38. Gabriel
Gabriel
My laptop sits open in front of the desktop monitors I’m supposed to be focusing on. Generally, I make a rule of keeping my personal and work devices separate—when I’m in the office, as I am right now, I don’t generally pull out my laptop.
Today, though, I have something I need to figure out before I can prepare for my meeting this afternoon. A few potential investors are coming to hear about FlashUp. Plenty of people with deep pockets have been interested in getting on board now that the ship is sailing nicely.
I scroll through a slideshow of images on a travel agent’s website. I want to take Alexis somewhere nice. Give her a real honeymoon like she deserves. I’ve been thinking about this for a while now, and as the idea has taken shape in my head, it’s taken on new dimensions.
I need to tell Alexis how I feel about her. I need to be honest with her, like I promised I would be. And a conversation as weighty as that needs to take place somewhere beautiful, somewhere far away from our everyday lives.
A white-sand beach in the Maldives. The photograph is captured through the shadow of a low-hanging palm frond, and the ocean in the background is a perfect, crystalline shade of azure.
A garden of marble statues and carefully cultivated cypress trees, flanked by Mediterranean mountains.
A steaming hot spring in Japan, with cherry trees in full bloom.
I want to take her everywhere.
I close my eyes for a moment, picturing each of these places.
Alexis in a swimsuit, enjoying the sun. We could hike up the side of a volcano, and I could work the soreness out of her muscles in a hot spring.
We could wander through art museums together, get lost in palatial hedge mazes—and in each beautiful place, I could tell her, I think I love you. I think I’m falling in love with you.
My thoughts are disturbed by a knock at the door. I close my laptop quickly, unable to stop a sigh of irritation from escaping me.
“Come in,” I call, although my tone makes it clear I’m not in the mood for interruptions.
The door creaks open just wide enough for Carl, my new secretary, to poke his head through. His face is a mix of nervousness and apology, the kind you only see on someone still trying to find his footing. I almost feel bad for the kid. Almost.
“What can I do for you, Carl?” I say wearily.
“Sorry to bother you, Mr. Thorne,” he replies, with the typical nervousness of a new hire. “There’s, um, someone here to see you.”
I frown. I didn’t have any appointments on the books until the investors this afternoon, and it’s not common for someone to show up unannounced. I pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to will away the headache already brewing behind my eyes. “Okay. Who?”
“A man called Travis Whitaker.”
My fingers curl into fists beneath my desk. Again? How many fucking times do I have to have this conversation? How many times do I have to see that man’s smug face before he gets it through his head that Alexis doesn’t want him?
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek, reining in the surge of anger that threatens to burst loose. Maybe I haven’t been blunt enough with him. If he wants to walk into my office, that’s fine. Now’s as good a time as any to tell it to him straight.
“Send him in,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
Carl vanishes, clearly relieved to escape.
A moment later, Travis Whitaker enters. He’s dressed to kill in a tailored navy suit cut sharp enough to slice through steel, a crisp white shirt with not a wrinkle in sight, and a tie that probably cost as much as a mid-range honeymoon.
It’s clipped in place with a gleaming silver pin.
Real silver, if I had to guess. Because of course it is.
Everything about Travis is designed to project money, power, status.
Alexis was meant to be his final prize, his most elevating accessory. Marry the Beaumont heiress, expand his network, and secure his place among the elite. Just another calculated move in his endless game of acquisition.
“Gabriel,” he says, his voice smooth and confident as he shuts the door behind him. “Good to see you.”
I don’t bother standing. I don’t offer my hand. I simply lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest and letting my gaze rake over him with the slow, cold disdain he deserves.
These cocky finance guys are all the same. They think they can put power on like a tie. Intimidate through looks instead of genuine presence. Travis doesn’t impress me. Never has, and never will.
“I don’t make a habit of entertaining uninvited guests, Mr. Whitaker,” I say flatly. “So, if you have something to say, get to it. I’m a busy man.”
“Of course you are. I hear FlashUp is doing well.”
The small talk does little to improve my mood. I fix him with a stony glare. “It is,” I say, letting my voice sharpen just enough to draw blood. “Largely thanks to Alexis, as I’m sure you’re aware.”
The shift in his features is subtle as the blow lands, but I catch it nonetheless in the tightening of his smile, the narrowing of his eyes.
“Congratulations,” he says, tilting his head to the side like he’s sizing me up. “Everyone loves a success story.”
My patience thins to a thread. “What do you want?”
If my hostility has any effect on Travis, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he takes the chair across from my desk with a calm, collected air. “Do you know anything about investment banking, Gabriel?”
“Not really my area.”
“It’s a cutthroat field,” he says. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Everything’s a cutthroat field, jackass. You’re not special. “Tough to reach success. You spend a lot of time scraping around at the bottom before you can rise to the top.”
His eyes flash as his gaze meets mine.
“Do you want to know how I did it?”
“Not really,” I reply curtly.
“I always do my research on people,” he says, as if I hadn’t even spoken. “Always. Those who succeed know who we’re up against. And those who fail… well. They don’t.”
“Good for you. Now, if you don’t mind—”
“Perhaps you should’ve done the same.”
“Excuse me?” I lift an eyebrow. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Travis’s smile doesn’t falter at my harsh tone. He looks pleased with himself, like a hunter about to make a clean kill. “So I was right. You don’t know.”
“Speak plainly, or I’ll call security and have you escorted out,” I snap.
He clears his throat. “I know all about the situation you and your brothers are in. The arranged marriages. The will. The conditions tied to your inheritance. How your late father, in all his infinite wisdom, set everything up to secure his legacy. Locked you all into little gilded cages to make sure his empire stays intact.”
“That’s fairly common knowledge,” I say dryly. “Am I supposed to be impressed by that?”
But Travis only waves a dismissive hand, as if brushing away my sarcasm, as if my irritation is beneath him. His fingers flick through the air like he’s conducting the very tension in the room.
“No, no,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not here to impress you.
I’m here to remind you what’s at stake. Thorne Enterprises.
Your father’s empire. This”—he gestures vaguely around the room, his lip curling—”this fucking castle he built.
All for you and your brothers. His little princes, sitting on their golden thrones. ”
I stare at him, mystified. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I’m so confused by his demeanor that he doesn’t stand a chance. “What the fuck are you—”
“You should have done your research better before you tied your fortune to the Beaumonts.”
I stiffen. The energy in the room shifts.
Travis’s smirk grows sharper, more predatory.
He leans in now, elbows resting on the edge of my desk like he owns the goddamn place.
His posture is relaxed, but there’s a flicker of triumph in his gaze that makes my blood burn hotter.
I hold my tongue, though, waiting to see what his play is before I react.
“The Beaumonts are a house of cards. They’ve been involved in large-scale tax evasion for years. Possibly even decades, although I’m not sure if the records go back that far. Vérité? It’s an apple full of worms. And you just took a big fucking bite.”
My breath hitches, caught between disbelief and fury, and for a moment, the entire room feels like it tilts sideways. My hands curl into fists. “Travis—”
“If you ask me,” Travis says slowly, “something like that? A scandal on that scale? It could ruin the Thorne empire if it ever came to light. Sink your father’s legacy like a stone. Wouldn’t you agree?”