Page 23 of Midnight Player

“Follow me.” He nodded his head toward the elevator.

She sucked in a swift breath, nodding her acquiescence. She couldn’t verbalize a response with her throat tight. Like a dutiful submissive, she followed Master Gabe up to the fourth floor, where his office was located.

He led her to his office, flicking on lights, and jerked his chin toward one of the black leather chairs. “Have a seat.”

She sat lightly on the edge of the smooth leather, clutching her purse in her lap, sure that her hands would rip it to shreds if she weren’t careful.

Gabe took a seat behind his desk. His gaze was somber. “So tell me, Willa, what’s going on? Why are you turning down Doms left and right?”

Her eyes filled. She didn’t mean to let it happen. But before she could stop herself, the dam burst. Big fat tears rolled fast and furious down her cheeks. “I met someone at the conference I attended last weekend.”

Gabe studied her, a slight frown marring his brow. “And it’s not cause for celebration? Did he hurt you?”

No. She hurt herself—and him.

“I . . . it’s all my fault. He wanted more, but I was scared. His job makes him a celebrity, and I didn’t think I could handle the snide comments from the media.”

Gabe held up a hand. “Snide comments about what?”

Willa gestured to her body. “Me. My body. I’m not the type of woman a professional baseball player hooks up with and keeps, nor allows themselves to be seen in public together.”

“Did he say you weren’t his type or cut out for it? Or did you insinuate the worst would happen?”

“It’s me.” She was the problem, not him. He’d begged her to reconsider. And she’d walked away from the best thing that had ever happened to her.

“And what did this baseball player say when you explained your feelings on the matter?”

Willa winced. “I didn’t tell him anything other than it wouldn’t work.”

“And why do you think that, hmm?”

“Because I’m not a woman that men choose first.” Or she hadn’t been until Jake, and that seemed to open the floodgates with all the male attention she had garnered tonight.

Gabe scowled. “Willa, you’re a beautiful, independent woman who any man, Dom or otherwise, would be lucky to have on their arm. Did you ever stop to ask yourself why you think you can’t find happiness and love?”

“It’s just that no one ever really has. And if I look at his history, he’s a player. He’s likely already moved on. And I don’t have his number anyway to contact him and attempt to reconcile and apologize.”

“Willa, sometimes all it takes for men is the right woman. Did you ever stop to think of that? We don’t say things we don’t mean. Especially not once we have the one we want in bed.”

She hung her head. “Oh god. I know I made the biggest mistake of my life. And I don’t know how to contact him. We didn’t exchange phone numbers because of me.”

“What’s his name? With my connections, I’ll see if I can get his number or address for you,” Gabe offered, his eyes kind and sympathetic.

“Jake Fletcher.”

His brows rose at his name. “The catcher with the Philadelphia Flashes?”

“That’s the one.” She snagged another tissue and dabbed at her tears.

He handed her the box. “Take them with you. And have you considered what other means he might have tried to contact you?”

She sucked in a breath. “Oh my god! The contact form on my website. He might have . . . I’m sorry, I need to go. I need—” Jake. But she didn’t say his name out loud.

But Gabe knew. He nodded toward his door, his lips curled up at the corners. “Go. I’ll let you know if I’m able to turn anything up on his contact info.”

She rose from her seat with a nod. “Thank you so much, Master Gabe. Sophia is a lucky lady.”

Gabe smiled widely. “She is, but only because it took me almost losing her to spend my days worshipping her. And no matter what happens with your ballplayer, Willa, be happy.”

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