls.
”Riley, Gabriel eats girls like you for breakfast and spits them out in the canal behind his mansion. If I were you, I would run away from him, now. As in, this moment. Run and don”t look back.”