Chapter 4
KATHERINE
Now he texts me?
Now.
In the middle of our board meeting?
My temperature spikes beneath the Sabrina neckline of my dress. I suck in a sharp breath and let it out slowly. We’re not doing this now. Here.
Especially after his B-rated movie comment. My heart sinks all over again as I hear his words in my head.
Unbelievable.
Closing my eyes, I drop my chin and gather myself.
One problem at a time, Katherine.
Glancing back at my tablet, the notification about his text has disappeared, and I don’t go hunting for it. Instead, I pull up my notes and calendar. Anything to distract myself from the clawing desire to check his message.
But I’m not doing that. I’m not playing that game with myself or with him. He’s had days to reach out, and I need to make sure everyone on this board knows I’m still committed to our cause. That they have my attention and focus and resources.
As the meeting continues, I use all my focus to pay attention, constantly dragging my thoughts back from Gabriel.
The back of my neck tingles. Of course, there are curious glances.
Once upon a time, I would have coolly ignored them and focused on the task at hand.
But I get it. They want to see if I’ll crack. Cry.
So I meet their stares with a small smile.
I might have admitted my vulnerability in my little speech at the top of the meeting, but I’m not going to let anyone see the cracks in my armor.
Six months ago, I would have said certainly not Gabriel Rothburn, but now I’m pretty sure he’ll see them whether I want him to or not.
His attention is hot, pointed. I can tell he’s trying not to stare, but I’m aware of him in a full-body way, from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toes and every nerve ending in between.
Sure, his gaze will flick here and there when someone is speaking, and he gives his attention to the numbers during the financials. But overwhelmingly, unerringly, those brilliant blue eyes land on me over and over.
I don’t understand why he’s so attentive if he feels like his life has been chaotic and over the top lately.
The flippant comment burns through me like salt in a wound.
I tap the stylus against my other hand, my pent-up energy escaping in the tiny movement. Trying to poke fun at it and laugh it off didn’t help as much as I would have liked it to.
“Any new business?” Beverley asks, and a woman at the far end of the massive table pipes up.
I close my tablet and tuck away the stylus, not willing to dwell on that pain. I’ll deal with it later.
I have to.
Because if I don’t, I’m going to end up bawling in the middle of the conference room, and that’s genuinely not the look I’m going for here. I need to project calm and collected; bruised but not broken.
Whatever happened where Gabe’s concerned… no. Not thinking about that now.
Alex said they’ve finally got permission to get back into our apartments, and I’m heading over after this.
I fully expect to call on Simon for help with my little jungle.
I bet my alocasias are freaking out right about now.
And after that, I hope to sneak into the hospital to see Roman.
Charlotte says he’s on the mend, but I need to see it with my own eyes.
My new security team is large, obviously, and a little standoffish. I hope they don’t think I put Roman in unnecessary risk. They’ll soon learn that’s not something I would do.
Beverley wraps up the meeting, and I mentally pat myself on the back for being here. Sometimes it’s those mental gold stars that keep me going.
“Great meeting, everyone,” she says, and then she’s off. People push back their chairs. Some make a hasty exit. A few gather around the buffet for a snack and chat. Gossip is more like it.
Eager to get on with my day and back to King and Alex, I gather my things and head for the door. It’s pure willpower and a hint of spite that keeps me from looking at Gabriel.
I make it into the hall before his voice halts me.
“Katherine—”
I rub my lips back and forth, the gloss smoothing the glide. “Good to see you,” I say to Nancy and the group she’s with. Looking back at Gabe makes the pit of my stomach ache.
Worse than that. It sours.
I don’t get it.
I really don’t.
I mean, we had a crazy few weeks, I’ll give him that. My mother melted down, and now she’s in jail. Seriously, you have to laugh so you don’t cry. Isn’t that how the saying goes?
I’m torn between desperately wanting to hear what he has to say and needing to protect myself. How much longer can I keep my chin up and act like my world isn’t upside down?
I swallow past the lump in my throat and wait as he advances because I can’t make myself leave. There’s a huge chunk of me that is just dying to know what’s going on. To know what’s happening in his head. And in his heart.
But another chunk resists. She knows all too well this path of meager scraps and rotten moods. As much as it hurts, and as loud as the little voice is telling me to run out of here as fast as my Jimmy Choos can carry me, I wait.
Will I always wait for him?
Why can’t I just get the hell out of here and show him my back? Easier said than done because my heels seem rooted to the floor.
“Was there something you needed?” I ask as the last board member leaves. The elevator dings down the hall, and voices grow distant, quieter.
Standing in the doorway of the conference room, he glances down the hallway, then back at me.
Does he have to be so handsome? So effortlessly geek chic?
The unease etched onto his face, the frown marring those sinful lips, only adds to his appeal.
Which is weird and would be alarming if I could feel anything other than this mix of desire and fear.
“We need to talk.”
His words are so measured. Almost monotone.
My heart drops down to visit my Jimmy Choos.
Tears wet my eyes, and my nose prickles, but I fight the sensation and do what I learned to do long ago. Go on the offensive.
“If you have a problem with me being on the board, you could have brought it up during—”
His gaze narrows, and his head tips the tiniest bit. “Of course, I don’t have a problem with you being on the board.”
He steps back, waving a hand toward the boardroom. “Please.”
My cocky geek sounds unsure, but I stay rooted to the floor as I search his face.
It’s so achingly familiar, and yet, do I know him at all?
I know those dark, gorgeous, jealousy-inducing lashes, but what has he been up to the last few days?
No clue. I know the curve of his lips, how plump and firm they feel against my own, but why has he been pulling away since that fateful morning? That’s a mystery.
It feels like years, not days, since I’ve seen him last, and every glance brings a familiar, insatiable longing. It’s like finally letting myself be with him, embracing the idea of being with him, galvanized a connection that had been weaving itself for years.
I have my own ideas, of course, stories I tell in my head, trying to logic my way through his withdrawal.
I glance past him to the empty room, the big table. Then down at the faint line in the beige carpet where the hall meets the room. If I step across the threshold, will I get my answers? Or more pain?
Another second ticks by.
And I choose to get my answers.
But I’m not going to let him hurt me again.