12. Alex
12
ALEX
I glance out the helicopter window, Katherine’s question ringing in my ears. Where is here?
She seems so much calmer than she did in front of the hotel. But my gut churns at the thought of the media stalking her. Men on motorcycles! What the hell? You’d think she was related to the monarchy.
Then again, they could just as easily have been chasing Gabe. His image has mellowed over the years, but there was a time when he didn’t shy away from any kind of publicity. Good or bad.
“My place,” Gabe says just before the pilot opens the door for us.
We step off, keeping our heads low. I reach for my go bag, swinging it over my shoulder.
The air coming off the ocean cuts through my button-down. Katherine has gathered herself on the flight out and now hovers in the doorway, head ducked and a few loose strands of her gorgeous hair whipping in the wind.
I offer her my hand. She gathers the silky skirt of her dress in one hand and places her other palm against mine. I tighten my grip, and our eyes meet, transfixed.
What I told her during her panic attack is as true now as it was then. I won’t let her fall.
Her fingers are cool as she glides down out of the helicopter like a queen arriving to see a new land. I immediately tuck her hand into my arm, annoyed that the weather won’t make up its mind. She clings to my bicep, pressing close as we crunch our way across the drive.
“It’s like the Hamptons didn’t get the memo that we’re having an early heat wave,” Gabe says, ushering us toward the door.
We use the flashlight on our phones to guide the way. By the time we make it to the porch, Katherine is snuggled deep in my jacket. I love seeing her in my things. Will the fabric absorb her delicious scent?
“It’s not finished yet,” Gabe says of the house.
I hear so much in the quick warning. Second-guessing himself, that constant desire to surpass his father’s expectations. Pride and imposter syndrome rolled up into one exhausting cocktail. “But my interior designer says she’s close. The pictures look amaz?—”
The words die on his lips as the key turns in the lock and the front door swings wide. Stale air hits my nose, and I immediately tuck Katherine behind me.
“Wha—” she starts but quickly falls silent, burrowing deeper into my coat.
Gabe flicks on a light, and it’s obvious why something felt wrong.
“What the actual hell?” He moves through the house like he’s clearing it of terrorists. Swift, precise, bold.
There are holes in the walls, a door lies on its side in the entryway, and a light fixture dangles from a wire.
“This isn’t finished. It’s barely started!” His voice thunders from the rear of the house.
I close and lock the front door behind us. More lights flick on, and Katherine gathers her dress and gingerly steps forward. Part of me wants to go through the house and do a survey of my own. Old habits die hard. But I think our bigger concern right now is spiders, not stalkers or photographers.
We find him in the living room next to a pile of lumber.
“I don’t understand,” he says, sounding far younger than his thirty-seven years.
“Are you sure you didn’t misunderstand her?” Katherine asks, picking her way through tools and left over furniture.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. A few quick taps and he thrusts it at her. “There’s no misunderstanding.”
I step closer and glance over her shoulder. She scrolls through a stream of texts and updates, even photos, keeping him abreast of the progress. Except none of the work in the photos matches this house. Not that I can see, at least.
He marches off, mumbling under his breath, and a second later, the heat kicks on.
“Small favors,” he mutters. Then, the kitchen faucet turns on with a sputter.
Katherine crosses the room and steps over a monster extension cord into the kitchen area.
“So she’s scamming you,” she says. “That’s not your fault, Gabriel.”
A shiver races down my spine at the way she says my best friend’s name. It’s somehow both soothing and stern, and damn, if I don’t want to hear my name on her lips next. Her tired eyes turn my way, and I see the prodding there.
She feels it, too—Gabe’s sadness and frustration. The way his mood shifted from pride to confusion and then exasperation. Some people think he can be hard to read. That he puts on a front for others or says one thing while thinking something else.
But he’s always been open with me. And somehow, Katherine sees him, sees through the veneer.
“How were you supposed to know, G?” I drop my go-bag at her feet and follow him through the house. The secondary bathrooms are missing toilets and showers, and there’s another seemingly random hole in the wall in the hall, but at least the lights are still on, and the heat seems to be chugging along.
I almost bowl Katherine over in the darkened hallway. She’s got her head down, scrolling back and forth through the pictures from Gabe’s designer.
“I don’t get it. Why not just do the work? Why lie to him?” she asks and hands over his phone.
“My guess is money.” Everyone wants a piece of his pie.
“But surely he didn’t pay for everything up front.” She rubs the pads of her fingers back and forth across her forehead.
I glance at the pictures on his phone again and see that they’re tight angles. Pretty tile work. A wood floor. Trim work. A table and lamp next to a corner of a bed. Nothing necessarily identifiable as Gabriel’s house. Whatever’s going on, this is not what he was promised.
“The hits just keep coming,” he says when I find him in a small bedroom. There’s an ancient nightstand but no bed.
“Yeah,” I agree because there’s no point in trying to deny what we both know. Someone screwed him, whether or not intentionally, remains to be seen. But it seems we ran from one wild situation right into another .
A loud crash echoes from the other side of the house.
“Katherine!” I race down the hall, leap over a stack of buckets, and storm into the main bedroom. Gabe is hot on my heels, and we burst through the doorway together, shoulder to shoulder.
Katherine stands next to a large mattress in the middle of the room. “Sorry that was so loud. It’s heavier than I thought.”
She shoots us an apologetic smile over her shoulder, and my pulse skips a beat. Then her high heels click across the hardwood floor, and she disappears into what I presume is a closet.
“What’s she doing?” Gabe mutters.
“What are you up to, Katie Bird?”
“Katie Bird?” Katherine and Gabe say at the same time.
“Just trying something,” I reply with a shrug.
She leans out of the closet, pegging me with a pleased look. “I like it.” And she’s gone again.
Her praise settles my heartbeat and, at the same time, makes me want more. I’m a greedy bastard and I want more of her smiles, more of her laughs.
We step deeper into the room and peer into the closet to find her elbow-deep in an old dresser.
Obviously sensing our presence, she says, “I’m exhausted. And while I hate this situation for you, Gabriel,” she waves her hand around in a way that encompasses the whole house, “I’m about to drop. ”
Another tendril of her gorgeous hair has escaped her updo and curls against her cheek. I’ve never seen anything so lovely. This gorgeous woman, battling her own demons, dressed to perfection, wearing my coat, is slowly unraveling before my eyes.
My cock strains against the confines of my pants. Thank goodness for old lightbulbs and black fabric. I should not love the way my coat swallows her or look forward to how her scent will cling to it tomorrow. I shouldn’t be enjoying anything about this insane night.
“Can you believe they left all these linens?” She holds out what appears to be a sheet. It’s neatly folded and fancy-looking.
“We can’t stay here,” Gabe says, suddenly coming to life beside me.
Katherine’s hands freeze, and she blinks at us. I see the doubt filling her as fast as a firehose would fill a bathtub. She’s so used to being snapped at and ordered around by her family, expecting a shoe to drop. I’ve seen them in action, and I fucking hate it. I hate every single person who has ever diminished her shine.
“I mean, it’s not ready. There’s nowhere to sleep. This isn’t what I was expecting when I suggested we come here.” I’ve never heard Gabe sound quite so unsure before. Almost defeated.
And I hate that anyone would try to take advantage of him. He’s a grown man, but sometimes I still remember him as the quietly arrogant kid I met almost twenty years ago, so out of his element.
To her credit, the heiress takes his words in stride. Which is somehow both surprising and not. This situation isn’t what any of us expected. It’s like finding yourself on a roller coaster with no end in sight.
My phone began buzzing before I got Katherine into the car and it hasn’t stopped since.
My assistant.
PR.
A bunch of numbers I don’t recognize.
An old client I haven’t talked to in three years.
According to my tech team, someone took a video of the auction, and it’s burning like wildfire across social media.
But I’ll worry about that tomorrow. Right now, Gabe’s spiraling, and Katherine’s swaying in those crazy high heels.
Her brows lift. “It’s not a big deal, Gabriel. There’s a mattress. And sheets. Even pillows.” She holds one to her chest, fingertips playing with the lacey trim.
“You’re kidding,” he says. He stares at her for a long moment as if waiting for her to shout Gotcha ! Then he barks to me, “Call the chopper back.”
Katherine makes her selections, then steps forward, pressing the lot into my hands. “Don’t call the chopper back. ”
“You’ve roughed it? The Park Avenue princess?”
Oh, hell, Gabe. Way to throw gasoline on a fire.
Katherine bristles. Her spine literally straightens, and she pulls her shoulders down and back.
“My father and brother like camping.”
Gabe grunts. “And you couldn’t be left out. That it?”
She stares at him again, and I wonder if she sees the wounded little boy that I do. But how could she? There’s no way Katherine Montgomery knows about the hostility Gabe grew up with. How his perfectly average parents hated having a brainiac son. How they had no idea what to do with him and never missed an opportunity to try to dumb him down.
“Are you going to kick me out?” she asks, her voice softer and decidedly less challenging. Her head is tilted slightly to the side as she watches him closely.
“No.” His answer is swift, almost vehement. As if the idea had never occurred to him.
She nods, taking a deep breath. Still wearing my coat, she steps forward and plucks the fitted sheet from my hands. After a couple of quick snaps to fluff it out, she walks to the mattress, her nose scrunching as she tucks in the corners.
“There’s one more problem, Princess,” Gabe says.
“What’s that?” She straightens and glares at him head-on. There’s enough tension crackling between the two of them to catch the dunes on fire.
“There’s only one bed.”