119. Riley
ONE HUNDRED NINETEEN
I hideout in the photo lab for a while, hoping that Beckett is gone — and that the drama of the Kevin-Jennifer situation doesn”t spill into here. Thankfully, everyone”s on assignment and I have the little space to myself.
I don”t, however, have my phone. That”s still on my desk. Dammit, what if Beckett took it? I spend fifteen minutes worry about that, then I make a tentative move into the newsroom.
It”s the same as I left it, minus Beckett. Thank God. That”s when I remember I have an interview about the symphony story. Dammit. If I leave now, I”ll be able to make the appointment with the conductor and the PR director.
I snatch up my phone, notebook, purse and coffee, and leave without saying a word to anyone. For the next two hours, I”m shaking on the inside as I do a fluff interview with the conductor. I try to casually ask about Martinez, but the conductor knows nothing (of course) and the PR person steers me to more creative questions (of course).
My mind is too unsteady to press the PR woman, and I end the interview, relieved I got some good quotes but knowing I need so much more. From there, I go directly to Cath”s gallery.
I find her in white overalls, a white T-shirt, a white bandanna, and barefoot. She”s painting one wall black, and there are splatters of paint on her clothes. She looks effortlessly interesting and artsy, whereas I”d probably look like I rolled in dirt if I tried the same thing.
I spill into the room, dumping my bag and a box of mini donuts I picked up on my way here.
”You”re not going to believe this,” I say, flipping open the box and cramming a tiny donut in my mouth.
Cath sets her brush down and pads over to me. ”Are you okay? You look a little flushed.”
”No. I”m not okay,” I say while chewing. ”Sorry.”
I swallow and tell her about Beckett. She listens while eating half the donuts.
”Wow. Shit. That”s wild, bringing you a bouquet of flowers then standing like a creeper at your desk. Who let him in, anyway?”
”I have no clue. It”s supposed to be a secure newsroom because some guy came in a couple of years ago and threatened the reporters.”
Cath exhales. ”You haven”t told Gabriel, have you?”
I shake my head. ”I haven”t told him anything.”
”He doesn”t know you kissed Beckett?”
”He knows basic details about Beckett, about of what happened while we were broken up. You”re the only one who knows the entire story. No. I haven”t told him about Beckett”s...”
”Stalking?”
”Yeah. That. Do you think that”s what this is?”
”Uh, fuck yes. You need to tell him.”
Now it”s my turn to sigh. ”He”s going to freak out.”
”And maybe for good reason. Why is this random man you went out with what, twice? Three times? Showing up with flowers? You”re engaged now.”
”I know. I feel bad about it all.”
”Jesus. Beckett”s the one who should feel bad. Dick. Maybe I should go over there now and tell him what I think.”
I wave a donut in the air. ”No. Please don”t. If this guy”s unhinged, I don”t want you getting involved.”
”Okay, but you need to tell Gabriel. Soon. Today.”
I nod. She”s right, of course, but part of me is more worried about Gabriel”s reaction than anything. ”I”ll go there now. I”m blowing off work for the rest of the day.”
”Excellent.”
We talk about wedding stuff for a few minutes, in an attempt to change the subject, but the conversation is muted and tense.
”I”m going to go,” I finally say, my tone glum. ”Gabriel”s in his office downtown today, so I”m going to stop by there now.”
”I”m glad. Listen, it”s going to be okay. I”d hug you, but I have paint all over.”
I finally crack a grin. ”It looks amazing in here, honestly. Is that going to be an accent wall?”
Cath explains her vision for the space. ”I”m getting ready for a new exhibit. An artist from the Dominican Republic, she”s incredible.”
”Can”t wait. I”ll put something in the paper!”
We say goodbye and although she boosted my mood there for a few minutes, dread has settled into my stomach as I drive to Gabriel”s office.
The elevator doorsslide open with a soft ping, and I step into the polished foyer of Gabriel”s office.
It”s an urban oasis amid the bustling energy of downtown Tampa. The walls, a serene shade of dove grey, are adorned with abstract art pieces. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a panoramic view of the cityscape.
Andre”s desk sits to the right, a temple to orderliness amidst the controlled chaos of Gabriel”s world. His surprised smile greets me as I stride in, the usual calm of this place disrupted by my uncommon presence. ”Hey, what brings you here today?” he asks, a hint of confusion in his voice.
”I need to see Gabriel. It”s urgent.” My words are sharper than usual.
Andre”s eyes widen with concern. ”Of course. Let me check if he”s on the phone. You know, I also have to talk to you about the engagement par?—”
”Sorry, Andre, I don”t care if he is.” My tone cuts through, and without waiting for permission, I power past him and push open the door to Gabriel”s office. I”m Gabriel”s fiancée, and if I can”t barge in on him because I have a stalker, when can I?
He”s on the phone when I step in, and his face lights up when he sees me. He beckons for me as he swivels his chair to one side.
Holding out one arm, he guides me onto his lap. Instantly I feel better, protected.
Safe.
”Yes, I think five percent is best. Thanks, Alessandro. Really appreciate this. We”ll make it work.” Pause. ”And we will take you up on that. Riley and I haven”t been to Miami in a while and we”d love to see you and Gia. Okay.”
He listens for a bit while rubbing my back. I take in his office, which is so... corporate. It”s exactly the opposite of what I think a mafioso”s work space should be.
It”s a fusion of modernity and warmth, with sleek furnishings juxtaposed against the softness of plush rugs and sleek bookshelves lining the walls. A large desk commands the center of the room, meticulously organized yet bearing the traces of a busy mind.
Scattered papers hint at ongoing projects, and a vintage globe rests near a stack of leather-bound journals. The view from his window is probably the best in the city, a sprawling vista of Tampa”s skyline and the bay beyond.
”Yes, my father”s doing well. Thank you. You know how he is.” Gabriel”s chuckle sounds brittle. ”Oh really? Orlando? Huh. I”ll look into it. Interesting. Ciao ciao.”
Gabriel hangs up.
”This is quite a pleasant surprise,” he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. His hand begins to slide under my dress. ”Especially when you look so fucking sexy in this dress. What lingerie are you wearing today?”
Normally I am eager to fuck when Gabriel”s like this (and he”s almost always horny when I”m around). But I jump up, not wanting to encourage that particular situation right now. ”I”m sorry to bust in on you like this.”
”You never have to apologize for coming here. You”re always welcome. What”s going on? Do you want to get lunch?”
He frowns, probably because by now I”m pacing and wringing my hands nervously.
”I have something really important to tell you,” I blurt, trying to gather the courage I need for this conversation. Gabriel”s expression morphs to one of concern. He stands, walking over to gently take my hands in his.
”What is it, babe? You know you can tell me anything.” His voice radiates a soothing calm that makes me feel safe, even as anxiety courses through me. I take a deep breath.
”Do you remember me telling you about Beckett? The guy I briefly dated when we were broken up?” Gabriel”s jaw tightens and he gives a curt nod.
”Well...” My voice falters. ”He showed up at my office today. With flowers. And he was acting really strange, standing by my desk, leering at me and my engagement ring.”
Gabriel”s grip on my hands tightens. His eyes flash with anger.
”And, uh, he showed up the other night when Cath and I were having drinks.”
”Why didn”t you tell me that?”
I lick my lips. As expected, Gabriel looks furious. ”I didn”t think anything of it. We were at the most popular bar in town, a few blocks from Beckett”s bookstore. But...”
”What. Else.” Gabriel”s tone is one I”ve never heard before, and it”s frightening.
”He”s texted a few times and I”ve gotten a number of hangup calls.”
Gabriel drops my hands and he walks toward the window. He stares out at it for a minute. My heart is in my throat while I wait for him to respond.
”This guy”s a fucking problem, and I”m going to have to have a word with him.”
”Please don”t do anything violent,” I murmur.
Gabriel turns, and the grin on his face is positively evil. ”I”m afraid Beckett has fucked with the wrong woman, amore mio.”
As his intense gaze pierces my soul, I finally, fully, realize the depth of his protective instincts.
It”s an unexpected, unsettling comfort in the face of danger.