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“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“That if we became a couple, they’d probably call us the King and Queen of Fitness or something, and most people would assume my success is a proxy of yours.” I take a sip from the paper cup Gabriel has included with the meal and smile that it’s kombucha—the man’s got game. “No one would run the timeline on things, they’d just assume that your wealth gave me the platform I needed to succeed even if we started dating after my company blew up.”
He sits back in the chair, a smirk smugger than smug on his lips. He looks victorious, and I’ve no idea why until he tells me. “So you see why I get so worked up when people assume I’m a decacorn because my father is rich.”
That momentarily stuns me into silence. I mirror his pose and lean back in my chair, tilting my head to the side. It’s like a game of staring and I’m about to lose. I crack and smile. “I’m understanding better where you come from. But you won’t get any pity from me.”
He makes a mock-hurt face. “Don’t my vulnerabilities make me more attractive?” He accompanies the question with a waggling of his eyebrows.
“No.” I chuckle. “Just more risky.”
He smirks. “I might be human and therefore undatable?”
I push my empty bowl aside and point a finger at him. “You have heartbreak written all over those cute dimples, so thanks, but no, thanks.”
“Ah, I see.”
“See what?”
“You feel the attraction, but are too scared to put yourself out there. What is it, fear of getting hurt, of not being in control?”
Both and more. Fear of being humiliated again. Of making a fool of myself, of getting my heart broken. Heat rises to my cheeks at the thought that he’s nailed me so completely. And I snap.
“How about you choose whatever explanation you prefer as long as you leave me alone?” I ask, all fake sweetness. “It’s late and I still have stuff to do.”
MGM eyes my empty bowl and stands up. “My job here is done. You’re fed.”
He grabs his suit jacket. I take in the wrinkled fabric again, how normal it makes him look, and I’m surer than ever that I’m making the right call. If I discovered this man’s vulnerabilities, saw his bed hair, or heard his still-groggy-with-sleep voice, I don’t think I’d come out the other side alive if he ever ended things with me. I’m twenty-six and my romantic experience can be summed up in one disastrous relationship. I’ve always been too focused on my career to have time for dating, but the one time I let myself be vulnerable with someone, I promptly got crushed. And Justin wasn’t half the man Gabriel is. I can already tell.
MGM isn’t someone you just date. A relationship with him would be very tumultuous, I suspect. He might not have the upper hand in running a business—I can hold my own, thank you very much—but he sure does with love entanglements, at least if his Page Six profile is to be trusted.
He walks to the door now and pauses on the threshold, leaning against the door frame. “Lovely and charming, by the way.”
“What?”
“Is what my mother had to say about you.”
MGM winks at me—causing a confetti explosion in my belly—and then leaves as suddenly as he arrived.
I stare at the papers scattered on my desk, not even remembering what I’m supposed to be doing.
I need to go home and perform an exorcism on myself. How do you force your brain to forget crinkly brown eyes and dimples? Think Google has a solution for that?
15
BLAKE
Half an hour after MGM leaves, I peel myself away from the desk. Now it’s definitely too late to call prospective trainers about a job interview. I’ve only waited hidden in my glass fortress for this long to be sure of not bumping into MGM downstairs in case he lurked around.
I grab my bag and let out a puff of air. Gosh, I hate unproductive days.
As I exit Bloominghale, there’s no sign of MGM. But the moment I step onto the curb, a man in a black driver’s uniform approaches me. “Good evening, Miss Avery.”
“Good evening,” I reply, taken aback by being greeted so formally by someone I’ve never met. “Can I help you with anything?”
“Actually, I’m here to help you.”
I raise my eyebrows quizzically.
