GAVIN {Published• 7-Chapter Sample}

Chapter 1

The second I thought it, Luca stepped over, following me through my office door. "Don't go back to San Diego," he pressed for the tenth time this trip. "You've made your fucking point." He went to the window, leaning his back against it, watching me drop my shit on the desk next to a stack of newly minted business cards. "We need you here. Stay in Manhattan; take your classes online. Come home."

"Why? Because you can't do shit without me?" I lifted a business card, Gavin Romano, Partner. Romano Investing. "Why does this just say partner? Don't forget, in a few months, you'll answer to me." I fucked with him to piss him off. But it was the truth. The second I met the terms of the trust, I would also inherit the role of President and CEO, ousting Luca. Now, if I actually wanted the role was a different story. "Gavin Romano, CEO of Romano Investing. Has a good ring to it."

He crossed his arms over his chest, one hand stretching to his beard. "Don't fucking threaten me, Fratellino, or I'll make these last six months a living hell for you."

I shot a laugh his way, immune to his constant threats. "And that would be different from life with you now?"

He cracked a smile, bumped off the window ledge, and started forward, walking past me with that twisted grin. "Hell's my specialty. Bar to celebrate?"

"Celebrate me leaving? Yep!" I stood, loosened my tie, chucked it to the desk. Suits and ties were Luca's deal, not mine.

He stopped at the door, waiting for me, rolling his eyes. "Are you always such a fucking smartass?"

"I don't know. Ask the asshole who raised me."

His arm flew over my shoulders, forearm flexing into a chokehold. "The asshole that raised you is still your boss."

I slammed my elbow into his side, making him release his hold of my neck. "Not for long."

Like always, every face whipped over as we walked into the bar, those faces all taking a step back, allowing us to make our way to the back counter.

Luca snapped, clearing the stools at the bar, his hand then up for the bartender while he took in our amassing audience. "I'll let you know which ones I don't want."

Uh-huh. I looked from him to our reflections across the way. Same black eyes, black hair. Too fucking similar sometimes, especially in these fucking suits.

"Whiskey," he ordered as the first set of chicks made their way over.

"Gavin?" Some rack got in my face, giggling my name, attempting to sit on my lap. "I'm Ja—"

Nope. I turned my legs to the bar, reaching for the shot Luca was handing over. "One more," I demanded. It was my last night in New York and I didn't want to remember a damn thing.

"Gavin!" Another hand landed on my arm, some chick trying to lay claim. I shook her off, shooing them back. "It's me?" she shrieked. "Beth—"

Don't care. I was done, dick retiring for the season. New Year's had done me in, pump was dry. "Where's Stefano?" I shouted to Luca, taking the glass from his hand.

"Behind you, Fratellino," Stefano answered, squeezing in between us, adding another face to the reflection that looked too fucking similar.

That chick popped back up in my face, not getting the fucking hint. "It's Beth!"

Too bad I didn't remember names or faces.

More followed, a circle of chicks begging for a touch. A blur of the same face, same dress, same everything—all these chicks were written in the same fucking font.

"I met you at the bar last week!" she continued, hand dropping to my shoulder.

Some other chick cut in, pushing that one aside. "I heard the youngest was in town." This one's hand fell to the buttons on my shirt; I flicked the hand off me. No one touched me unless I touched them first. "I've never seen you in here before," she babbled on.

And? "Been coming here for years."

"Years?" She laughed. "Aren't you only twenty-two?"

It felt like I'd been twenty-two for the last decade.

My forehead was against the shower stone, recovering from another night of too much drinking, trying to pull myself together to get on the plane back to Cali.

I stopped the water, yanked a towel from the rack on my way out of the stall, smashing it over the mirror to clear the steam.

Ten years. I patted the towel over my bicep, drying the tat, tracing the stars. A solid decade next month. Fuck. It felt like yesterday, so fresh, vivid, watching them walk out the door. Those memories never stopped haunting me, the nightmares wouldn't fade, not that they were real nightmares because they didn't scare me—they fucking destroyed me, sucked me so far under that it took days to resurface, to forget them, to forget that they left and never came back.

San Diego hadn't helped either. It wasn't an escape, only a delay. Even all that sun couldn't chase the dark away. I looked over my shoulder from the packed bags at the door to my parents' picture on my shelf. "Don't worry. I'll find my way home."