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I was ready to move on with the first part of my plan. I’d carefully made myself up and wore an immaculate suit, which was quite unusual for me these days. I had called Gabe an hour before, on our regular cell phones, and asked him to meet me downtown for lunch. I hoped someone had wiretapped my phone or his. Otherwise, my plan could all be for nothing, a waste of time when I had none left to waste.
I took the additional step of having Hannah contact the columnist who wrote the Boldface Names column. She let the writer know that some juicy CEO gossip was about to take place at Mignon, a trendy downtown restaurant.
My driver pulled up outside the small French bistro, which Hannah had informed me was a hot spot for Silicon Valley’s ruling class. I cared nothing about that, but I desperately cared that my plan was going to work. I hoped against hope that someone from Jiàn Innovations was following me. Timmy helped me out of the car and ushered me silently inside.
I leaned toward him when we went through the door of the restaurant. “Do you think we were followed?” I asked quietly.
He nodded at me, his face grim. “There was a silver Hyundai that picked us up a few blocks back. They were three cars behind us the whole way.”
I swallowed hard, simultaneously scared and excited. “You’ve got my back, right?”
My bodyguard offered me a rare smile. “You know I do, Ms. Taylor.”
That gave me the confidence to approach the hostess. She led me to a table where I waited for Gabe, fidgeting nervously and sipping a forbidden midday glass of wine. It was Friday afternoon, and the restaurant was packed with casually but expensively dressed entrepreneurs. The majority of the other diners were wearing stylish glasses and tapping on the most up-to-date handheld devices. I looked woefully out of place in my dark suit and prim bun, but sticking out at that moment suited my purposes just fine.
Gabe strode in, and my heart stopped. He was wearing his typical T-shirt and dark jeans, his biceps on full display. His hair was a little wild, and he had what now appeared to be a full-blown beard. He looked sexy as hell. I hadn’t even known what the word “sexy” meant until I met him, and now there he was, striding toward me, every powerful muscle evident in all his male gloriousness.
I’d definitely been away from him for too long. I practically started panting just watching him walk through the restaurant toward me. All I wanted was to throw myself into his arms and run my hands along that beard.
And I couldn’t touch him. I didn’t know when, or if, I would touch him again.
I composed my feelings and proceeded to glare at him as he approached.
“It’s about time,” I said abruptly when he sat down.
He looked at me and scrubbed his hands across his face. I desperately wished my hands could be the ones touching him.
“Whatever,” he said.
“Whatever?” There was a sharp edge to my voice. The woman at the table next to me looked our direction, then quickly turned away.
“That’s what I said. Whatever.” He sat across from me, fidgeting, looking almost too big for the bistro’s delicate chair.
I tapped the table with my finger, looking down at the menu. “Does anything look good to you?” I asked.
I could feel Gabe watching me from across the table. “Not particularly.”
I looked up at him. “You’re not being very nice.” My voice was sharp again.
“You should talk, Lauren.” His voice was loud enough that I saw the people at the table next to us give each other a look.
I saw Timmy near the hostess stand, watching the room with a tense look on his face. I hoped that whoever had been driving that Hyundai had followed us in the restaurant, and that they were listening. But I also hoped they didn’t have Gabe or me within firing range.
I swallowed hard. I hated calling attention to myself, but I needed to do it. For us. For all of us.
I leaned across the table, glaring at him. “I’m tired of you being an asshole all the time.” My voice was too loud.
He leaned toward me too. “I’m tired of you being such a bitch. You think you’re the only one who’s under pressure? You think you’re the only one with a business to run?” His voice boomed through the tiny restaurant, causing silence to fall at the other tables. The customers nervously looked at each other and a
t us.
“I don’t think I’m the only one, but I still feel pretty alone.” My voice was shaking. “And if you can’t understand that I’m under a lot of pressure right now, I don’t think we have a lot left to say to each other.”
He stood up and glowered at me. “That’s been true for a while. Good-bye, Lauren. And good fucking luck.”
I stood up to say something back, but he had already turned to go. He stormed out of the restaurant, giving dirty looks to the silent patrons.
“Check, please,” I called shakily, then gathered my things.
