101. Riley
ONE HUNDRED ONE
Two weeks crawl by.I”ve fallen into a solid, yet slightly depressing, routine.
Wake at six, go for a jog downtown. I”m always followed by an SUV and I assume that”s one of Gabriel”s guys so I ignore it. If it”s not one of his men, well, screw it.
I don”t care about mafia drama anymore. If I die, I die. Because that”s how I feel inside.
After I exercise, I eat breakfast, shower, and get ready for work. Then I drag myself to the office and interviews and grind out various articles about fluff. Books, music, concerts. It should be fun but feels meaningless.
Brynn keeps telling me that I”m losing weight, that I look sad, that I should seek help. I tell her that I”m going to yoga, and I do, after work on most nights. I”ve picked the hottest, hardest classes so I can sweat out every drop of toxin from my body and life.
It”s as if I”m trying to punish myself for my various sins.
After all that, I go back to the apartment. Usually I stay in and read or watch a movie. A couple of times, I”ve met Beckett. We”ve gone for a slice of pizza, and a beer.
We haven”t kissed again, thank God.
My memory of that kiss is tinged with shame and guilt. I can”t shake the feeling that I betrayed Gabriel somehow, although I know he”s probably done something similar. Or more.
The most frustrating part is that I have no claim, no hold on him. He”s free to do whatever he wants, screw whoever he wants. And when this realization comes to me in the small hours of the night, in the darkness when I”m alone, well, that”s when I come undone.
Sleep has been terrible. Nights are the worst.
One Friday, as I”m dragging myself out of the condo and into the elevator, I run into Beckett. He”s looking sharp and smells like a bar of soap.
”I was about to text you this morning,” he says.
”Oh yeah?” I slide on my sunglasses, even though we”re in the elevator. ”About what?”
”I was invited to a thing tonight. It”s one of the monthly networking mixers for business owners. Tonight they”re going all out and doing a big summer party at Tommaso”s. I wanted to see if you”d like to come with me.”
”Ah.” Tommaso”s Italian Trattoria is owned by an acquaintance of Gabriel”s. I”ve been there a handful of times, all with him.
I”m about to say no, lie, and claim that I have a big article to finish, but then I remember that Tommaso”s has the best pizza in the city. It”s pretty expensive which is why I go for Dominos instead when I”m ordering for myself.
Is going out with Beckett to some stupid party worth a slice of that amazing pizza? I think about the perfectly cooked pepperoni and the authentic mozzarella.
”Sure, I”ll go.”
Beckett smiles as if I”ve given him the best Christmas gift ever. ”I”ll pick you up around seven?”
”Sounds great.”
”Oh, it”s kind of dressy. Do you mind putting on something more formal?”
I scan my brain, thinking about what I could wear. ”Not at all.”
The elevator dings and the doors open. ”Perfect. Can”t wait,” he says.
He pauses for a beat and I think he”s going to kiss me goodbye. I head this off at the pass and wave as I stride toward the valet. I”d called ahead to have my car brought around. Gabriel”s paying for that particular perk of this building, because, well, fuck him.
”See you later,” I call out, leaving him standing in the gleaming condo lobby.
What can I say? I”m a whore for cheese.
Later that evening,Beckett collects me from the condo and we head out to Tommaso”s. Cars are jamming the parking lot and Beckett grumbles about the valet.
Finally he relents and hands the keys over to them. We walk in and make our way inside.
The place is packed with people dressed in their finest attire. The men are wearing suits and ties while the women have on little, sexy dresses. The air smells of expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and freshly baked pizza.
Thank God I wore a little dress, too. It”s something Gabriel bought for me in Miami. On the hanger, it didn”t look like much, but on me, it”s as if I”m Kim Kardashian, Cindy Crawford, and Sophia Loren all rolled into one.
My ass looks amazing, possibly because I”ve been working out. Or because this dress holds me together like nothing else. I can tell Beckett”s noticed, because he keeps giving me little glances filled with desire and longing.
I haven”t decided what I”m going to do about him yet.
”Let”s head over there,” he shouts in my ear and gestures to the bar area. ”I see food.”
We make our way through the crowd and find an empty high-top table.
”What would you like to drink? I”ll go stand in line while you hold down the fort at the table.” Beckett grins at me. I shouldn”t think snarky thoughts about him. Hell, I was the one who kissed him. He”s a good guy. Handsome, too.
”I”d love a glass of wine. Something red and dry. Surprise me.”
His grin turns to a smirk. ”I can do that.”
He melts into the crowd. I”m left standing at this little table alone. Because I”m a reporter, I scan the room. I”ve never forgotten what one of my journalism professors told me.
When you”re in public and have to wait somewhere, study the people around you. Think about the details you”re seeing, feeling, smelling, sensing, she”d said.
I start with a woman in a tight, silver dress. She”s got to be sixty, but she looks snatched. I”m impressed with her confidence. I move on to her companion. His shoes don”t match his belt.
For the next few minutes, I entertain myself like this, interspersing my people watching with quick checks of my phone. Somehow I keep holding out hope that Gabriel will call or text me, but now that I”m around all these people, I realize that he won”t.
I”m lonelier than ever.
Glancing up, my gaze settles on a woman with thick hair and long legs, then I”m drawn to her companion. He”s standing with his back to me, but I”d know that tall, muscular form anywhere.
Goddammit. It”s Gabriel.
This was not what I wanted tonight.
I stare at the back of his head, hard. Willing him to leave, to spontaneously combust, to disappear.
Instead, he turns. It”s as if he can sense me from twenty feet away.
Our eyes meet.
My heart leaps into my throat. He”s gorgeous of course. It”s only been a month since I”ve seen him in person, but he”s more beautiful than even the images in my memories.
His eyes are like dark pools of mystery, and his lips curl into a smirk as he stares into my soul.
I feel my face flush scarlet. I”m not sure if it”s from anger or desire, or a strange combination of the two. Suddenly I can”t move. I”m rooted to the spot by all these conflicting emotions roiling inside me.
He takes a few steps in my direction before stopping abruptly and turning back to his companion. The woman with the long legs and great hair. He whispers something in her ear and she throws her head back with laughter. It”s a knife to my gut, but I try to keep my composure.
I can”t freak out. Not here. Not now. I can”t let him know he”s affected me so much.
Shifting, I stand so my back is to him. There. That will send a message.
”Your wine, mademoiselle,” Beckett says, placing the glass in front of me.
”Thank you.” I shoot him a grateful smile.
Out the corner of my eye, I can see Gabriel. He”s shifted, seemingly on purpose so that he”s in my line of sight. Jerk.
I can tell Beckett has noticed the subtle change in the vibe, because he gives Gabriel an icy glare before motioning for us to sit down at another table further away from Gabriel and his date.
But somehow it feels like no matter how far away we get, Gabriel is still there, lurking. He”s taunting me with his presence.
As we sip our drinks, I hesitantly glance around, trying to avoid the zone of the room where Gabriel stands.
All these people talking about business deals and investments... it”s enough to make me want to cry out for mercy. I can feel my eyelids drooping as they take in all this wealth and success around me. Then my gaze lands on a big tray of pizza being passed around by one of the waiters - like an oasis in a desert - and I perk up.
”They have the best pizza here,” I inform Beckett. ”Have you had it?”
We launch into a detailed, and slightly awkward, discussion of pizza. He likes anchovies. I do not. He likes white pizza. I do not. Surprisingly, we both dislike pineapple on pizza.
”Are you okay?” he finally says.
”Why do you ask?” I take a gulp of my wine.
”When I brought you the drinks, you look like you”d seen a ghost.”
”Well. Um.” I hesitate, and instinctively look around the room for Gabriel. He”s nowhere to be found, which makes me more nervous for some reason. The place is big, and busy, though. He could be anywhere. ”Look, Beckett, I need to use the bathroom. I have something to explain to you when I get back, though.”
Without waiting for his reply, I rise from the table and quickly power-walk out of the bar. I”m not going to the bathroom — I”m headed outdoors, where I can get some air and clear my head.
And, hopefully, not implode because every molecule in my being misses Gabriel.