CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

Gabe watched Anna Holmes drag her assistant out of the bathroom. That was one quirky little handful.

He was intrigued. Not because she really was damn cute, with her ash brown hair and big blue eyes, but because of the way she’d looked at him.

He’d been looked at by women before.

A lot.

When he was younger, they’d looked at him in the same way he’d looked at them: with sexual interest, or challenge.

When he was older and had grown more successful, that had changed. Like it or not, once they discovered he wasn’t the uncomplicated bit of rough they’d taken him for, it affected the view.

Some women were intimidated by his money. Some wanted to help him spend it. Surprisingly often, they took it as a personal insult.

He’d once dated an environmentalist who had a shaky understanding of what being in the tech industry meant, and considered him up there with oil barons, frackers, and the Dark Lord Sauron.

She’d been fun.

And then there was the chick who’d kicked him to the curb—but only after trying to kick him in the nuts—the day she’d discovered he sometimes wore suits and owned the building that he worked in, instead of being the bike messenger that she’d gotten into her head he was.

Bike messenger?

Took all sorts.

But this woman…? Gabe didn’t think he’d ever been looked at like that before.

He recognized her admiration for his body. The rest, though? What was it?

Yearning.

No. Yearning sounded too lustful. There was lust mixed in, sure, but lust wasn’t the heart of it. It was…

Wistfulness.

That’s what it was.

She had gazed at him as if he was a beautiful unicorn on the other side of a set of bars, and she didn’t even consider that she could reach through to pet him.

He wasn’t sure which one of them, in this scenario, was in the cage. He did know one thing.

He couldn’t wait to break it open.

Listening to the murmur of voices in the living area, Gabe dressed in jeans and a tee, pulled on some socks, and hopped into his boots. He couldn’t catch the words, but from the tone, the assistant was having a new one ripped.

Feeling oddly protective, he hurried, and was startled to hear them burst into giggles.

He’d met Anna in person once, although he’d talked to her assistant on the phone a couple of times. A different assistant, he thought. The pushy professional who’d left him three more messages than he’d been happy to get, was not the same woman who’d run from him and tried to hide in his bathroom.

And lied her head off about spinach.

The fact that Ms. Holmes could find enough humor in the situation to be giggling about it with her employee said good things.

She’d need a sense of humor working with him.

Since Jenny had suggested he find himself a real home, Gabe had been through five designers. Holmes Squared was his last shot. He’d already decided that if it didn’t work out, he’d get on his knees and beg Jenny to come and help.

“Right!” he said as he strolled through to the living area. “Coffee.”

The women were in a huddle by the breakfast bar. At his brisk tone, Nora straightened, glancing around. When her eye fell on the espresso machine, Gabe knew she was going to head for it and make them fucking coffee.

He’d been offering.

“How do you take it?” he asked, speeding up to get there before she made a move for it. He took some cups down from a cabinet and fired up the beast of an Italian-made espresso machine that was the first thing he’d installed when the electricity was switched back on.

Bracing his fists on the breakfast bar, he looked from one to the other. “What’ll it be? Espresso? Americano? Latte, cappuccino, macchiato? Irish?”

“No whiskey,” Nora and Anna said at the same time.

Interesting. He’d been joking about the Irish.

Gabe ground some beans, tamped the grounds into a smooth puck, and clicked the handle in place. Steam hissed, filling the air with fragrance. He sighed in anticipation. Mmm. Rolling his shoulders, he turned to find Nora watching him. She held his gaze for three seconds before her cheeks turned pink and her eyes dropped away.

He filled a cup with rich dark caffeinated heaven. Setting it with precision in a saucer, he stretched over the expanse of wood between them and passed it to Nora. “I’m guessing you take it straight up.”

“Nailed it,” she said. “Thank you.” The saucer trembled, the cup rattling against it. Frowning, she put it down and glared at it, as if it had given away a secret. As if her face didn’t give everything away.

“We haven’t met formally,” he said, and held out a hand. He wanted to feel that tremble for himself.

“Oh,” she said. “Nora. Nora Bowman.”

“Gabe Sterling.”

“Mr. Sterling. Nice to meet you. Formally.”

“Gabe,” he said, shooting Anna a glance to include her. “We’re done with formal.” He and Nora shook.

It was an effort, but he kept his expression even. The reaction he saw flare in her eyes as their palms slid together was all her own, not a reflection of his. Good. They were on the same page.

He let her go—for now—and switched his attention to Anna. “How about you?”

“Espresso, and sweetener if you have it.”

He fixed her a cup and set it on the breakfast bar, then made his own. “Let’s sit.”

Gabe had thrown himself with enthusiasm into the project of finding a home. It was more appealing than wrestling with the hydra of a problem that was Nebula, anyway.

The first couple of designers he’d hired hadn’t been a good fit. This was something he had learned after he’d let them go ahead and work their magic on the penthouse apartment in his office building, along with the office itself.

What was it about him that suggested he’d like chrome? Everywhere? Even the bathroom. A chrome toilet, for fuck’s sake? No. You know where else you had metal toilets? Prisons. And really crappy restrooms.

The whole experience had left him feeling like an idiot—not a feeling he was fond of, or familiar with—since every time he was in that bathroom, he had to look in the mirror and accept that he was the chump who’d paid five thousand dollars for a prison toilet.

And all the black marble? What was with that?

After the first two designers, Gabe had wised up and let the others pitch for the job rather than giving them carte blanche. He’d saved a fortune, not that he cared, but he was still stuck with an apartment he could barely stand to be in, and an office that bore a strong resemblance to a network TV show’s idea of how a futuristic comic book hero would set up his base of operations.

Which was why he had decided to start over with the warehouse.

A buddy of his, overreaching somewhat, had bought it eighteen months ago. His big renovation project hadn’t survived a handful of poor investment decisions. When he’d complained to Gabe over a beer about the money pit sucking his finances down into the void, Gabe had seen the perfect opportunity.

It was win-win. His buddy was back on his feet, Gabe had a brand-new apartment no one at the office knew about, and Bill Anderson, who was about a hair’s breadth away from slapping an ankle bracelet on Gabe to keep track of him, would never dream of looking for him here.

Plus, he didn’t have to get soul chills from the décor in his own fucking penthouse.

Once they’d all settled in the living area, Gabe hoping that Nora would sit on the couch next to him and disappointed when she took the furthest possible seat, Anna got to business.

“I’m not going to waste your time asking what you want, because if you knew, I’m guessing you’d have it already,” Anna said. “Give me a quick idea of what you don’t want.”

Gabe considered her, surprised and encouraged. She was the only designer who’d begun asking what he didn’t want.

“No chrome,” he said.

Anna looked at him as if he’d said something stupid. “Well, no,” she said. “It’s a bit too obvious, isn’t it?”

He sipped his coffee and, hearing an odd sound, glanced over at Nora.

The noise that had caught his attention was her clicking the top of a pen, and now she made a note in the…was that a Filofax?…balanced on her pretty knees.

“Anything else you don’t want? Gabe?”

“Hmm?” He dragged his focus back to Anna. “Let me think. No chrome, and no black marble. Even the stuff with the shiny bits. I’m sick of it.”

“Do you have any idea of the overall feel you’re going for here?”

“Warmth. Something authentic. Something real. I want a home.” He smiled as Nora wrote this down with a tiny nod.

“Gabe?”

“Yes.” He turned back to Anna.

“Is this going to be your primary residence?”

He shrugged. “If it works out, yeah. I could live here. And if I like what you’ve done, you should know I’ll be hiring you to do the rest.”

“The rest?” Anna’s breathing picked up, but she kept her voice professional. “How many other properties are we talking here? Two, or…?”

“Five. On the West Coast. And if those work out, we’ll discuss the others. I’m assuming you have a passport? You’re good to travel?”

Anna nodded. “I can swing travel.” She almost pulled the casual attitude off, except her voice broke in the middle of the swing. Gabe grinned.

The movement he’d been tracking from the corner of his eye had stopped. “Make a note, Nora,” he said. “Phase one: warehouse apartment. Phase two: West Coast. Phase three: global.”

Nora gave him a side-eye at the command, but jotted it down.

Anna smoothed her already immaculate hair. “What sort of time frame did you have in mind for, uh, phase one?”

“I want it as soon as possible. I’m thinking it’s a good idea if I’m consulted on a regular basis. Throughout the whole process. From design to implementation.”

She kept her face straight, he gave her credit for that. “You’re the client. If you want to shadow me to every warehouse and storeroom, that’s your call.”

“I’ll be happy with regular updates. Your assistant can handle it.”

Anna gave him a cool look.

Yeah, she’d noticed his interest in Nora. Unlike the lady herself, who was still scribbling notes. Or was trying to. She clicked her pen a few times, made some squiggling passes over the paper. Click. Squiggle. Squiggle. Click.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

Nora glanced up. “This thing is glitchy. Keep talking. It’s fine. It’ll warm up.”

“Warm up? What is it?”

“It’s a pen.”

Gabe held out a hand.

“It’s just a pen,” she said again, clenching her fingers around it.

He smiled and waited.

With reluctance, she passed it to him. He examined it thoroughly.

The barrel was divided in two, the bottom half purple and the top half clear plastic. Inside the top half, a cartoon pony with rainbows for its mane and tail floated in a matrix of clear fluid and glitter. Gabe tipped it over and watched the pony race from one end to the other. Then he did it again. And again. He clicked the top a few times. Shaking his head, he handed it back to Nora.

“I don’t usually use this,” she said. “My fountain pen ran out of ink.”

Fountain pen? He turned, helplessly, to Anna.

“She’s old-school,” Anna explained.

Nora sat up primly. “You don’t have to say it as if I’m sitting here chiseling on stone tablets.”

As good as. “I’ll train her,” Gabe said.

Both women stared at him.

“I don’t need training,” Nora said.

At the same time, Anna said, “How kind. We couldn’t possibly inconvenience you. I’ll get her up to speed.”

“No inconvenience. I insist. I’ve got plenty of free time.” Bill Anderson would fall to the ground clutching his chest if he heard that particular nugget. Gabe allowed himself a feral smile at the thought. “Besides, if I’m going to have Nora as my primary point of contact during this project, I’ll need her to be able to handle my demands.”

Anna narrowed her eyes.

Gabe narrowed his back. “I’d rather be able to email or text than send a pigeon or a snail mail,” he said.

“It’s just a biro and a Filofax!” By Nora’s indignant tone, this wasn’t the first time she’d had to defend herself. She rummaged around in her purse, and pulled out a cell. “I have a phone!” She waggled it at him. “I can text.”

He held out his hand for the phone.

Sighing, she slapped it into his palm.

“My God.” He flipped it open. Yes. It was a flip phone. He ran the side of his thumb down the tiny screen, and shuddered.

“It’s not that bad,” Nora said. “It serves its purpose. It’s not that bad.”

“Honey,” he murmured, busy programming himself in, “it’s worse.”

She shuffled to the edge of her chair and leaned across the two feet of space between them, attempting to take the phone off him. He pressed her back with the flat of his hand to one shoulder when she swiped for it, finished pushing buttons, then flipped it shut. This time he let her grab it.

As she snagged the cell, her Filofax fell off her lap and landed face-up.

Gabe had the chance to read one word of the two-word title on an otherwise blank page, odyssey, before she squeaked and snatched it up.

Odyssey? As in The Odyssey, by the ancient Greek poet Homer?

“Gabe,” Anna interrupted him before he could ask Nora if she was a fan of Greek literature. “You said no black marble, but how do you feel about lighter colors? A pale cream would make a striking contrast with the brickwork, which I’m assuming you want left exposed?”

“No marble.”

“Even the—”

“No marble.”

They talked for another five minutes, with Gabe hyper-aware of Nora taking notes in her ridiculous planner which he now, desperately, wanted to get his hands on and read.

Every. Last. Page.

He was impressed with Anna Holmes’ client management skills. Even as his attention wandered and he found himself getting caught up in the usual irritation he experienced when people kept asking him questions, she kept her calm, she kept her smile, and she kept her professionalism. He’d never come across such a self-possessed young woman.

A direct and intriguing contrast to her assistant.

They were wrapping things up when a knock came at the door. Nora, who to Gabe’s chagrin hadn’t looked at him once, glanced over at him instead of the door.

“Get them to come back, please,” he instructed, and continued his discussion with Anna. Well. Ten percent of him continued the discussion. The other ninety percent followed Nora as she hurried across the apartment.

He liked her answering his door, he thought. Liked it in a weird way.

Huh.

Holding up a hand, he cut Anna off mid-comment. All she did was snap her teeth together in the face of his rudeness.

She was so hired.

“Hello,” Nora was saying as she opened the door.

A woman dressed almost identically to Anna in a charcoal shift dress, although her stilettos were leopard print rather than Anna’s zebra, looked down her nose at Nora. “You must be the assistant.” She thrust a takeout coffee cup at her. “I’m here to see Gabriel.”

He placed the voice at once. He’d heard it on the phone often enough: it was Anna’s assistant. Now her ex-assistant, he guessed.

She stepped into Nora’s personal space. Nora didn’t give way. Instead, she pushed the coffee cup back toward the woman.

“Ew,” the newcomer said. “No. Put it in the trash. I’m done. And tell your boss I’m here. He’s expecting me.”

“Mr. Sterling is not my boss.”

The woman scanned her, and didn’t do a very good job of hiding her lip curl. “That makes sense.” Long red nails tapped at the screen of an oversized smartphone. She held it, screen facing out, an inch from Nora’s face. “I have an appointment. Take me to Gabriel. I don’t have all morning.”

“I can certainly let him know while you wait here. Whom shall I say it is?”

Whom? Gabe grinned.

“I’m his interior designer. Gretchen Sharpe.”

“Oh, hell no.”

He flinched as Anna leaped out of her chair, paused, and held up a finger. “I’ll deal with this,” she said, and stalked across the hardwood floor, heels stabbing with purpose.

Gretchen bristled at Anna’s approach, dummied to the left, then dodged around a gaping Nora and made it inside.

For a moment, Gabe thought Anna was going to sack the woman and take her down to the floor. Sadly, no. Gretchen was shorter but speedier, and she darted over to the living area before Anna could block her.

Gabe settled into the couch, stretching out his arms along the back. This should be interesting.

“It is not your appointment,” Anna said. “It’s mine. You were fired.”

“I quit.”

“Not your appointment. Not your client.”

“We’ll see,” Gretchen said. “Gabriel. I want to apologize for the mix-up. You are my client, and I’m the one who’s been communicating with you from the start. I’m not sure how my ex-associate got hold of the information, but I’m happy to be here to clear things up.”

“I prefer you to call me Mr. Sterling,” he said.

Anna sputtered in outrage. “Ex-boss. Not associate. Boss. You did not arrange this meeting, I arranged it after you stole—”

Gretchen waved her off and tried to sit beside Gabe, but Anna slid between them.

By this time Nora had shut the door and made her way over. Gabe got to his feet as she approached, and Nora visibly panicked. Did she think he was about to throw them all out? She glanced at the arguing women, her eyes softening on Anna. She set her shoulders.

Instead of hesitating at the edge of the carpet, Nora skirted the two women, who were nose to nose and fuming at each other, and reached him.

“How about another coffee?” she said. “Let’s go and have another coffee. All the way over there. In the kitchen.”

He lifted his brows at her.

She huffed out a breath. “Come on. Let’s go.” Taking his hand with determination, she hauled him after her.

Gretchen noticed, Anna deflected, and they got back to it.

Lacing his fingers through hers, Gabe allowed Nora to lead him over to the kitchen. He liked her pulling him around almost as much as he liked her following his orders.

Still in a weird way.

Nice.

Nora directed him to a stool that put his back to the room. He obliged her and sat while she dithered in front of the espresso machine for a full minute before casting him a defeated look.

“I’ll make it, shall I?” he said. He came around the breakfast bar to stand beside her. “Stay right there and watch. You need to know how I like it. Sooner or later, you’ll have to know how to handle my equipment. Now. It’s large and daunting, but I’ll take it nice and slow. You’ll get the hang of it.”

Grinning to himself—he was such a douche sometimes—he showed her how to operate the complicated machine, and they settled back at the breakfast bar with their cups.

Once again, he allowed Nora to position him.

“Do you have any idea what the arguing’s about?” he asked, taking a sip of rich bitter roast. Mmm.

Stalling, she took a sip of her own coffee.

“Good?” he asked.

“So good.” She closed her eyes as she licked a drop off her lower lip.

Gabe shifted on the stool.

“This is hands down the best I’ve ever had,” she said. “Is it the machine?”

“It’s my beans. And knowing how to handle my beans. That helps.”

“What’s the blend? I can’t afford the machine, but I could splurge on the beans.”

“They’re my own special beans.”

“Oh.” She took another sip. “Where can I get them?”

He bit his lip. “They’re not available commercially.”

“That’s a shame. Any morning that starts with your special beans would be a good morning. Keep me satisfied all the way through to lunch.”

Okay. He was fully hard. Time to change the subject. “Back to the important question. What’s all the fussing about?”

Gretchen and Anna were flat-out yelling now, all pretense of civility dropped.

Nora grimaced, and set her cup down with a clink. “Gretchen is Anna’s former assistant, but she quit and took most of Anna’s clients with her. They’re kind of at war.”

“Is it going to devolve into a catfight? Should I be worried?”

“No. Don’t worry. You won’t have to intervene.” She did not sound sure.

“I’m not worried about intervening. I wanted to know if I should start recording. YouTube,” he added at her puzzled frown.

She snorted. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-nine. How old are you?”

Her amusement vanished.

“If you don’t tell me,” Gabe said, “I’ll guess.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

She was sensitive about her age? “Thirty-two?”

She snorted again.

Oops. “Sorry. Thirty?”

Nora looked at him then, right into his eyes in a way she’d seemed to have trouble doing up to this point. As if she was trying to see if his guess was serious, or if he was flattering her.

Like it mattered.

Shit.

He was only playing, and here she was, all her emotions wide open. Looking at him like he’d just stuck a blade into the heart of her sensitive soul. He held still for her, which was all he could do now, and felt a disproportionate amount of relief when whatever she saw in his eyes reassured her.

She shook her head with a smile.

“Tell me,” he said.

Her smile faded as she fidgeted with the cup on her saucer. “Thirty-six.”

Gabe reached out and set her restless hands flat on the bar, giving them a light, soothing press before he released her. “Something wrong with being thirty-six?”

“If you’re behind schedule, there is. Scratch that. I’m not behind schedule. I’m starting from zero. And, as my mother has told me many, many times, thirty-six is not a good age to be starting over.”

“Any age is a good age to start over.”

“I suppose.” Nora lifted and lowered a shoulder. “If it’s a choice.”

He was about to demand more details when her gaze went behind him and she said, “Heads up.”

Heels rattled over the floor as Gretchen and Anna, done arguing with each other, raced to the kitchen.

Gabe spun on the stool and leaned back, resting his elbows on the breakfast bar. “You’re hired,” he said before they even reached him. “Let’s go ahead and get started.”

“Wonderful,” Anna said.

At the same time, Gretchen said, “Fabulous!”

Gabe sat there.

“I’ll contact your office and set something up,” Gretchen pushed on.

“No need. I’m hiring Anna.”

Gretchen floundered for a moment, actual disbelief crossing her face, before she rallied. “If you’ll listen to my ideas, I’m sure you’ll change your mind. Besides my unique vision, I can also guarantee the project will cost less than what she will charge you. Up to thirty percent less.”

“Thirty percent?” Gabe snagged his cup, reached in front of Nora to pick up hers, then carried the pair of them to the sink. “Quite the price cut.” No wonder Gretchen had managed to poach Anna’s clients.

“I do good work, and I am serious about delivering it at a price my clients can afford.”

“Affording it isn’t a problem. Getting what I want, that’s what I’m focused on.”

“I can get you what you want.”

His gaze flickered to Nora and held. He said to Gretchen, “There’s one quick way to find out. If I asked you to redesign this kitchen, what’s the first thing that comes to mind? I’m thinking about the appliances, the breakfast bar.” He rapped his knuckles on the plain wood.

“Easy.” Gretchen straightened, sending a smug look at the nervous Anna. “I can see it now. The appliances? Chrome. Mood lighting, I’m thinking strip-based, either bright white or even a blue-white. The countertop? Granite. Black. High polish.”

As he’d thought. Gabe grinned. “Anna, you’re hired.”