Page 68 of Every Broken Piece
“Amelia keeps trying to push us together. I think he likes me, but I don’t see him like that. Besides—”
She presses her lips together and stares at the apple.
“Besides?”
She takes a big bite and shrugs. “Nothing. I just don’t feel that way about him. Although he was nice enough to water my plants while I was in the hospital.”
That wasn’t what she was going to say. There was something coming after that ‘besides’ that she caught before she could voice it and I want to know what it was.
Then her words hit me. “He has a key to your apartment?” My question comes out harsher than I intended and she flinches. “Who else has a key, Tess?”
“Um. Amelia. My landlord, of course. That’s it.”
I’m not happy about that, but there’s not much I can do. What I’m really not happy about is that Tess is a sitting target here. The thought of moving her to Colorado with me, where I can keep her safe and protected is more appealing by the minute. The problem is convincing her.
Chapter thirty-six
Tess
Having a man in my apartment isn’t as strange as I thought it would be.
I like my space. I like living alone, but Gabe just fits. Somehow, he effortlessly slipped into my life, and I don’t know what to do with that. I can’t have him here and yet I’m doing nothing to make him leave. Truth is, he makes me feel safe and if I’m going to let him stay, I need to tell him about the money my lovely mother owes and the man who expects me to pay it.
Unloading all that baggage onto him doesn’t seem right though. He didn’t ask for this. He didn’t even ask for a virtual assistant. That was all Jack’s doing. And now he’s standing in my kitchen cooking us dinner.
He came on his own, Tess. He’s staying on his own.
I unravel myself from the blanket he tucked around me and settle on the kitchen barstool just to be a little closer to him. My mail from the past week is in a neat stack on the breakfast bar. I start opening it. Bills, bills, and more bills. I put them in a pile toworry about later. I have money saved, but not enough to live off of for longandto move somewhere else.
It’s expensive to move. Most apartment complexes require the first and last month’s rent up front, then fees to activate WIFI and utilities. It’s too much to think about with a pounding head so I push the pile away and reach for the next piece of mail.
Suddenly a glass of water and two pills appear at my elbow. This man. He always knows exactly what I need, when I need it. I swallow the pills and indulge myself by watching him move around my miniscule kitchen, stirring pots of boiling water, like he’s been here forever.
Earlier a car dropped off his luggage from his hotel. Apparently, he’d checked out and if you’re rich enough, the hotel will deliver your luggage to you. He took a small carryon and a messenger bag with his laptop and work files into my office where I told him he could sleep. When he came back out my jaw dropped at this new Gabe that emerged. Worn Levi’s that fit like a glove, a long-sleeved Henley that clung to well-defined pecs.
He must work out a lot. Like, alot.
He then proceeded to open and close cabinet doors, pulling out pots and pans and things from the refrigerator. My apartment smells like garlic and spices and my mouth is watering.
He glances over his shoulder and smiles, and I about melt off my stool. Where did this man come from?
To distract myself I open the next envelope and freeze. I must make a noise because Gabe is suddenly leaning over the counter, wrapping his fingers around my good wrist.
“What’s wrong?” He pulls the letter from my grasp, his lips thinning as he reads it, holding it out farther because he doesn’t have his reading glasses.
He lets the paper drop and moves to sit beside me. Turning my stool to face him, he cups my cheeks with his large hands and swipes at my tears with his thumbs. “You knew this, Spitfire.”
I guess I’d been holding out hope that he was wrong about TaskGenius. That there’d been a big misunderstanding and when I call Mary on Monday she’ll apologize.
His hands move from my cheeks to the back of my neck. He presses my head to his strong chest where I can hear the comforting thump-thump of his heart.
“I’ll make this right,” he says, his voice rumbling through his body.
“How?”
He runs a hand over my hair, sifting the strands through his fingers. “We’ll think of something. I don’t want you to worry about it though, not when you have to concentrate on healing.”
I pull away and he lets me go, his hands dropping to his thighs. I wipe at my tears and tip my head back, blinking to clear the rest of them. Ihaveto worry about it. I can’t survive without a job.
