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“Hey, so how badly do you want me to dig into Gabriel Sinclair?” she asks. “I’m hitting some roadblocks, but with a bit more time—”
Shit. I’d forgotten I asked her to research my fake boyfriend’s past. Might be good to have something on him, just in case. “Do what you need to. Call me when you’re done,” I say. I end the call with the awareness that at least half a dozen people are close enough to have heard me sounding like the bad guy in a movie. Nothing about my life has felt real for years. No reason it should start now.
“Oh my god, it’s him,” a voice somewhere behind me hisses.
There’s only onehimit can be. I can’t fake it right now. I’m stretched so thin, one stern, disapproving word from Saint Gabriel will have me in tears and I refuse to cry in public for the glee of my haters.
He steps close behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his chin on the top of my head. All the stress leaks out of me in one long exhale, and I feel worse about everything.
Of course, Saint Gabriel wouldn’t throw me to the wolves in public.
“Hey,” he says softly, and that’s it. All he says. I lean against him, letting the strength of his body hold me up this one last time.
The barista calls my name, but Gabe holds me back and whispers against my ear, loud enough for the people nearest us—and there are a few more than before—to hear, “You look better than breakfast.”
The worst thing happens. I blush.
He releases me to get the coffee, then takes me to a table and disappears again. He comes back with my iced white chocolate mocha, a fruit salad, and a yogurt, setting all three down in front of me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, narrowing my eyes at the food. I want his anger, not his kindness. Why is he treating me this way?
He smiles because people are watching us. “You weren’t going to eat this.” He picks up the sandwich, and I shudder. “Too much bourbon last night?” he asks for the benefit of our audience, his smile turning impish, popping out his dimples.
“Something like that.” I grab my coffee and suck down the sweet, creamy caffeinated glory of it. As soon as we’re back in the privacy of the hotel room, he’ll put an end to this arrangement. Maybe our agents already have. I check my phone, but there’s no call or text, or even an email from Neve. Only one message with a photo of me and Gabe kissing at the BBQ joint last night:
Holy shit, you two are .
Wendy
We were. I don’t bother to correct her yet.
Thanks for the notes on my screenplay. As good as you are on camera, I think you’d be amazing behind it.
Wendy
She might be right, but if I have to crawl through the mud of this industry, I’d rather get some fame out of it. Even infamy is better than anonymity. It at least gives the illusion of some form of power.
One brave teenager approaches our table, asking for an autograph and a selfie. Gabe obliges him. It opens the floodgates. Everyone wants a piece of him, a word with him, one of his smiles.
No one bothers me beyond a few dirty or curious looks.
Gabe shoots me an apologetic smile. Maybe he enjoys the attention. I can’t tell if he’s acting or not, but regardless, Gabriel Sinclair cannot tell these people to go fuck themselves.
If I’m trying to salvage the wreck of my reputation, I can’t either.
I eat my breakfast while Gabe’s gets cold. He glances down at his breakfast sandwich with a little sigh, but smiles up at the next fan. Because he’s a saint.
This is ridiculous. This man needs saving from himself.
I wait for him to say goodbye to the fan gushing at him, then slip out of my seat and stand between him and the next one.
Of course, she’s a gorgeous twenty-something and the look she gives me is violence. I glare at her and everyone waiting for a piece. “We’re trying to have breakfast. Maybe this can wait until after.”
She gives me an obvious once-over and turns to Gabe with a smile.
My fists clench. I want to grab her by the hair and drag her outside, but my self-control is better than that. Barely.
Gabe stands, using his size to create a bit of space around us, forcing the young woman to take a step back. Without a word, he grabs the brown paper bag with his sandwiches and the second coffee with one hand and wraps his arm around me.
