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At that, Gunner got suddenly very serious, his body stiffening. “What? How do you know that?”
“Because my men and I have been eating and sleeping and breathing tracking him down since Melody left. And since your office refused to take my call,” he said, turning his attention back to me, “I had to come and warn you myself.”
“How’d you get her address?” Gunner demanded, accusation clear in his voice.
“Luckily, Quinton runs a reputable business. A listed business. So I went to your office.”
“Jules would never give out her address,” Gunner objected. As much as those two never got on very well, they both had a grudging respect for each other.
“No,” Christopher agreed. “But a man by the name of Smith did.”
Oh, good old Smith.
A growling noise escaped Gunner, completely outraged at our coworker’s—in his eyes—betrayal.
“I owe Smith a new tool for his wood shop or something,” I decided out loud.
“Alright. Fine. You came and warned us. Now leave,” Gunner demanded.
Christopher was completely unbothered by Gunner’s rage, turning his attention to me once again, gaze unreadable. When he spoke, his voice was soft, like a caress over my skin.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“Yes,” Gunner answered, but his voice was becoming background noise.
“No,” I told him, head shaking softly. “You look tired,” I added.
“I haven’t been able to sleep since my men told me the news.”
“Guilt does fuck with your sleep schedule,” Gunner agreed.
“Gunn,” I demanded softly. “Let it go.”
“Absolutely fucking not.”
To that, Christopher let out a small sigh, turning his attention to Gunner once again.
“Your objection to me is that you think I intend to hurt your friend?” he asked.
“My objection starts with you kidnapping her, covers you imprisoning her, and ends when you take your last breath.”
To that, a small smile tugged at Christopher’s lips.
I knew both these men.
And they both highly valued loyalty. So as much as Gunner was being a dick to him, Christopher appreciated his loyalty to me.
“What if I told you that it became much more than that?” Christopher asked.
“I’d say brainwashing is a crime.”
“I don’t think it technically is,” I chimed in.
“You’re not fucking helping, Mills.”
“Do not,” Christopher cut in, tone cutting, “speak to her like that.”
“I can speak to her however I want to. I’ve been her coworker and friend for years. You’re just some asshole who fucked her over.”
I braced myself, almost certain it was going to come to blows, worrying about my ability to break it up when it happened.
I couldn’t have been prepared for what actually did happen, though.
For what was said.
Christopher’s gaze leveled with Gunner, keeping eye-contact.
“I love her.”
He might as well have swung, because Gunner looked like he’d taken a fist to the face. He went slack-jawed. His eyes went big. There was a completely blank look on his face.
Meanwhile, I felt similarly struck.
The words made me physically jolt.
There was a simultaneous soaring in my chest and a dropping in my stomach.
Hope.
And fear.
That he didn’t mean it.
Which was ridiculous. Because if there was one thing I had learned in my time with Christopher Adamos, it was that the man was impeccable with his word.
I mean, he had spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to purchase me the absurd items I had put on that list. Because he would not go back on his word to get me what I needed. Even if he knew I was screwing with him.
Gunner, however, did not know this about Christopher.
“Don’t ever say shit like that when you don’t mean it,” he demanded.
“He does mean it,” I objected.
“Mills,” Gunner said, head hanging, shaking side to side, apologetic, likely thinking I was being pathetic.
Maybe I was.
But I was also right.
“He may be a lot of things you don’t approve of, Gunn. But he doesn’t lie.”
Gunner’s gaze moved between the two of us, face a mix of confusion, distrust, then, finally, resignation.
“You know what, fine,” he said, throwing a hand up. “But I’m not going to stand here for this shit. I’m going outside to call Quin. Right outside,” he added as a warning as he walked past Christopher.
“I like him,” Christopher decided when he’d left the room.
“Of course you would,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way here,” I said after an awkward silence that was making my belly start to wobble.
“I’m not,” he said, voice a soothing sound, making my gaze lift. “I wanted to see you,” he told me, hand raising, tucking my hair behind my ear.
“I thought things were meant to end,” I said, unable to help myself, needing him to contradict that comment.
“Always going to and meant to are very different things,” he clarified. “Just because I knew you would leave eventually didn’t mean I wanted you to. I wish you could have stayed.”
“Why didn’t you say that?”
“To accomplish what? To make you feel conflicted about leaving? What good would that have done?”
