GABRIEL
Riley walks to the sofa and flings herself onto it, glaring at me.
"Gabriel." Her normally sweet voice is sharp. "Do. Not. Hurt. Him. I'll go to police and get a restraining order."
Like the cops will do anything. I snort and roll my eyes. "Why? Why do you care? Why do you want to protect him?"
"I'm not protecting him."
"Then let me do what I need." I step to my desk and sit in the chair.
"What do you need? To beat him up? To break his kneecaps?" She shakes her head.
"I was thinking more like a bullet between his eyes."
Riley's jaw drops and her look is one of pure horror.
"Amore mio, come on. I'm not going to kill him. I merely want to send a message."
She stands up and walks over to me, wagging her index finger. "I don't want any dead bodies showing up. That's a sick joke. I want the guy to stay away from me, not put him six feet in the ground. I'm going home."
She begins to stomp out.
"Riley. Riley! Goddammit. Stop. Come here."
She's pissed, and not stopping. When she doesn't say goodbye but instead slams the door shut, I swear and follow her out. She must be running because by the time I get to Andre's desk, she's at the elevator.
"Everything okay, boss?" Andre asks mildly.
"Fuck no, everything's not ok. Get one of the bodyguards to follow her. If she goes to the condo, make her stay there," I growl at him as I head to the elevator.
"Yikes," Andre whispers.
I reach the elevator just as Riley's stepping in.
"Why don't you go to my house," I say. "Please?"
She glares at me, jabbing at the buttons. "I don't want to be there alone with your asshole father."
"Good point," I mutter, running a hand through my hair. "Okay, go to the condo and stay there. I'll send body..."
The door slides shut. "Fuck!"
I slam my hand on the steel elevator door then stalk back into the office. "Make sure someone's got an eye on her at all times," I tell Andre, then go to my desk.
I knew this fucking guy would be a problem. Could tell with just one look at his dick face when I saw him that night at the party.
Anger vibrates through me, as if it's running through my veins. "Andre," I call out.
He pokes his head in. "Sir?"
"Find out who owns the building that Sunshine City Books is in, and I want the county property appraiser sheet on it, too"
"Will do."
Five minutes pass. I stare out the window, thinking about all the ways I could torture the guy. How fucking dare he show up at Riley's office? "With fucking flowers," I mutter. "The balls on that guy."
Andre knocks and enters. "Sir, here's the info you wanted."
He hands me a piece of paper. "Oh. Kevin MacPherson owns it? Perfect."
I grab my cell and dial. "Kevin! How you doing, old man?"
Kevin's a great guy, an old-school developer who retired and still owns a few buildings. We've golfed together before.
"Gabriel! I heard you're engaged! Congratulations! Who's the lucky woman?"
I tell him a bit about Riley, and he asks about my father. I calm down as I lapse into easy conversation.
"I'm sure you didn't call just to chitchat. What's going on?"
"The building on East Cass Street. I'm interested in buying it."
"Really? That old thing? The fourth floor is practically condemned. There are a couple of businesses on the first floor, and honestly, I'm just keeping them around because they pay rent on time. I don't think they make all that much so it's kind of a charity case." He laughs, his voice rich in tone. "How much do you want to pay? What's your offer? What are your plans?"
"I'm thinking condos," I say smoothly, then offer a number that's a few hundred thousand over the property value.
"Well, shit, Gabriel. That's an offer I can't refuse."
We chat for a while longer, then agree to get our lawyers on the case. I smirk as I end the call. But that's only the first step in getting that cocksucker out of Riley's life.
# # #
RILEY
At the condo, I slam around, dumping my computer bag and purse, flinging my heels against the wall. There's a knock on the door.
"Who is it?" I holler.
"It's Bruno, the bodyguard."
I look out the peephole to find that it is, indeed, Bruno. I pull open the door and glare at him. Then I remember that none of this is his fault.
"Sorry. I'm in a rotten mood. What's up?"
"Mr. Greco would like you to tell me if you need any groceries."
This sets my teeth on edge. "You tell Mr. Greco that I'll get my own fucking groceries."
I slam the door. Damn him. I get where Gabriel is coming from. I do. What Beckett has done to me is creepy. But he hasn't been violent. Or threatening.
I take off my uncomfortable work dress and slip into yoga pants and my favorite T-shirt (the one with the kitten and the rainbow, totally tacky. Then I pace for a while.
I can't allow Gabriel to hurt Beckett. He's not an evil guy, he's just got a crush on me. He doesn't deserve to be physically hurt.
Part of me wants to go to Beckett's bookstore, or his condo, right now, and tell him to cool it. But I know Gabriel's men will follow me, and immediately report back to him. That would turn into a shit show.
But nothing's stopping me from calling him...
I stress eat some cookies while thinking about this, then make a few work calls and send a few emails. Just in case my editor checks to see if I'm actually working. Then again, she's probably too busy handling her own personal life and the affair with our photographer...
I'm sitting alone in the dimly lit living room, the weight of the day pressing down on me. The silence is suffocating, echoing the turmoil inside. Beckett's sudden appearance, Gabriel's protective fervor—it's all too much.
I cram some chips into my mouth, then eye the expensive bottle of wine Gabriel left here the other day. It's four in the afternoon. Too early?
Hell no, I decide.
With shaky hands, I reach for bottle. I struggle to uncork it — Gabriel always does that, with those sexy hands of his. Honestly, watching his hands open a bottle of wine makes me hot.
His possessiveness does, too, but today I don't want to admit that. I pour myself a large glass, the crimson liquid sloshing. The oaky, smoky taste does nothing to numb the chaos swirling in my mind, but the wine sure is delicious. I'll bet Gabriel paid a small fortune for this bottle.
I fumble for my phone, fingers grazing the screen as I scroll through contacts. Cath's name glows on the display. The phone rings and rings until it finally goes to voicemail. I mumble a half-hearted message, my words slurred and barely coherent.
"Hey, Cath... It's me. I... I need someone... I have news about Gabriel and Beckett. But you're not picking up... Guess... I'll try someone else... Fuck."
After that, I try my mom and get voicemail. I pour more wine. Who else can I call?
Oh. I know. Christopher. Maybe he has more gossip about the mess in the newsroom. But he's not around, either. Doesn't anyone pick up their phone anymore? That's when I realize that no, they don't. I rarely do. Why should others?
A sudden impulse strikes me. I need to hear Gabriel's voice, to feel that sense of safety. I dial his number, the phone ringing in my ear. It goes to voicemail. I try again, and again. Still no answer.
I let out a frustrated sigh and decide to leave a message, my words a jumbled mess. "Gabriel, it's me. I, um, I'm... not feeling great. Just wanted to... hear your voice. But you're not... answering... guess you're busy... or something. I'm... just gonna... nevermind. I'm safe. Don't worry about me. I'm at the condo and your men are here. Well, not here, but outside the door. Dammit, I just spilled the wine. Love you. Bye."
I end the call, feeling even more dismal than before. The wine has clouded my thoughts.
Thank goodness I only knocked over the glass when it had a mouthful left. I carefully clean the scarlet liquid off the gleaming white tile.
As the room spins gently around me, I sink deeper into the sofa cushions, feeling utterly alone. Tears well up, and I let them fall freely, the weight of everything unbearable in this moment.
Just when I'm about to succumb to the overwhelming despair, the door clicks open. My heart lurches with surprise as I see Gabriel standing there, worry marking his gorgeous face.
"Riley?" His voice is soft, filled with worry. "What's going on? I came as soon as I saw you called."
I try to form words, but they come out in a jumble. "Gabriel, I... I tried calling... you didn't... answer... I'm sorry..."
He strides over, kneeling in front of me, his touch gentle as he brushes the tears from my cheeks. "Shh, it's alright. I'm here now."
The relief floods over me as he gathers me into his arms, offering the solace I desperately need.