Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
CHARLOTTE
There was something liberating about sitting at a bar in a large city like London.
Surrounded by millions of strangers, I could remain unremarkable and unseen.
Anonymity was freedom. Freedom from the constant need to be polished, decisive, and in control.
Freedom from carrying the weight of a title against which everyone seemed to measure me.
For tonight, I wasn’t Charlotte Green, acting CEO of Arrow Communications.
I wasn’t a woman with a team to integrate and reassure while cutting staff who’d have to look for new jobs.
I wasn’t a mother balancing a custody agreement, an ex, and trying to show up for her teenage son in whatever capacity he needed her.
I was simply another woman at the bar, a dirty martini in hand, allowing myself the luxury of being anonymous for an hour.
Tomorrow I’d put the armor back on and go back to proving myself in every meeting, back to the endless fight to make “acting” CEO permanent. Then I’d catch my flight home and hope I could slip into the stands before the first inning of Austin’s game.
“Is this seat taken?”
Dammit. I hated the interruption of my moment of peace and hated even more the way my stomach fluttered at the unmistakable sound of Gabriel’s voice.
“The seat is available. As are plenty of others,” I replied coolly, sweeping a glance over the nearly empty bar. Monday night, hardly a crowd.
Still, he slid onto the stool beside me as though proximity was his mission.
I didn’t turn. Looking directly at his face would only stoke the pull I had no business feeling.
To be fair, I doubted many women would be immune to his looks.
Good thing he had the prickly personality to act as a counterbalance to the temptation.
His low chuckle sent a shiver through me which I tried to disguise with a sip of my martini.
The subtle spice of his cologne tickled my nose, and the heat radiating from his body bled into the narrow space between us.
He wasn’t any closer than we’d be seated at a conference room table, yet in this setting I almost felt like we were touching.
I finally turned, only to find his gaze fixed on me, steady and intent.
You’d think the fact that he was the competition, reported to me, and was stubborn and moody, would douse like ice water this ridiculous attraction I felt.
Instead, my mind could only recall how smart and resourceful he could be and how, although his leadership style was the opposite of mine, he still commanded results from those who reported to him.
Suddenly, a treacherous thought flitted through my mind: if only we were strangers and he’d taken a seat beside me.
Not that I’d ever been the kind of woman to slip a room key card to a man I’d just met. But Gabriel Chambers? I had no doubt he’d collected more than his fair share.
“If I didn’t know better,” he teased, his tone edged with mischief, “I’d think you were stalking me.”
My eyes widened. “Excuse me? I was here first.”
He ignored my protest with an infuriating curve of his mouth. “What made you choose this bar? Out of all the places in London?”
I opened my mouth, ready to turn the question back on him. But then the realization hit me. “Olivia suggested it,” I admitted slowly, narrowing my eyes. “Which I’m now guessing is because you must’ve told her about it.”
His chuckle hit me in a way I wasn’t prepared for. It wasn’t the polite kind he used in meetings to smooth over tension or the clipped sound of someone humoring a joke they didn’t actually find funny. This was different. Low, genuine, unguarded, and sexy.
And because the sound was so rare, it struck harder.
“Yes, I told Olivia I liked the hotel she booked because it was within walking distance of one of my favorite bars.”
I bit back a comment, but the thought was there all the same. Given Olivia’s hopelessly romantic streak, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’d purposely arranged to nudge us into each other’s orbit.
“Guess it’s provided us an opportunity, though.”
It annoyed me when he didn’t elaborate, forcing me to give the obligatory, “An opportunity for what?”
“To get to know each other as co-workers outside of the office, of course.”
“I’m not your co-worker, Gabriel. I’m your boss.”
There was that panty-dropping grin again. “For now. And please, call me Gabe.”
I could appreciate self-confidence, but his tone reeked of arrogance. Even the way he then ordered his Macallan Thirty Year neat dripped with self-importance.
It was a pity I’d never been attracted to weak men.
He sighed, clearly taking my silence as an inability to joke about it. “All that being said, I respect the fact you’re my boss.”
“Do you?” If he was going to be blunt, then I’d return the favor.
He didn’t break eye contact. If anything, his gaze sharpened, the easy grin fading into something darker, more focused.
For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us thickening until the air itself seemed to hum.
Respect, challenge, attraction were all lines blurred in that single beat, and I hated how much my body reacted.
I should really get back, and was about to make my excuses.
But before I could slide off the stool, the bartender returned and set a crystal glass in front of me. “Another dirty martini for the lady,” he proclaimed with a flourish. Then, lowering his voice conspiratorially, he added, “Made it extra dirty, just the way you asked.”
Heat prickled at the back of my neck. I’d asked for extra olive juice, but Gabriel’s low chuckle told me he wasn’t going to let the bartender’s comment slide.
He leaned slightly closer, his voice pitched low. “Be a shame to let an extra-dirty martini go to waste.”
I shot him a mock glare, half warning, half unwilling amusement.
Thankfully, the moment broke when a stunning blonde breezed in, every eye in the place turning her way.
She was wearing a barely there, sparkly silver dress that resembled a disco ball as if it had been stitched to her curves.
The hemline was scandalously high, and the neckline plunged leaving little to the imagination.
Her stilettos clicked across the floor like she was walking a runway instead of a bar.
She slid onto a stool at the far corner, tossing her long hair over one bare shoulder and laughing a little too loudly at whatever the bartender who’d rushed over to greet her said. Maybe the “extra-dirty martini” line had landed differently for her.
It took all of thirty seconds before an older man rose from his seat and swaggered her way. He was wearing a Gucci shirt in a loud print exposing half his chest and a Rolex the size of a small clock.
“Hi, beautiful. You come here often?”
I rolled my eyes causing Gabe to let out a quiet laugh.
To my surprise, the blonde didn’t shoot him down. She giggled and twirled her hair. “No, actually, I’m only in town a few days.”
Jesus. Was this really how things worked now? She was way out of his league. I must have scoffed out loud because Gabe turned his head slightly toward me.
“Not a fan of the ‘come here often’ line?” he teased.
I angled toward him, arching a brow. “What do you think?”
His lips curved into a slow smile, the kind that made it clear he already knew the answer. “I think if someone tried that line with you, he’d soon be running for the door with his tail between his legs.”
I matched his smile with one of my own, sharp and dry. “If I were that good, you wouldn’t still be sitting here.”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich, unguarded, and irritatingly contagious.
“Ouch.” His eyes sparked with amusement. Then, softer, with a hint of steel under the humor: “But I’m not hitting on you, Charlotte. Believe me, if I was…you’d know it.”
Dammit, body, get it together. Do not fall for his magnetism. He was after my promotion. And this? This was probably a game to him. Try to bed the boss so he could tell his buddy John tomorrow just how I’d performed. Or worse, go to HR and have me packing my boxes by noon on Friday.
Against my better judgement, I drained the newly delivered martini in a few chugs. “Hopefully, you’d be smoother than that guy.”
“The bar is low. I’d like to think I could be far more creative in my approach.”
“Yeah? What’s your go-to line?” I asked before I could stop myself. I blamed it on the vodka still burning its way down.
His mouth curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. “For a woman like you? I wouldn’t dare use a line.”
Don’t ask what he would do. Don’t ask what he would do.
“Instead,” he continued, his voice low and deliberate, “I’d strike up a conversation. Here, I’ll show you.”
“No, thanks.” I was already regretting indulging him, but he was too damn committed to this charade.
He turned slightly toward me, his expression mock-polite. “Good evening. Is this seat taken?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
He rolled his mocha-brown eyes, his lashes so dark and long they should’ve been illegal on a man. “We both know if we were strangers, and you weren’t my boss, you wouldn’t have replied that way.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself,” I shot back. “Especially when you have no idea what my type is.”
“I’d argue you’d have to get to know me better outside the office before deciding if I’m your type or not.”
“Unnecessary.”
“Yet here we are,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “Now, humor me. Is this seat taken?”
Fine. I sighed, lured in by this playful side to him. “No, it’s not.”
“Thank you.” He faced forward again, quiet. Ten seconds passed. Then another.
“Is that it?” I asked finally.
His chuckle told me I’d walked right into his trap.
He turned toward me, leaning closer, closing the space between us.
I forced myself not to react, though every nerve was suddenly on high alert.
“See? You started the conversation.” His voice dipped lower, smoother.
“So, Charlotte, what should we talk about?”
Considering I valued getting to know the people on my teams, I decided to indulge the moment. It wasn’t personal, rather just part of understanding who I was working with. That’s what I told myself anyway.
“Your daughter’s thirteen, right?” I asked, grasping for the safe ground of small talk.
He gave a soft huff of surprise. “How did you—? Oh, right. Olivia mentioned it on the first day.”
“Yes.” I smiled faintly. “Small world. Still can’t believe she was your babysitter.”
“Me either.” His lips lifted into something almost tender. “She’s such a bright spot in the office.”
This was a version of Gabriel I hadn’t expected. A softer side.
“Anyway,” he went on, his gaze dropping to his glass, “Samantha recently turned thirteen. While I was in London, I came home once a month to see her. I even flew her over to Europe last summer. But still, the separation put distance between us.” He stopped abruptly, shaking his head.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to unload. I don’t usually talk about personal things, especially with my boss. ”
“I don’t mind. And if you want my unsolicited advice, patience helps. And sometimes it’s simply about showing up. Even when they say they don’t want you there.”
He nodded, quiet for a moment. “That’s the part I’m trying to get right. I keep thinking if I say the wrong thing, I’ll push her further away.”
There it was again. The flash of vulnerability beneath the polished control. It shouldn’t have affected me, but it did.
“You’ll mess up. We all do. But if she knows you’re trying, it counts.”
For a long moment, neither of us broke eye contact. The noise of the bar dulled into the background, all fading until it was just the two of us suspended in a charged silence.
I was the first to move, clearing my throat and straightening in my seat. “Well, I should get back.” I caught the bartender’s eye and gestured for the check, sliding my card forward before Gabriel could protest.
“Thanks for the drink.”
“Anytime,” I responded automatically.
His gaze lingered a heartbeat longer, as if he’d caught the slip.
I turned away first, sliding from the stool and grabbing my purse.