“You’re not taking one fucking step out of here alone!” Gabriel snapped suddenly. He looked nothing like the patient, easy-going guy that I had come to care for, but his mask of indifference had slipped for just a split second.
That moment was all I needed to see what was really lurking in the depths of his dark eyes.
He was afraid, I realized in a startled thought. Gabriel was terrified and scared out of his wits. Anger and rage warred in his wild eyes, and above that he felt helpless.
Gabriel cursed under his breath and got up and strode to the window, glaring outside angrily like he was an animal trapped in here.
“Lena, just listen to me this once,” he said. “Please.”
I got up and went over to him. Gabriel stiffened as I slid my arms around his waist and pressed myself to his back, wanting to comfort him like he had comforted me so many times before.
“You can't protect me from the world,” I said quietly. I breathed in his scent, trying to calm the both of us down.
Gabriel relaxed a little, but his voice was still stiff. “I’m still gonna try. I’ll give anything to keep you safe.” He turned around to pull me into his arms. “You’ll be at the mercy of America when the news breaks,” he said. “I’m gonna shield you from that. I have to.”
Because no one had protected him. I closed my eyes as Gabriel held me, letting his warmth envelop me.
“Last night when I heard you scream and I couldn't get to you,” Gabriel said quietly, “I thought I’d go out of my fucking mind. And when you went silent I thought I'd lost you just on the other side of that door. Do you know what that did to me?”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was just so desperate to take him down.”
“Lena, you gotta promise me you’ll never do something so dangerous again.
“I promise,” I said, quietly and firmly. “It was reckless, I know.” I paused. “But Gabriel, I can’t promise to be a prisoner. That’s not keeping me safe.”
“I know,” he exhaled. “I know, and I wish to hell there was some way I could guarantee your safety.” He pressed a hard, desperate kiss on the top of my head. “For what it’s worth, I contacted Agnes to get me to Jemima later this week.”
I looked up. “Agnes?”
“Jemima’s secretary.” He paused. “You'll need someone to protect you, and this will be bigger than the both of us. We’ll have to spring this on Gran though. She’ll not wanna meet with me for any reason at all.”
“Okay.” I loved how he said “us”, like we were in this together. “Do you think she’ll agree to help when she hears us out?”
“I’m not giving her a choice in this.” Gabriel glanced down to gauge my response. “This option is better than Kelly Rhoades, right?”
I nodded eagerly. “It is. It will make all the difference in my campaign. I mean, having the support of someone as influential as Jemima James?” My heart began to race. “This will be huge,” I said in wonder.
“New York is a one-party state for audio recording so we’re cleared on that, but it’s trickier when it comes to video.” Gabriel settled his weight against the windowsill and eased me to lean between his legs. His arms stayed tightly wrapped around me like a warm, safe blanket. “I talked to Berling when you were asleep last night, and he assures me that he’s in your corner for this.”
“Liam Berling?”
I hadn’t noticed him in the chaos last night. He was reputed to be a close associate of Theo Valentine, and just as morally gray. Cam and him did not get along, mainly because the Berling family also owned a hotel chain that was a rival of the Lancasters.
“I didn’t know he owns the property,” I said.
Gabriel exhaled. “Unfortunately for Kline, he does, and he’s fucking pissed about what happened on his grounds. He’s already filled the authorities in on what happened. We’re just waiting on you now, whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you,” I said, my heart feeling warm. It didn’t slip me how Gabriel always placed the ball back in my court.
“You'll need to lawyer up with the best attorneys though. Kline will have already contacted his, and even Berling’s getting his team ready for the fallout. Jemima can help you with that.”
I bit my lip. I was starting to see exactly how big this was going to get, but there was one thing that worried me.
“I’ll be going up against your father,” I said quietly. “Are you okay with that?”
Gabriel's eyes turned cold and dangerous at the mention of Jacob Kline, but he kept his voice casual. “What if I’m not? Will you stop your campaign?”
“No,” I frowned. “Of course not.”
“Good girl.” Gabriel eased me back to search my eyes.
“He's not my father,” he said, firm and quiet. “Not when he’s hurt so many people. Not when he hurt you.”
I got on my toes and pressed my lips to his, and Gabriel kissed me slowly for long moments.
“Let’s air all our skeletons,” he murmured as he broke the kiss to nuzzle the side of my neck. “I don’t want any more shocks like this one. Any more secrets you’re keeping?”
“Just one,” I breathed. He made it impossible to think with the way he was kissing a fire-trail down my neck. “But you first.”
“I have one, but it’s not just my secret to tell.”
“Then I think your secret is the same as mine.” I paused and waited until Gabriel looked at me again.
What was the best way to say this?
“I know about what happened,” I said carefully, “back when you were in high school.”
Gabriel went still. We both knew exactly what I was talking about—the murder of Horace Beckett, Allie and Karin’s father, and how Ryland, Theo, Cam and Gabriel had all been caught up in it.
“What do you know?” Gabriel said, his gaze sharp and alert. “Did Allie and Karin tell you?”
I didn’t blame him for his caution. This information could destroy not only him, but Ryland, Theo and Cam too.
I shook my head.
“I pieced it together,” I said quietly. “I found out that Theo Valentine was secretly at trial against his mother for her involvement with something confidential… And when I traced it backward, I found that you guys had all been caught up in it in high school.”
Gabriel searched my face watchfully. “Is there anyone else that can stumble upon this?”
“Not at all,” I assured him. “Theo is too thorough to leave trails, I just put two and two together. No one knows that I know either, and I’m going to keep it that way. You can trust me.”
Gabriel searched my face for a long moment, and I held his gaze, silently telling him that he had nothing to fear from me, that he could trust me with this dangerous secret.
Finally, he exhaled.
“I know,” he murmured ruefully. “You’re Lena Hastings, the bravest, smartest woman I ever met. I’d trust you with my life.”
A smile spread across my face. It felt freeing to know that now there was nothing hidden between Gabriel and me. We were finally on the same page.
It looked like Gabriel felt the same too, because he grinned back at me with the same roguishness that I had fallen in love with.
“Then will you trust me to keep myself safe?” I did my best to look contrite. “I‘ll be more careful from now on. Promise.”
Gabriel rubbed the back of his neck, giving the ceiling a mock long-suffering look. “Stop giving me puppy eyes, Mouse,” he sighed. “Playing dirty is not a good look for you.”
“Isn’t it, though?” I murmured.
Biting my lip, I reached down and dragged the hem of Gabriel’s t-shirt up my thighs and over my breasts, barely stifling a gasp as the fabric brushed against my nipples.
Gabriel’s dark eyes flashed dangerously and a growl came from the back of his throat as he lunged at me.
For the rest of the day I didn’t take a step out of his suite, just like he wanted.
So here we were at Westlea Studios on V
arick Street for the New York Spring/Summer Fashion Week. I parked my car three streets away from the venue because the place was just crawling with reporters.
Several other guests were already arriving as we got closer, and Lena and I had to duck and dodge our way via the side of the building to the back-entrance gate. Catering trucks were going in and out of the place, every single one of them checked by security.
The ingenuity of picking this particular event was starting to dawn on me. A fashion show meant there were many of Jemima’s friends around, so Jemima wouldn’t want to create a scene. And yet, it was exclusive enough that we could have a private place for conversation.
The only thing left to do now was getting in through that one-way door past the security guardhouse and across the loading dock.
Lucky me then, ‘cause I had an insider on the job.
“So,” I said as I pulled my baseball cap lower and tried not to look suspicious. “Are you ready to meet Queen James?”
“I just want this to be over,” Lena said, looking antsy.
She kicked listlessly at some fallen leaves from the cluster of trees we were hiding under. The afternoon light streamed through the leaves and danced on her hair which was tucked into a neat bun as usual.
It was still an hour before the show began, but knowing Jemima, it was likely that she was already here.
Lena wasn’t as chill as I was, and if I had to guess, she was already mentally flipping out about making a good impression on Jemima. She shifted from foot to foot restlessly, rubbing her arms even though it was hot as hell out here. The dress she wore—one I got for her at the store that night, a cute but professional looking navy number—made her look like a prim, proper reporter.
In other words, she looked fucking delicious.
“I’d lend you my jacket, but I don’t have it with me. Wanna borrow my arms instead?” I grinned and held them open to her like I was Christ the Redeemer.
“I’ll pass, but thank you,” Lena murmured, unsure if I was joking or not.
After another restless minute, she huffed and started rummaging around in her shoulder bag. She pulled out a small notepad, flipped the cover around and started going through the pages rapidly. Every tiny sheet of paper was covered in hasty, barely legible scrawls.
Huh. I’d have thought Lena Hastings was the kind of girl that had handwriting that looked like it came from a printer. Apparently not.
I craned my neck and tried to see. “What’s that?”
“I wrote down the main points of what I wanted to say to Jemima,” Lena said, flipping between her pages busily. “I have some sub-points too, but depending on her receptiveness, I might leave them out. And I’ve listed the pros and cons right here—”
A disbelieving laugh escaped me. “Dude, you prepared a proposal?”
Lena clutched her notebook self-consciously. “Is it too much?” She looked at the notebook in her hands, then back at me again. “But how else am I going to convince her?”
I shrugged a shoulder, bemused at how differently Lena’s and my brain worked. “By talking to her, I guess?”
Lena looked unconvinced. “I put out a story that embarrassed her grandson and by extension her barely a month ago,” she pointed out. “I don’t think she’ll look at me kindly.”
Knowing my grandmother’s fiery temperament and her tendency to bear grudges even decades later, she wouldn’t want to look at Lena at all.
But no point freaking Lena out with that tidbit.
“She’ll like you,” I said in a soothing tone. “Just keep your tone steady and low, and whatever you do, do not make eye contact for more than two seconds.”
“So treat her as I would an angry tigress,” Lena said, looking more glum by the second. “Got it.”
“It’ll be okay,” I said again, but damn if her worry wasn’t rubbing off on me.
“Do you think she’ll forgive you?”
“Sure,” I said, sounding more certain than I actually was. “Eventually.”
Lena chewed her lip. “What are you going to say to her?”
I thought about it for a moment. “I’ll apologize, that’s for sure, and maybe tug at her heartstrings a little. I’ll take it as it comes, I guess.”
“Wait.” Lena straightened in alarm, her eyes round behind her glasses. “You mean you didn’t prepare what you’re going to say?”
I shrugged. “She’s my gran, pretty sure I can handle her just fine.”
“She isn’t just “Gran,” she’s Jemima James.” Lena looked close to panicking. “What if you say something wrong, and she gets upset, and I don’t get the chance to meet her?”
“Hastings, I’m not about to write a fucking essay on talking points with my gran.”
“If you had before, maybe you wouldn’t have been cut off,” she countered.
I narrowed my eyes at her. “You’re the kid in class that reminds the teacher to assign homework, aren’t you?”
“I just think it’s better to be well-prepared.” Lena pointedly flipped to the next page in her notebook. “I guess I’ll have to be prepared enough for the two of us.”
“Whatever you say, Hermoine,” I grinned, but Lena was already poring through her notes, no doubt rehearsing her points for the hundredth time.
I sent out a quick text as Lena and I remained half-hidden in the shadows.
“Who’s that?” she asked curiously.
“An ally on the inside.”
A few minutes later an elder lady with dyed auburn curls hurried out the back door of the building and over to the guardhouse.
“That’s Agnes, Jemima’s companion-slash-assistant,” I told Lena as Agnes got the approval from the guy in the guardhouse and waved her hand at us impatiently.
“Let’s go.”
I took Lena’s hand and we quickly slipped through the loading bay, careful to avoid the trucks.
“She’s in her private room,” Agnes bustled as she led us up a dingy flight of stairs. “Just down the hallway. Rodarte starts in the main atrium in forty minutes, so you’ll have to make it quick.”
“Thanks for this, Aggy. How’s she?”
“Still snapping at anyone who so much as breathes in her direction.” Agnes turned briefly with a reproachful look. “You should have visited sooner. Jemima is furious, she is, and no wonder too.” She raised an eyebrow at Lena. “At both of you. She knows you’re the one behind that little article, young lady.”
Lena ducked her head, looking guilty.
We soon got to the staging rooms, and one of the doors held a paper printed with Jemima’s name in block letters, followed by the word “VVIP” below.
“Wait here,” Agnes whispered, “and I’ll return in a minute. We don’t want Jemima finding out I brought you here, I’ll never hear the end of it otherwise.”
She slipped through the door, shutting it gingerly behind her.
I turned to Lena. “I’ll go in first and prep Jemima, oil the gears so to speak, and after that you’ll come in with that proposal of yours. Sounds good?”
Lena tried to speak, but she seemed to have lost her voice. She settled for a nod instead, looking pale and wide-eyed.
I didn’t blame her. Meeting Queen James was a polarizing experience—you came away from it thinking you’d met either a goddess, or the devil.
I heard hasty footsteps approaching us from the other side of the door. Agnes’s faded red curls popped through the door. She nodded once at us, then she cleared her throat theatrically.
“Oh, my goodness!” she called loudly. “Look who’s here!”
I winced. Yeah, that was totally not suspicious at all.
“Wait here for me,” I whispered to Lena, who was so white she matched the paper of the notebook she was clutching.
I stepped into Jemima’s room, leaving the door ajar by an inch so Lena could listen in for her cue. The room was a prep area converted into a lounge, and Jemima sat in a velvet chaise that they no doubt brought in specially for her.
“Heya Gran.” I shoved my hands into my pockets. “It’s been a while.”
If Jemima was surprised to see me, she didn’t show it.
“Did you leave the door open again, Agnes?” she said imperiously, tapping her cigarette on a pewter ashtray by the chaise. “It seems that a fly has gotten in.”
“Real harsh, Gran. Look, I’m not here to ask for money.” I ignored her loud scoff. “I’m here on serious business, so will you just look at me for a second?”
“Kindly get someone to remedy this, Agnes. The buzzing is irritating me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine, you wanna play it this way, we’ll play it this way. Agnes, please tell Her Royal Highness that her least favorite grandson is here and wants to speak to her.”
Agnes’s bewildered stare bounced between Jemima and me like a ping pong ball.
I jerked my head towards my grandmother. “Go on, tell her.”
“Ma’am,” Agnes began, her eyes darting nervously. “Mr. Easton is, er, here to see you.”
“Is he, now?” Jemima frowned and cocked her head as if I weren’t standing right in front of her. “Well Agnes, please convey that I’m in no mood for his nonsense. I'm here for the show, which is starting in precisely forty-two minutes. Mr. Easton will leave immediately, or I’ll have security escort him out.”
“Do that, and I’ll kick up the biggest fucking row you’ve ever seen. You know I will. You said it yourself; embarrassing you is my best talent.”
Jemima said nothing, and I scowled when I realized she was still playing her game. “Tell her, Agnes.”
“Yes, Mr. Easton. Ma’am—”
“Tell Mr. Easton,” Jemima said at the top of her lungs, “that I refuse to be threatened in my own room—”
“For fuck’s sake Gran, can we just talk like normal human beings?”
Jemima pursed her lips into a tight stubborn line and kept her eyes at a spot past my head.
I grabbed a chair and set it down in front of her, sitting on it backwards.
“I’m here to apologize,” I said solemnly.
Jemima sniffed. “What on earth would you have to apologize about.”
I began to put on a wry smile, with just the right amount of self-deprecation, AKA my “apology face” as my younger brother Alex called it.
Charming (New York Heirs #3) Page 18