Chapter 25 Gabriel
“What time are you heading out tonight?” Roman asks, his voice casual in tone, but I know there’s some sort of loaded reason he’s asking that.
Roman doesn’t concern himself with the personal details of anyone’s life but his own. I’m not saying he’s self-centered exactly, but men don’t become self-made billionaires by making small talk and keeping track of things like when their co-owner or employees clock out for the day.
He’s also just gotten back from Miami, where most of his real estate empire lives, and he’s wearing the kind of fresh, easy tan you only get from a few days under expensive sunshine.
There’s a sparkle in his light brown eyes too, one that tells me he wasn’t exactly spending every hour of that trip buried in contracts and property tours.
I’m guess women were involved. And money. Lots of money.
He strolls up behind me just as I brace the new window that I’m installing, holding it steady while one of my guys works on securing it into place.
This floor is the first of the residential levels for the building we’re flipping—where actual people will eventually live if I can ever finish this project, higher an interior designer and find a realtor to show the units—so every installation has to be airtight, up to code, built to last. There’s no room for shortcuts.
People are going to raise families here, work, and build memories.
To me this is the kind of work that matters. The kind of work that reminds me I still need to check on the windows at Natasha and Aly’s place since it felt like they were sleeping outside last time I was inside their home.
“Not sure,” I answer, my grip firm on the frame as he steps closer, looking every bit the polished, good-guy asshole that he always is.
Crisp button-down a light blue shade covered with a navy-blue suit jacket, dark jeans hanging just right on his hips, and his hair styled that way that just screams he gets regular, fresh cuts.
Sometimes, I still get irritated thinking about how Aly mistook me for him. I mean, I get it—we do look a lot alike. Same sharp jaw, same dark, hazel eyes and almost black hair. We’ve even got a similar build though I’m much bulkier and he’s more lean muscle.
But that’s where the similarities end. Roman prefers his clothes pressed, his hands clean, his watches to cost in the thousands, his world running on numbers and negotiations.
He’d rather sit in a leather chair, barking orders behind his desk, signing off on million-dollar deals while counting his cash and stacking up for a future that he seems to have planned out.
Me? I’d rather build something from the ground up, sweat for it, earn it.
Work with my hands and then see it come to fruition like I manifested it.
I’d rather wear a cheap watch that tells the time and does nothing more.
I’d rather my same ripped, worn jeans and t-shirts since they’re going to get ruined anyway.
And something tells me Aly would rather have a man who dresses and acts like that too.
“Did you do anything for Valentine’s Day?” he asks, voice laced with curiosity.
The window finally holds on its own, and I let go, stepping back as my guy smooths over the last of the caulking.
I wipe my hands on my jeans—already dirtier than when I first got here this morning after riding into the city on my bike.
A ride I needed after last night to clear my head even if my back and ass are going to be paying for it.
After Aly.
Did I push her too far?
Did I give her what she needed?
Did I make myself clear that I don’t want to hear about other men?
Hell, am I even clear on what I was trying to tell her by leaving her horny and desperate so that she’d ditch her date and come back home to me?
That shit’s been running circles in my head all morning while I try to make progress on this building—one we need to start renting out in less than a year.
I’m up against a deadline, short on manpower, and working within a hiring freeze during the coldest time of the year in New York City.
Every second counts and I can’t afford to be distracted by her sweet pussy and pouty lips.
“When was the last time you heard me say I went on a date? Let alone on the supposed most romantic day of the year,” I ask, adjusting my stance.
I don’t want to discuss Aly with him. Mostly, because there’s nothing to discuss yet.
And partly because Roman will probably hunt her down at Brookhaven Brews and embarrass her.
The man has no boundaries when it comes to family and his businesses.
Roman snorts. “That girl Kacey hired to investigate me.”
“Yeah. And that was your sister’s fault, remember? She’s the one who set up the blind date and didn’t know we’d already met.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “Still can’t believe Natasha’s living with her now. I heard she’s cool, though.”
“Yeah, she’s cool.” The fucking coolest. A lot jaded and guarded, but when those walls come down.
.. when she lets herself go… damn is she beautiful.
The words sit heavy in my throat. I feel protective of her.
Possessive of her. Yes, I want her to find love.
I want her to feel good in her skin and to be happy.
I want her to enjoy her newly found freedom.
But damn if I don’t want my cousin knowing just how beautiful and great she is.
Because how do you compete with a billionaire who sleeps with half of New York City and Miami?
“She’s staying with me this week until I can get the electricity fixed at their place. You know, you should have never let Natasha buy that hellhole. It isn’t safe and it really pisses me off knowing they’ve been sleeping there for a few weeks with it being so fucked up.”
His brows shoot up so fast I think they might clear his hairline—not that he’s got much of a forehead to begin with. Perfect hair genes and all that shit. At least that’s one thing I earned by being a Carpenter.
“She’s staying… with you... in your home?” he asks, a smirk in his voice.
I grab my baseball cap off the floor, yank off my hard hat, and jam it on, spinning it backward. “Don’t change the subject.”
He laughs loudly. “I just find it interesting, that’s all, that the woman you went on a blind date with two weeks ago is now living under your roof. The same woman who felt you up in the back of a dark bar, thinking it was me.” He rubs at his jaw. “Maybe I should meet her.”
“She’s a good person going through a lot, so don’t say shit about her.”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Must be going through something if she’s out here trying to set up other women’s boyfriends in her free time.”
“That’s not what happened,” I snap. “I engaged with her that night. I flirted with her. She thought I was you, and she thought you were the one cheating.”
“Mhm.”
“And what would you have done if it were you?” I hate even asking the question because imagining Alessia kissing my cousin makes me want to knock his fucking straight teeth right out of his stupid face.
“I would’ve shut that shit down,” he says without missing a beat.
“I was dating Kacey exclusively at that time and I wouldn’t have cheated on her.
Now, if it happened now, I would have kissed her harder.
I wouldn’t have let her run away. And I would have taken her up to my penthouse and we would have f—. ”
I cut him off. “Shut the hell up.”
That what’s eating at me the most. Not that she mistook me for Roman, but that she only let it happen because she thought I was someone else.
Fuck, I need some serious mental help because she was just doing a job.
Nothing more. But last night... last night wasn’t a job.
She wanted me. She wants me too. All my insecurities around how my ex ended things so easily after our short marriage seem to be rearing their head at the most inopportune moment.
Alessia isn’t Amber. I know that. But Alessia doesn’t want me either. At least nothing more than what I’ve been offering her.
“So, no romantic, candlelit dinner over your kitchen table with her tonight?” he asks, the teasing lilt back in his voice.
I shake my head. “No.”
“Well, why the hell not? Sounds like you like her.”
I ignore him. Because he already knows too much and he’s the last person I should be discussing this with. Alessia is a Rhiannon topic. The actual therapist in our family.
He grins when he realizes I’m not going to respond, falling into step beside me while we walk the length of the newly renovated hallway, the floor finally coming together.
The walls are painted, the baseboards are in, the windows sealed tight against the bitter February wind and apartment numbers have been added to each doorway on this floor.
It looks good at a cursory glance, but I know there’s still so much that needs done for this to be livable.
“It looks good. Really good,” he says, nodding his approval. “They’re certainly not ready to start being shown to renters and buyers, but I can see the progress you’ve made since I was here last.
“The progress isn’t happening fast enough,” I mutter. The deadlines are non-negotiable, and we’re already stretched thin between staff and time. I’m having to do more of the actual work and less delegating which means quality checks are getting missed and progress is slowed even more.
I step into the newly inspected elevator and blow out a slow breath.
“Alessia is newly divorced. I don’t know what she wants next.
I think she might not even know what that is.
I know the night we had our blind date was her first time really putting herself out there again with men.
Maybe she’s just trying to have fun.” And maybe I need to let this entire obsession with her and jealousy around any other man who looks, talks or shows interest in her, go.
Roman nods. “Yeah, I remember when you and Amber first go divorced. You had that 'spell' that you went through.”