Part 17 (1/2)

”Are you firing me?” That sounded embarra.s.singly shrill.

He halts too, frowning down at me. ”What?” A smile lights his eyes. The f.u.c.ker. ”There you go again with your wild imaginings.”

”Don't give me that. You're taking me aside for a private chat. What am I to think?”

”That I want to talk privately,” he suggests as if I'm batty. ”Besides, Brenna's the one who hired you.”

”And don't you forget it.”

He rolls his eyes and his hand finally touches my back, nudging me forward. ”Would you get in here and calm yourself?”

”You're acting weird,” I counter, but I step inside. ”Wow.”

I was expecting black leather and gray walls-standard luxury coach fare. Instead I'm greeted with glossy burled wood paneling, milk gla.s.s sconces, and smoke velvet chairs. It's like a 1930s rail car.

”Have a seat.” Gabriel gestures to the small living area toward the front. I sink into a Deco style club chair and clutch the arm of it. Next to me is a small table where he has a laptop out and a pile of papers beside it.

He moves to tidy it, but his phone rings. Glancing at it, he grimaces. ”One moment. I've been waiting for this call.”

Mutely, I nod and watch him walk off toward the back. The low sound of his voice is soothing but not enough to stop me from being twitchy. My eyes roam everywhere. Aside from his work, and two car magazines tucked into a side panel, there's nothing personal in here.

I don't know if it's snooping or plain old nerves that prompts me to pick up one of the papers on the table and read it. But as soon as I do, my eyes glaze over from the boring contract language. And then I see the folder below it. My name pops up like a neon sign. I toss the contract aside and pick up what is obviously a file on me.

Gabriel walks back into the room, and his steps slow as he sees what I'm holding. But he doesn't say a word.

I do. ”You have a file on me?”

”Of course. I have files on all our employees.” He nods toward the table. ”Jules sent the newest hires over for review.”

”Why you?”

”Because, as they say in America, the buck stops with me.”

I flip through the folder, even though I know most of what will be in there. I filled out the numerous forms, after all.

”Jesus, you have my health report. Did you read it?”

His thick brows knit. ”Why wouldn't I?”

”Because it's an invasion of privacy,” I offer, snappish. I didn't mind giving Brenna the information, but he's been reading everything, down to my last pap test.

”Sophie, why are you upset? This is standard procedure.” He c.o.c.ks his head as if I'm a peculiar puzzle. ”Are you embarra.s.sed that I know you're healthy and have never been convicted of a crime?”

”Excuse me if I feel a twinge violated that you know everything, down to the fact that I use a birth control shot, for f.u.c.k's sake.” I don't even mention that he now knows my exact height and weight too. f.u.c.king s.h.i.+t.

A snort of annoyance leaves him. ”Fine.” He walks briskly toward me, and I stiffen, but he turns, opens the laptop, and with a few hard clicks, pulls up a file. ”Here,” he says, turning the screen my way. ”My health report. Or did you think I was exempt?”

”Honestly, I did.” I can't help it. I read. So sue me, it's right there in front of me, and he saw mine. I now know he's six foot three, one hundred and eighty-five pounds when last weighed, and in perfect health. ”Why do you do this?”

”Insurance, in some instances. And it's a safety precaution. If you're going to work for the biggest band in the world, we're going to know all we can about you.” His gaze clashes with mine. ”I won't apologize for it, if that's what you want.”

”No,” I shut the laptop. ”I just got a little freaked, okay? Is this why you brought me here? You can see I'm not a criminal, or in debt.” Shut up, Soph. You're babbling like a freak. ”And no cooties to speak of.”

Gabriel's lids lower, and the look he gives me is calculating. ”No cooties at all,” he agrees.

I flush, thinking of how we could f.u.c.k hard and fast without fear of any consequences. And just maybe he's thinking the same thing.

Only he abruptly stands and walks to a bar across from the door. ”Would you like a drink?”

”No tea?” I'm nervous now that I know this isn't about firing me.

He glances over his shoulder at me. ”Would you like some?”

”No.” I need something stronger. ”Bourbon?”

With a nod of approval, he pours us both a good helping. I don't miss the way his hand trembles just once as he pa.s.ses me the gla.s.s. He gives me a tight smile and takes the seat across from me.

The coach is absolutely silent as we sip our bourbon and watch each other warily. He still hasn't told me anything, and I'm pretty sure I just made a fool of myself. So, yeah.

Gabriel expels a soft sigh and gently sets his gla.s.s on a small, chrome table. The click of gla.s.s to metal is like a gunshot to my overtaxed nerves.

”I can't sleep,” he tells me with a small, self-deprecating shake of his head. I stare at him, unable to respond, and he meets my eyes. ”Not a f.u.c.king wink.”

”I'm sorry,” I whisper. I empathize. I can't sleep either. I've become some mental princess and the pea. My bed is too hard, the pillow too soft. I toss and turn, my eyes wide open. I'm either too cold or too hot. It's a freaking nightmare. And I think way too much about a certain grumpy man who currently sits in front of me, looking a bit like sleep-deprived death warmed over.

His smile is brief and weak. ”I slept that night.” Blue eyes meet mine. ”When it rained.”

Something hot and strong rushes through my limbs. I slept then too. So well. All warm and snug, wrapped up in strong arms. Sometimes, when I'm really weak, I close my eyes and try to remember the exact feeling of Gabriel's hard body behind mine. Try to recall his exact scent. If I'm lucky, I drift off to sleep thinking of that night.

He thinks of that night too. I might turn into a puddle of mush. I manage to keep still, though.

Gabriel leans forward, bracing his forearms on his bent knees. ”I want to hire you.”

My mushy feels solidify a bit. That wasn't what I expected. I take a hasty sip of bourbon and lick my dry lips. ”I'm... Okay, I'm not following.”

A dull flush washes over the high crests of his cheeks. ”I want you to sleep with me.”

”Uh...what?” I can't form better words.

”Just sleep,” he clarifies quickly. ”I...b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l...I sleep when you're there. I have to sleep.” For a second, he looks so weak, the circles under his eyes deeper and bruised. So weary. ”You can stay here, travel with me. The compensation will be-”