Chapter 3
GABE
On the elevator ride up to the Winter-Farmington boardroom, I check my messages. The signal is spotty, of course, but there’s a text waiting from Hayden Cort.
Hayden: I think your girlfriend is ready to wash her hands of the whole company.
My stomach drops as if the elevator suddenly plummeted to the ground. Sighing, I drag a hand down my face, glad it’s just me and Tadhg on this ride. I mean, honestly…
Gabe: Can you blame her?
Then I read his text again, my focus snagging on his word choice.
Girlfriend.
That sounds so right. And also not… enough.
Before I can get lost down that path, the elevator levels off with a ding. The doors whoosh open to the familiar pine scent and the low hum of the fluorescent office lights. After Tadgh’s cursory security check, I pocket my phone.
The boardroom looks just like it did the last time I saw it, which is ironic considering almost every facet of my life has changed since then.
A long, polished conference table dominates the center of the room, and there are matching buffets along the wall at either end. One has a large TV over it, and the other holds a coffee pot and assorted snacks.
I grab an apple and a soda.
“Gabe?” Nancy Sheridan, one of my fellow board members, hovers just inside the doorway. She steps into the room, and a small group of others files in behind her. “I’m surprised to see you.”
There’s genuine understanding in her voice, as if she knows what it’s like to have her life sucked into a whirlwind.
I give her my most reassuring smile. “It’s been a hectic few weeks.”
Her brows lift. “Sounds like.”
Turns out Lucinda was more unhinged than her father, which is saying something given what Henry was capable of.
The lengths she was willing to go were extraordinary.
Hiring a henchman to explode the pipe above Katherine’s apartment in an attempt to get her back under Lucinda’s roof? Under her thumb? Utterly deranged.
And that was just one side quest. Heck, it feels like she was throwing spaghetti at the wall. Her behavior was more erratic from day to day.
Even though Lucinda is one hundred percent responsible for her actions, guilt still gnaws on me like a dog with a meaty bone.
“Let’s just say, if I wasn’t living it, I’d think it was a B-rated movie plot,” I say, going for the joke.
No doubt, everyone’s read the “news” by now. According to my PR team, the story of Katherine’s kidnapping has been a headline across all kinds of media.
Unfortunately, Nancy doesn’t laugh at my lame joke, and Katherine arrives just in time to hear it.
Her gaze locks with mine, and her lips settle into a thin line.
Fuck.
Nancy shifts from one foot to the other, clearly uncomfortable. That makes two of us. I resist the urge to tug at my tie. Of the thousand times I pictured this meeting in my mind, such an awful gaffe was never on the list.
Way to go, Gabe. Open mouth, insert entire fucking foot.
Okay. I’ll fix this. That’s what I do, right? I make things better.
If only Katherine operated on any of the programming languages I know.
Stepping forward, my stomach flutters. She’s so damned beautiful. Spine straight, chin tipped up, lips dewy pink, a darker stain on her cheeks that probably has to do with her annoyance at me, and the teal dress that clings just right to every single one of her curves.
I probably have King to thank for that last one.
“Hi.”
“A B-rated movie plot?” How can one eyebrow hold so much censure?
“Princ—”
Her wide-eyed stare halts the word on my lips, and I glance around. The other handful of board members are trying to act like they’re not listening.
Katherine steps around me, striding to the buffet. I follow, squeezing the can in my hand.
“That came out wrong,” I say to her, keeping my voice low.
“Which part reminds you of a second-rate film? Where you and your best friend went head-to-head at the bachelorette auction, making me into a national hashtag? The part where my mother had me kidnapped and tried to force me into a marriage? Or was it the part where you knew for months you were putting in an offer on Cort and didn’t utter a word to me about it?
You know what—” She pauses, staring up at me with so much pain and confusion in her eyes I feel like I’ve been sucker punched right in the stomach. “It doesn’t matter.”
What?
Alarm bells blare in my mind.
Of course it matters. Everything about her matters.
Even though I only took a handful of bites of lunch, it suddenly sours in my stomach.
Seriously, I should just stop talking. All it seems to do lately is get me in trouble.
How is it that Mr. I Have Trouble Expressing My Heart Words is hitting heartfelt communication out of the park all of a sudden, and I’m the one floundering?
Not that I claim to be an expert at it. But the last few days, my lips have been locked, my tongue twisted, and my heart and mind in constant spirals of emotions, desires, doubts, and determination.
“Of course it matters,” I say, my voice even softer. We can’t let life’s bumps steamroll our future. The new me is not going to let that happen.
Katherine reaches for a bottle of water and then turns back. Her large leather purse dangles from the crook of her elbow and looks brand new. As is her style, the bag’s totally tasteful, simple, and screams wealth and money without putting a target on her back.
She gives the bottle cap a vicious twist. A sixth sense tells me she wishes it were my head. Lifting it to her lips, she takes a long, slow drink.
My gut tightens as I watch her swallow. Fuck me. I’m intimately familiar with that neck, the smooth skin there, the feel of her pulse against my lips.
Swallowing back my lust, I take a step back and glance down at my shoes. It’s that or start sprouting wood in the middle of the boardroom. I don’t think either of us would appreciate that kind of attention.
“Excuse me.”
I feel her move past me, sense it even without using my eyes. Because we connected all those weeks ago. She burrowed herself deep.
Frustration tightens my gut and my jaw. But I take a deep breath. As usual, she’s right. This isn’t the time or place. We need to get this meeting over with first.
Katherine saunters to the chair she always sits in.
Same side as the door. Two to the right of the center.
I watch, transfixed as usual, as she sets her things down, pulls a tablet from her bag, and arranges her spot as if she’s setting the table for a twelve-course meal. She’s got that kind of precision.
I bite into my apple and move around to the opposite side, needing to keep my distance.
Needing something to do with my hands and my mouth, for that matter.
This would all be so much easier if we were alone.
If I hadn’t instituted the no-touching rule.
If I didn’t crave her like a drowning man craves air.
“Is everyone here?” Beverley Winter, the chairwoman, asks, gaze sweeping the room. She nods once. “Okay, let’s get started.”
Everyone takes their seat, as if I haven’t just stuck my whole foot in my mouth. Shame and frustration burn through me.
This feels too familiar. Her over there. Me over here. The air of coolness rolling off of her, as if nothing can touch her.
But that’s not true, and now we both know it.
I have touched her.
I’ve been inside her, filling her with my cum. Bringing her to orgasm with my fingers and tongue.
I know what it sounds like when she breathes my name on a sigh.
I also know what it looks like when she stares at me like I’m stealing her soul.
I guess that makes two of us. Do I look as quietly startled? I must.
As the meeting starts, Katherine gathers herself. Tucking all that glorious hair over one shoulder, sitting taller in her seat, leveling her chin. Taking notes on her tablet. Reaching for the bottle of water again.
“Katherine?” Beverley says.
The corner of her mouth dips. I don’t know when I became such a student of Katherine Montgomery, but I doubt anyone else noticed, especially because she overcorrects and smiles. It’s a sort of Mona Lisa smile. Secretive, elegant, quietly charming.
“I asked Beverley if I might say a few words before we get down to business. I’ve already spoken to several of you on the phone–”
She what? When?
That’s news to me.
“But I wanted to reassure everyone that despite the fervor in my personal life these last few weeks, I am still as dedicated as ever to our organization and to helping our most at-risk youth. It feels a little like the plot line of a B-movie—”
Fuck me and my big mouth.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the room breaks out in soft giggles. But I can’t stop watching her for long. Unlike that night on the stage, she blossoms under the attention, slowly making eye contact with every person around the conference table.
Every person but me.
That burns like an icy dagger.
“—and it’s time to hire a new writer,” she says.
More gentle laughter rolls around the table, and Katherine levels her gaze on me.
Nose in the air, hair swept back over her shoulders, her sweet collarbones on display. But it’s the look in her eyes that holds me immobile. Like she’s saying she’s going to rewrite everything. Her position at Chanler & Cort, her work here, her relationships, her future.
My chest tightens, and I hold my breath. This isn’t the ice queen I’m used to: reserved, quiet, cool. She’s warmer, disarming, and she’s holding everyone’s attention in the palm of her hand. Especially mine.
What happened in that meeting at Chanler & Cort? What the hell happened in Greece?
“I’m not going to let these last few weeks distract me from the important work we do here, and I hope you won’t either.
I appreciate the understanding and support that I received from those of you I spoke to.
” She nods to the man to my right, then she pauses, her gaze going soft and far off.
“It’s only been recently that I’ve learned what it feels like to be truly vulnerable.
And that’s a lesson I plan to keep close as we aim to help young women around the country.
Given the strength of this quarter’s fundraising efforts, I have several ideas on that front, but they can wait for the meeting. ”
She laces her fingers and rests the edge of her hands against the table. So proper. So capable. Confident but soft as the center of attention. Relatable for the first time I can remember.
“We look forward to hearing those ideas. If there’s nothing else…”
“No,” Katherine says with a gentle incline of her head. “Thank you, Beverley.”
“Then we’ll call the meeting to order.” The Winter heiress has around twenty years on me and is known for her passion for the cause and her detail-orientedness.
But somewhere in the back of my mind, I expected Beverley to cause a stink. Boo and hiss Katherine out of the room and off the board.
After all, Katherine’s mother is a criminal, literally in jail. The judge denied bail because her resources and connections make her a flight risk. Not to mention, she needs supervision at this point. The doctors are saying she’s suffering a mental break.
I can’t find it in me to pity the woman.
No, Lucinda Winthrop can rot.
I guess we’ll see what happens during our meeting, but if they try to make Katherine an example, I’m prepared to sweeten the deal with a large donation. She’s not going to pay the price for the craziness she had no control over.
And if that doesn’t work, I’ll resign and we’ll start our own foundation.
Pleased with my plan, I pull out my phone, navigate to my texts and start typing. A few moments later, Katherine’s tablet buzzes, and her gaze shifts from Beverley to the screen, then to me.