Page 16 of Every Broken Piece
Without mentioning his name, I made the mistake of telling her how good-looking Gabriel is and totally regret it because now that’s all she talks about. She seems to think there’s more to the story than me just thinking he’s hot. And now that she knows he’s texting me it'll only get worse. Like I have a chance with him. I don’t even want a chance with him, but a girl can daydream right?I stuff my phone in my back pocket. “It’s not him.”
I don’t know why I lie or why my face is burning in a blush, or why I think of him at odd moments of the day, or why when I’m reading my romantasy books I picture him instead of the main character.
This is stupid. I’m stupid for thinking all these thoughts.
To distract the both of us I pull her out to the dance floor.
Chapter nine
Gabe
Ilift my finger to catch the bartender’s eye. He pours me another two fingers of Macallan’s before gliding away.
I let my gaze wander around the hotel bar while avoiding eye contact with the others sitting around it. The muted sounds of the couple’s conversation a few seats down drift to me but it’s more a cadence than actual words. There’s a woman across the way who’s tried to catch my attention a few times, but I actively avoid eye contact. I’m well on my way toward buzzed and heading straight for drunk if I don’t watch it. I should go to my room and get some sleep but the thought of being alone isn’t appealing.
It’s been a shit day. The client I flew to New York to meet isn’t going to be happy with my report on Monday. I was hired because the company was losing money, and they wanted my help turning things around. My team discovered that the CFO has been siphoning funds for years, to the point that the company may not be salvageable. To make matters worse, the CFO is the president’s brother-in-law. Come Monday, a familywill be ruined and hundreds of employees possibly out of a job if I can’t figure a way to turn this mess around.
Also, today is my forty-third birthday and I’m stuck in New York City alone. Usually I don’t mind traveling, and I’ve traveled over my birthday before, but this trip hits different for some reason.
I’ve been thinking a lot about Cara, and Pax, and me.
My wife has been gone for eighteen years. Eighteen birthdays. Eighteen Christmases. The first two were hell, but it got easier after that until the grief turned to a slight twinge, then a warm memory. Until there were so many birthdays and Christmases without her that it seemed normal and that’s a whole different kind of grief to deal with.
Why this particular birthday is different, I don’t know.
I spin my phone on the bar top and sip my bourbon, actively avoiding the longing look of the woman in the tight red dress across the way. There’s not even a hint of interest in me regarding her because while my mind is flirting with thoughts of Cara, it’s also thinking of another woman.
A woman who sends too friendly good morning texts, now with a smiley emoji rather than an exclamation point. Texts that I’ve found myself looking forward to when I wake up and ignore each time.
If that doesn’t make me a fucking idiot, I don’t know what does.
I press my finger to my phone to stop it from spinning and stare at it for a long time while sipping my drink. I glance at the woman across the way, but she’s turned to a man who slides in next to her. She leans toward him, smiling, placing her hand on his wrist.
I pick up my phone. Tap the screen. Open the texts from Tess and stare at our exchange from yesterday. The exchange aboveher good morning text that I ignored and feel a twinge of guilt over.
She’d sent me the car information when I landed in New York. I thanked her for stocking the car and my hotel room with my favorite sparkling water. Both texts were direct and professional.
Yet something about them makes me hesitate. Maybe it’s the connection to another person that I’m craving right now. Not the woman-in-the-red-dress kind of connection. Something deeper.
None of my past assistants made sure my cars and hotel rooms were stocked with my favorite brand of bottled water. It never occurred to me to ask them to do so, as I’m sure it never occurred to them to order it.
Yet Tess did.
And she checks in with me every day, asking if I need anything, sometimes anticipating my needs before I do.
It makes me feel...on edge.
It’s been a long time since anyone’s put me first.
I don’t know what to make of it.
I stare at the blank message box and before I know what I’m doing I type out: Are you awake?
I hit send before I can stop myself then cringe.
What the fuck am I doing?
I can’t text my assistant late on a Friday night to ask what she’s doing.
