Chapter 42 Sydney #2
Gabriel gives our waitress a sexy smile as she returns and places his own Mediterranean chicken dinner in front of him.
There’s no way the chef had time to prepare it that quickly.
They either gave him someone else’s order, or he called ahead so it would be waiting for him.
“Thanks, Cat. This looks great. How’s your senior year going? ”
She blushes. “It’s good. Only one more semester of undergrad.”
“Accounting, right?”
“Yes.”
“If you decide you want to transition to our corporate office afterward, call my executive assistant and tell him I said to get you set up with an interview.”
She beams. “I will. Thank you.”
When she walks away, I tamp down the urge to ask him if he’s slept with her yet. I don’t want to know. If he did, my favorite restaurant will be ruined forever by association.
Then my brain catches up with the clues around me. “Do you own this place?”
“Yes.”
I narrow my eyes. “And the waitress . . . ?”
“Cat? She’s worked here for five years. Her dad is the head chef. She started when she was still in high school. Great kid.”
Well . . . okay. That’s sweet, actually. I scoop two potatoes off his plate and add them to mine. He slices off a generous portion of his chicken and reaches across to deposit it on my plate. Fair is fair. That’s how much he took from my dinner.
He ladles two more pieces of potato onto my plate. “Interest.”
I take a sip of water.
“So, how was your week?” he asks politely. The prick.
“I haven’t spoken to you in thirteen days. You didn’t show up last week to harass me,” I say, then shut my mouth because that comment gave away way too much.
He freezes, watching me with an intensity that makes me squirm. “True. I was busy working on a project for MPD. It was all-hands-on-deck trying to meet a deadline. I didn’t think you’d mind getting a break from me for a couple weeks.”
He’s referring to the property development company he inherited around seven years ago. I offer him a disbelieving huff. “If you say so.”
His eyes dance. “I’m surprised you didn’t lurk in my living room and pounce on me when you didn’t hear from me.”
“I did that one time, under special circumstances. And you’re lucky I did because you could barely stand by yourself.”
He shrugs. “I’m just saying, you sound like you missed me.”
“I didn’t miss you. I happened to notice you didn’t show up . . . or call to say you weren’t going to show up. It’s not the same thing.”
“If you say so,” he parrots back and picks up his water glass.
“I want to sever my contract early,” I blurt.
He sets the glass back on the table, his expression flattening. “No.”
I swallow and ignore the way my heart betrays me with a grateful little squeeze at his denial. “Am I supposed to suffer for your mistake the rest of my life?”
He shifts forward, planting a muscled forearm on the table. My attention catches on the inked skin exposed by his rolled-up sleeve. The black line drawings of all my favorite flowers highlight the defined muscles and veins. I’d color the Gerbera daisy pink and yellow today.
“You’re not suffering. Try again.”
I straighten my spine and speak in a firm voice. “I mean it, Gabriel. I quit. I don’t want to work for you, anymore.”
He narrows his eyes. “You don’t work for me. You work for my father, whom you chose to annoy, until he passed your care and feeding on to me.”
Well, I didn’t expect him to send his son to be my keeper. “Thank you for referring to me as the class pet. I can’t tell you how special it makes me feel.”
Gabriel’s gaze slides down my upper body, then back up again. “I don’t think schools keep pets that bite.”
“But you do?”
His answer is a wicked smile. “Just you, Walsh. Only. Ever. You.”
I take a fortifying breath and reach for calm.
“Let me out of the contract early. Then you can stop your weekly inspections, and we can both get on with our lives. You know I’ll never tell anyone what I know.
I shouldn’t be any different than any other team member at this point.
I’ll find a job somewhere else, and you can continue”—I wave my hand vaguely—“doing whatever it is you do when you’re not bothering me. ”
Voice dark and smooth as chocolate, he leans in over the table for two.
“None of Dad’s other team members started her tenure with a threat to tattle to the FBI if she didn’t get her way.
You signed a ten-year contract in Research and Development at your own request, you little blackmailer.
You don’t get to back out three years early now. ”
I look around to be sure no one is close enough to hear us, though I’m sure Gabriel already did. “I meant ten years if I wanted it, not if you did. And I didn’t blackmail you. You bribed me.”
He flipped the script on me when he figured out I’d never have told anyone what I knew about the yacht explosion. The same way I’d . . . eventually . . . flipped the script on him that day at Bronwyn’s house party.
I’d seen his face and understood how very badly he didn’t want to hurt me. He wanted a path out. I gave him one. I didn’t want to shut down his family’s missions; I wanted to join them.
Gabriel sighs. “If you didn’t like the terms, you shouldn’t have agreed to them.”
When we met seven years ago, Gabriel was wiry like a male runway model, with a sallow complexion and bleary eyes. Now, he’s the picture of health. At some point he started hitting the gym and bulked up. He’s not beefy like Bronwyn’s husband. “He’s perfect,” I admit begrudgingly to myself.
“I needed the money, and you demanded insurance that I’d keep my mouth shut,” I say.
He scoffs. “You make it sound like I dragged you kicking and screaming into temptation. You sprinted toward that prize like an Olympic runner on a quest for a gold medal.”
I try again. “Your life will be better without the inconvenience of working me into your schedule.”
“Not at all. Our little chats are the highlight of my life,” he quips.
“I want to move out of state.” I need to put space between us. Better safe, than yearning for a love that would wreck me.
When he skipped the last two weeks, my gut was in knots the entire time. All I could think about was getting a call from Bronwyn that her brother died in a boating accident or drunk driving or from an overdose. I figured, at best, he was on a bender with a bunch of models screwing his brains out.
I can’t keep living like this.
His jaw flexes, and his hand tightens before he picks up his water glass once more.
“You’re a great chemical engineer, Walsh, but you’re ass at business.
When you enter negotiations, you need to bring something to bargain with.
Dad allowed you to define the terms of your employment.
They were your idea. Now, you’re telling me you want out, but, as far as I can see, there’s not a thing in it for me”—he clears his throat—“or my family’s company. ”
“There’s being a good person in it for you.”
“Says the woman who blackmailed an innocent man,” he says.
“I said I was sorry,” I grate in what even I can admit is the unsorriest voice I’ve ever heard. “And you haven’t been innocent a day in your life.”
Gabriel holds a hand to his heart. “Your apology warms my cockles, Walsh.”
I close my eyes and breathe through my nose. I won’t scream. I definitely won’t throw something at him.
“Tell me why you’re unhappy in your current position? Is it the amazing feeling you get from knowing you’re saving people’s lives?”
“No,” I snarl.
“Didn’t think so. Is it a problem with your staff?”
“The staff are great.”
“Since you hand-picked most of them, I would hope so. Is the thermostat still set too low for you? I believe I resolved that issue last month. Can’t have you working somewhere”—his gaze drifts down my body, then he jerks his attention back to my eyes—“nippy.”
I force myself not to cross my arms. For one thing, I’d look defensive. For another, when I do it, I catch him sneaking glances at my plumped-up cleavage every time.
“Did the break room renovation meet your standards? Flex schedule working out for you?” He tilts his head. “Surely, now that I’ve filled the hallways with an appropriate number of motivational kitten posters, you feel that you’re in a ‘positive environment conducive to success.’”
He’s shown up for his unscheduled meetings with me nearly every week for seven years.
At first, I made demands in an attempt to get him to stop bothering me.
Then it became a game. I’ve requested everything from a slushie machine in the break room to catered lunches for the staff to continuing education training in the Hawaiian islands.
Three weeks ago, I made the grave error of being vague.
The Kitten Incident took me more than a day’s worth of negotiations over lunch, a walk in the park, a one-on-one game of soccer, then dinner, to get Gabriel to agree to even change the paint.
“I haven’t decided whether you deserve a smack upside the head for that or a high five.
” He bested me, but I liked it. I refuse to contemplate what that says about me.
He smolders at me and holds eye contact for way too long.
I do my best to project “Look away, dammit” straight into his brain.
His grin says, “You first.”
“Surely, you’ve realized by now that you can’t annoy your way out of a contract with a McRae,” he says.
“So you admit I irritate you.”
“Not at all. I find your prickly nature endearing, but it would be rude not to acknowledge your efforts.”
My naturally tan complexion doesn’t show a blush the way my pale, freckled friend Clarissa’s skin tone does, thank goodness. I can only imagine how funny Gabriel would find it if he realized how much heat rushes to my face.
“What can you offer me in exchange for severing your contract? Quantifiably,” he asks.
“I’ll pay you back the initial lump sum.” I have no idea how, but I’ll figure it out.
He pops a bite into his mouth and chews.
I heave a breath and cross my arms.
His gaze drops straight to my cleavage. He coughs once, then his cheekbones darken with color.
Immediately, I lower my arms and lean forward in concern. “Are you choking on your chicken? Gabriel?”
He coughs again.
When I rise from my chair, ready to rush over and clear his airway, he waves me back into my seat and takes a sip of water. After a few seconds, he clears his throat, then watches me with humor in his eyes.
When he opens his mouth to speak, I cut him off. “If you’re about to make a juvenile sex joke about choking chickens, don’t.”
He sits back with a pleased expression on his face. “I was going to say I should have let you Heimlich me. That could have been fun.” He winks and shoots me a finger gun.
Dammit. Damn. It. I am not going to laugh. I arrange my face into something more annoyed because that’s how I should feel. “We were discussing my contract.”
“Right.” He stretches the word out. “So, paying me back isn’t an option. It wasn’t a loan. It was a payoff that makes you”—he boops me on the nose—“complicit.”
I swat his hand away. “Tell me what I have to do to move on.”
For a long moment, I think he’s going to ignore my demand entirely. Finally, he says, “I’ll offer you a deal. You can cut out of your contract two years early. No penalty, no noncompete. A glowing reference and six months severance pay.”
I eye him warily. It’s too good of an offer. I’d only have one year left. What could he possibly want in retur—
“If you marry me and play happy couple for the next twelve months.”