4. Gabe
4
GABE
Sweat drips down my temple, and I swipe at it with a hand towel, then slap it over my shoulder.
“Good game.” Nothing like blowing off a little steam on the court to start the day. I freaking love having my best friend under my roof. We get to do fun stuff like this without fighting traffic. It reminds me of college, when he took me in as his roommate, and we got to hang out all the time.
Three a.m. pizza fest, here we come!
“What are you going to do about the Chanler and Cort deal?” he asks, propping the basketball on his hip.
A thrill moves through me like melted butter. Hot and delicious.
I’m just petty enough that my lips tug up in a smirk. “Make them wait. ”
“You sure that’s the smart thing to do?”
Alexander knows me like no one else. He was by my side seventeen years ago when Henry Chanler tried to ruin me. And unlike my “family,” Alex understands how hard I worked to build my company.
There’s no judgment in his question, just honest curiosity.
“No. But it makes me feel good.” And sometimes, that’s reason enough to do something. Or not do something.
He huffs a laugh, and I can just about read his mind. Typical Gabe.
I’ve always been all about what feels right and not what makes the best business sense. And I’ve made a shit ton of money, even though I haven’t done what the Harvard-educated businessmen would tell me to.
It probably chaps their asses that I’ve made billions off an idea, hard work, and gut instinct.
But honestly, I don’t think about them. My competition.
I do, however, think about Henry Chanler. Mostly the way he moved in on me, making me feel like he was a friend. A mentor. Fuck. Like the grandfather I always wanted.
And then, when I wouldn’t turn over my brainchild, he tried to use every last trick to drive me and my company into the ground .
Alex tosses the ball to me, and we round the corner to one of the main training areas. I spin the basketball on the tip of my finger as I glance around the gym. Rows of equipment dot the room, and the wall of windows lets in the early morning light. It smells like rubber, sweat, and grease.
In the corner, a shock of red hair draws my attention.
My footsteps falter.
I can’t help it.
She grunts as she drives her fists into the punching bag.
Katherine Montgomery is a work of art. And she’s got a brain to match.
If only her grandfather wasn’t the dick who tried to take me down. If only she wasn’t as prickly as a cactus.
Alex plows into my shoulder and utters an apology.
Then he lets out a soft whistle that’s totally unlike him. I cut him a look and raise a brow.
“What got into her?” he whispers.
He’s not wrong. She’s furious. Glorious.
Bright pink splotches dot her cheeks. Her long, copper locks are swept up into a ponytail that swings with every punch. A deep red sports bra clings to high, heavenly breasts and a matching shade of leggings mold to her curvy hips and make her legs look a mile long .
Gods, she’s gorgeous.
“No idea,” I say.
But it’s obvious.
Someone did her wrong.
Her gaze collides with mine, and her fist misses the punching bag.
For a split second, I let myself enjoy it. Her missing the bag because I snagged her attention. But then her frown turns to an all-out scowl, and I have a feeling I’ll pay for it during our next board meeting.
I’ve never seen her look anything other than completely composed. An ice queen. Her light blue-green eyes have locked on me with cool disdain more than once.
My gut tightens.
An urge builds inside me: swift, possessive, foreign.
I tuck the basketball under my arm and move toward the water fountain. Bending down, I hit the button and take a long pull from the stream.
When I come up for air, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, my gaze finding her again unerringly.
She moves around the bag like it’s her prey.
Quick feet. Never staying too long in one spot. Beating the hell out of the bag so that it swings wildly from the chain.
“Should we see if she’s okay?” I ask because something about her calls to me .
Beneath the brutal assault on the bag, I sense her pain.
That’s one emotion I’m intimately familiar with.
I don’t know why, after everything her family’s done, but the glower on her lovely face leaves me restless. Itching to do something to make it better.
Whatever it is.
“I don’t think now’s the right time, G,” Alex says and leans over the water fountain for his own drink.
I wasn’t terribly social as a kid, preferring books to barbecues. Being a misunderstood brainiac caused plenty of problems in my blue-collar household. My brothers thought they could beat the nerd out of me. My dad tried.
Alex is probably right.
Computers are usually more my speed. Data—that I understand. But when it comes to women, well, I lean into my bachelor status. I’m only going to live once, so why not take advantage of all life has to offer?
Across the room, Katherine cozies up to the bag, driving her fists into it in rapid fire. It’s a vicious attack, up close and personal, and my ribs ache in sympathy.
When I glance over at my long-time best friend, he’s watching her carefully, his brown eyes tracking every movement. Alex has always been watchful and focused on details. Those traits made him an excellent soldier, a great bodyguard, and a ruthless businessman.
I should probably listen to him because when it comes to this woman, I’m never thinking clearly.
But leaving her in distress like this just doesn’t sit right.
“What did that bag ever do to you?” I ask as I approach, basketball perched on my hip. Even though my words are teasing, I know instantly it was the wrong thing to say.
Or maybe it’s that I’ve said anything at all.
I can almost see her back bristling as she pauses for a beat, glancing my way, then refocuses her efforts on the punching bag. Her fists come up in a classic boxing position, and she gives a one-two jab. “What are you doing here, Gabriel?”
Her chest is flushed a rosy pink, the lightest sheen of sweat clinging to her cleavage. Tendrils of damp, flame-colored hair cling to her temples. But her tone is dripping with disdain.
“I live here,” I say, watching her reaction to those words.
She doesn’t lose her focus.
“In the gym?”
The quick comeback makes my lips twitch.
“Upstairs.”
“That’s right. I heard something about that. Buying the whole top floor.” The way she lifts her brow says that was a little much.
Her feet shift on the rubber mat, quick steps taking her away from me as she slugs the bag. I’ve never seen this barely controlled lioness before.
And it makes me wonder what she’d look like after a long session in my bed. Beneath me, on top of me, full of my cock, and covered in sweat.
Fuck. Now is not the time to think of that. Gym shorts don’t conceal anything.
“Keeping tabs on me, Princess?”
She rolls her eyes.
“You wish.” She punctuates her words with another one-two jab. I don’t know why, given our history, but I like the idea of her keeping tabs on me. It should grate because any ammunition for her family will definitely come back to bite you in the ass.
I still have teeth marks on mine.
“I like the view,” I tell her, and in New York City, that’s nothing to sneeze at.
What I don’t admit is that my terrace has a view into her living room. If the lighting’s just right, I can watch her snuggle into her sectional as she reads a book. One of these days, I hope she’ll have to answer the door or something, fresh from the shower.
Fuck.
I spend way too much time thinking about a woman who’d just as soon filet me on her grill as she would speak to me. I need to get laid. With that thought in mind, I turn away just as Alex steps up to the punching bag, holding it steady for her. She throws a couple of punches, her hair swishing back and forth over her shoulders.
“Thanks,” she murmurs.
“You’re welcome.”
I watch the two of them for a moment, juggling the basketball between my hands. He’s like a giant bear with his arms wrapped around a trash can. And she’s like a woodland nymph dancing around, working her magic.
“Aren’t you going to give me pointers?” she asks, but the icy tone I usually associate with her is missing. She seems almost... warm with him.
“Do you want pointers?” he asks. His tone is soft and gentle, like he’s trying not to spook a rabbit.
I bite back a snort. This bunny could eat him alive.
She doesn’t bother to stifle her sigh. “Most men can’t wait to tell me what to do.”
“I’m not most men.”
I wait for a snarky comeback, but she keeps drilling her gloved fists into the bag. Wow. That’s a pain that runs deep. There’s a tiny furrow between her brows, and her gorgeous, bow-shaped mouth is set. Just as quickly as she was unleashing on the bag, she takes a step back, hands falling to her sides and shoulders dropping.
Oh god. What’s happening ?
Please don’t let her cry.
She yanks off one of her gloves, taps something on her watch and then bends over to pick up her water bottle. Those leggings leave nothing to the imagination.
Holy shit. Forget basketball. This is the way to start a day.
All the smart suits I’ve seen her in have hinted at her curvy figure. I shouldn’t stare, but I can’t help myself.
She has a perfect, heart-shaped ass.
My brain scrambles as she straightens, lifts the bottle, and takes a long drink. I’m rarely speechless. There’s always an inane fact rolling around in my brain, waiting to be shared. But thoughts and words dissolve as I watch her throat move as she swallows.
I shift the basketball in front of my crotch, and Alex cuts me a look. A smirk pulls at the corner of his lips, and then he returns his attention to Katherine.
She tucks the water bottle into the curve of her arm and rips off the other boxing glove. “Was there something you needed?”
“Gabe just wanted to make sure you were all right,” Alex replies, still smirking at me.
And all I did was annoy her more.
She huffs a laugh and then pegs me with a sour look. “More like ‘see how he can press on my wounds.’ ”
Someone hurt her? My gaze rakes every inch of visible skin, looking for a mark. A bruise. A scrape. Her skin is perfection. Creamy with a dusting of freckles.
How far down do those freckles go?
Focus, dumbass.
I see no signs of injury and glance up at her face again. Her brows are lifting in question, but below the fringe of dark red lashes surrounding her eyes are dark smudges. She tried to hide them with makeup.
She means emotional wounds.
Obviously not liking that I’m looking too closely, she turns away. I’ve been given the cold shoulder before. Endured the silent treatment a time or two. But her dismissal hits different.
“Who do we need to beat up?” I tease, trying for a different tactic.
She turns back. Her copper brows knit in confusion, but she smooths them quickly. “You’re really offering to beat someone up for me?”
“No.” I jerk my chin toward Alex. “That’s what I have him for.”
Alex grunts. “Glad I’m useful.”
Katherine packs her things away in a tote bag and straightens, meeting Alex’s gaze. “If you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment with my manicurist.”
Of course, she’d have someone available outside of normal business hours. Money greases a lot of wheels .
“We wouldn’t want to keep you from your mani-pedi.”
She doesn’t smile or laugh like I’d hoped.
God, what’s it going to take to melt this woman? And why do I care?