by Gina Whitney
It was 9 a.m. and I had just left Abel at the coffee shop. Even though I had just seen him, my hands already longed to touch him. Would I never get enough of this man?
At work, I was hyper and could barely sit at my desk, when Mr. Gunner buzzed me into his office. I turned to Cindy who shrugged. I grabbed my open court files, a yellow legal pad, and off I went.
“Mr. Gunner?” I asked, knocking.
“Come in, Gia. Close the door behind you,” he said, in a monotone voice. Hmm, usually he was a bit friendlier than this. He wore no smile as he nodded for me to have a seat. “How long have you worked for me?” he asked, folding his hands across his desk.
I absently placed the files on his desk. “A year and eight months or so,” I answered, biting my bottom lip. What was he getting at? Pensively, I sat up a little straighter. Had I done something wrong? Was I going to lose my job? Oh, God, no …
“When you applied for the position at this firm, did you know who my son was?” he grilled, glaring at me. Oh, my God. He knew. Somehow, he fucking knew. I needed to think quickly. I started picking my cuticles nervously and scratching my arms, which suddenly itched. It was a reflex: his tone of voice was familiar—it was the same as Medusa’s. And I was allergic to Medusa. Her loveless demands caused my body to break out in hives. My breathing became labored.
“Everybody knows your son, Mr. Gunner,” I retorted, a little too quickly. “He’s a celebrity, the front man for Lethal Abel.” He began thumping his fingers on his desk. I watched him watching me. What. In. The. Fuck.
“Did you apply for this job for the sole reason of meeting my son? Did you use this job as a stepping stone for social advancement?” He continued to thump me, mockingly. One breath in. One breath out. The room started to blur on the outer edges of my vision. I began fanning myself with one of the folders in front of me. I needed air. I needed to get the fuck out of there. However, I really needed to quell the situation.
“Is your mother’s name Eva?” he asked abruptly, standing. He walked over to his credenza, pulling out his checkbook. He returned to his desk chair. Please. Please. Please. Let this not be happening. I was robbed of coherent speech. All I could muster was a few lame stammers.
“Mr. Gunner, Sir. I’d like to …” I stuttered. He interrupted me mid-answer.
He flipped through the pages of his checkbook until a blank check appeared. “I’m prepared to offer you … let’s call it a preemptive settlement.” He signed the bottom of the check, then looked up at me.
Everything was in slow-mo: the sweat dripping down my face, my fingernails scratching my arms—even the ticking of his analog wall clock. It felt like my life was spiraling out of control: it was a vein ripped open by my boss, Abel’s father, Mr. Gunner. I needed to stop the bleeding, before I lost Abel in the hemorrhage. Massaging my throbbing temples, I tried to respond, but he interrupted me again.
“Before you speak, I want to tell you: I’m prepared to give you a handsome sum of money. In return, you will leave my employment and my son.” He wrote the check out to Cash. Wait a goddamned minute, I thought. I wasn’t going to sit here and let him pay me off.
“That’s not necessary, Mr. Gunner,” I informed him, as I rose to my feet and stuck my chin up. “What I mean to say is … I’m in love with your son. There’s no amount of money you could offer me that would make me walk away from him. I do not speak to my mother anymore. She’s an opportunistic social climber. I am not. I resent that you’ve muddled the two.”
I walked over to the window, taking in the picturesque mountain view. I was on a roll. And it felt good. Damn good. Now to hammer my point home. Fuck it. “If you feel it necessary to assume the worst about people, that’s a character flaw you’ll have to deal with. I do not. If my employment’s terminated because of a wicked tactless abusive parent who wishes me nothing but harm … then I guess you have yourself a lawsuit,” I said, with a cold, unforgiving edge.
I needed to stand my ground or I’d continue to be stepped on by the likes of the Timothy Gunners of this world. I hadn’t thought about what I was going to do about my back-stabbing mother. She’d have to be dealt with. But I wanted Abel, I deserved him; I would die without him. No more would I allow my mother to put me on a guilt trip and make me feel obliged to take care of her, at my expense. I realized I owed her nothing.
And so I made my decision right there in this office. Now it was time to execute it, to find my courage, to live in the moment and stand up to Medusa. I had been ignoring her phone calls, texts, and warnings. I decided I would not live like this anymore. I would fight to the ends of the earth for my love.
He extended his hand. “I want to thank you for that, Ms. Mastro. And I want to apologize. Our family can never be too careful. With what has gone on with Morgana, I felt I had to do something to protect Abel. My sincerest apologies. However, I’m not sure he deserves you. He’s a lucky man to have a fierce, beautiful woman in his corner. You may not have the desired pedigree, but sometimes it’s not everything. Loyalty is very hard to come by.”
He moved to shake my hand, and I responded in kind. My head was still spinning from this turn of events. While I couldn’t make any excuses for Mr. Gunner’s behavior, I wondered if Abel even knew how much his father loved him and sought to protect him. From the way he had spoken of him, I thought not. I resolved I would tell him what a protective father he had, and how thankful he should be: the alternative was having a parent like Medusa. And that wasn’t so much an alternative as it was a cross no child should have to bear.
“Abel would certainly want to know how much you care,” I said, picking up my files and pad. “It’s my impression he thinks you don’t. It might give him great comfort to know otherwise, Sir.”
That, Mr. Gunner was not on board with. “I have to insist this conversation remain between us, Gia. He wouldn’t see it that way. I know my son. We do not see eye-to-eye on most things. Can you promise to keep this just between us? I can’t afford to lose any more of him,” he said, pouring a glass of water and handing it to me.
So I acquiesced. “I understand. Sometimes secrets are kept because we love the person. In the name of love, I’ll agree to keep this between us. However, I do hope this is the end of your little tests.”
I swallowed that much-needed water. Christ, I was parched. Placing my glass down on the bar, I obtained his assurances that this would be the last of his trickery. But I was still curious. So I asked. “By the way, why did you think I was running a game on your son? Why would you think that? Where would you get that idea? I never gave you a reason to distrust me,” I insisted, as I began to make my way to the door.
“Very simply: a file found its way atop my car windshield. It was a folder with all your family’s personal information: your mother’s past failed marriages to men with money—along with their detailed allegations of her intent. It clearly underlined what your intentions were. You were photographed coming out of her house, leaving none too happy, by the looks of the expression on your face. I’m a lawyer, Gia. It didn’t take much effort to put it all together,” he stated flatly.
Huh? A file with my personal information? Who would have a file on me? To gain what? He moved to his briefcase, retrieving said file. Then he walked over to the shredder and shredded it. Fuck. I wanted to have a look. Maybe than I could decipher who was behind this.
I stopped, with my hand on the door knob. “Thank you, Mr. Gunner. Abel’s very lucky to have you in his corner.”
Then I walked out, closing the door behind me. Whew! I walked to my desk and took a few sips of my now-cold coffee. But it was all I had left of him from this morning.
“So? What did douchbag want?” Cindy whispered, leaning over her desk and snapping her gum. Fuck, she chewed like a cow. What could I say? The truth? I could trust Cindy, that much I knew. But there were some things she’d be better off not knowing. And this was one of them.
“He just wanted to discuss billing the last case out. Wanted to make sure hi
s hours matched mine.” I shrugged, blowing it off. Hopefully, she’d let it go.
“I have his hours.” She held up the ledger. It was a quick rebound, I had to give her that.
“Got any more gum? I need to chew. You know when you just need to chew? Well, that’s what’s going on right now.” I shook my head. She smiled, reaching into her purse.
“I sure do,” she said, snapping her gum again. “That’s exactly how I felt this morning. All this fucking nervous energy. I’m all frustrated and shit. Got to chew it off.” Her eyes widened in agreement. Did I know my bestie, or what?
The day went by quickly, with the summer sun turning the sky a fiery orange as it set. I didn’t see Mr. Gunner for the rest of the day—which suited me just fine. Cindy was meeting Woody for dinner and drinks. She ran home to change quickly. Abel was picking me up, since he had dropped me off this morning. It was rare that I slept at my apartment these days. We weren’t officially living together, but I mostly stayed with him at his place.
I walked Cindy out to her car and waited under the canopy. I wondered what ride he’d pick me up in today. Dark storm clouds rolled in, chilling the air. I stepped further back under the awning once the thunder began to boom in the distance. I loved to experience a good summer storm while indoors—but not while outside in the elements. I looked at my Cartier wristwatch, checking the time. I loved and hated my watch. The watch itself was beautifully timeless. But the bearer of said gift had only given it to me so it would look like we had money. We did not have the kind of money to buy this watch outright. It had been purchased on credit—as most everything we owned had been.
The wind picked up, blowing a white paper bag past me. It swirled and tumbled across the pavement weightlessly. That bag didn’t have a care in the world. It was so light, so carefree, blowing this way and that … How I envied that bag. It’s funny how certain symbols make themselves known to you when you least expect it. A simple empty paper bag can hit the deepest, darkest corners of your soul. To spend the day floating, barely touching the ground, was a beautiful dream. I was content on daydreaming until Abel came. So much so, I didn’t hear the dark-windowed town-car pull up. I pulled my messenger back in front of me, using it as a shield. The window rolled down as a dark shadow moved towards the light of day. Medusa.
“Still daydreaming, little Gia? How many times do I have to remind you that daydreams don’t put money in the bank? They don’t get you into the country clubs—and they certainly don’t put diamonds on your neck.” She snarled at me, lighting a cigarette and blowing billows of smoke out the window. I stepped back, wide-eyed. Where was Abel? Of all times for him to be late! However, I did not want Medusa meeting him, sticking her arthritic fingers in my business where they didn’t belong.
“Mother,” I huffed, my chest tightening. “We had an agreement you wouldn’t come to my place of work.”
Tears burned my eyes. It always came down to this between us: she reduced me to an adolescent within seconds. “Please leave. I have plans. I can’t do this with you now. Please. You’ll ruin everything. Is that what you want?” I whined. Maybe if I appealed to her scheming side, she’d agree to go. I’d promise her anything right now.
“Oh, now I’m Mother?” she cackled. “How dare you ask me to leave. I’ll leave when I’m goddamned ready to and not a minute sooner. I’m the boss here. You have no power with me. I have the power,” she said, drawing a deep drag of smoke into her lungs. Then she let it out in a huff.
I needed to get rid of her. “You’re right, Mother. I’m sorry I haven’t responded to your calls or texts. Can I swing by tomorrow? I’ll bring your favorite wine.” I’d say anything right now to placate her. She reeked of alcohol and was clearly inebriated.
She guffawed, taking another drag of her cigarette. “Swing by?” She flicked her cigarette at me. “You mark my words. If you don’t come by tomorrow, Gia, you will be in a world of pain. I promise you that. Remember who you’re dealing with. You can’t bullshit a bull-shitter.”
And then the car rolled away. Good God. I palmed my eyeballs, trying to relieve some of the pressure, half-afraid I was going to have a heart attack or a brain aneurysm. And the way I was feeling, that was pretty much wishful thinking on my part.
A beep of a car horn had me jumping out of my skin. Abel! He pulled up in a triple black-on-black vintage Porsche. He jumped out, grabbing my messenger bag and throwing it in the back seat, before wrapping me in a smoldering kiss.
“Umm, Beauty. I’ve missed you.” His strong arms embraced my nervous energy, settling me right down. I could breathe again. I nestled under his chin, hugging him back. His lips found their way to his favorite spot—my collarbone. I shivered as a chill chased up my spine.
“You cold, babe? Get in: I’ll turn on the heat.” He opened the car door for me. I was cold without his warmth. But it was so much more than that, so much fucking more …
“It’s just the dampness,” I said, pointing to the sky. “The storm put a chill into me while I was waiting for you.”
He frowned thoughtfully. “My bad, Beauty. I just had this car delivered from L.A. on the transporter. I shipped it out here for you.”
“For me?” I asked, trying to decipher his meaning.
“Yes for you, my Beauty. It’s my first car I bought when we the band hit it big. I bought it with my own money. So it means something to me. It has more than equitable worth.” He beat his chest with his fist. “It means something in here.” He smiled. “It’s a 1963 Porsche 356B convertible. Whatcha think?”
He beamed over at me. What did I think? It was fucking awesome and suited him perfectly. The car was immaculate. It had to cost more than I made in two or three years, at least—maybe more.
“It’s all you, baby. All you. This car screams sexy rock star.” I laughed, looking around the interior. The car was a cream puff, worthy of it driver.
“I’m glad you approve.” He reached for my hand. “I had it shipped for you. I want you to drive it,” he said, kissing my hand.
“Wait. What?” I asked, thinking I had heard him wrong.
“You heard right, babe. It yours.” He chuckled at my stunned expression.
I screamed. “Mine? No fucking way, Abel! You can’t go giving classic cars away. Who does that?” I was still confused. Was he serious or was this another test? It wouldn’t have surprised me if it was, with the kind of day I had had.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want, Gia. Now, get in the driver’s seat and drive your new car,” he said, getting out and opening my door. He walked me around the front of the Porsche, shining the emblem as we passed. His eyebrows furrowed. Was he pissed? Fuck. I hadn’t meant to aggravate him, or to sound ungrateful. However, this was all just too much. I’d never been given anything of this magnitude—and certainly not from a boyfriend. I wasn’t even sure how to respond. I didn’t do feelings. In fact, I couldn’t remember a day in my life when I felt joyful and elated apart from Abel. The sides of my stomach and behind my ears itched: this was my anxiety’s way of reminding me who owned me.
I sat down in the driver’s seat. He adjusted the seat forward with the back rest reclined slightly, then buckled the seat belt into place. He kissed my forehead, lingering there for a few seconds. I scanned the dashboard: nothing looked familiar to me. This was not my Honda Accord. Although my car was fairly new, this car was older than the both of us, and yet somehow today’s technology paled in comparison. Thank God, I knew how to drive a manual transmission. I didn’t want to seem not only ungrateful, but moronic as well.
I released the emergency break and shifted into first gear, slowly making a U-turn out of the parking lot. A silver Mercedes sedan caught my eye. The woman in front had binoculars. The gentleman next to her was holding a camera with a huge lens. The driver smirked. Morgana.
Chapter 14
Abel
I was perplexed by Gia’s reticent posture when I had hugged her. Something was wrong with my girl—and it wasn’t just that she was
pissed because I was late picking her up. She hadn’t seemed especially enthusiastic about the car, either. Most girls would have jumped for joy, and then gone down on their knees to show my cock their gratitude.
Either way, I’d get to the bottom of it. I had my own secrets. Eventually, she’d trust me enough to tell me, or the relationship would just end. I hoped it didn’t turn out the latter way. My hope was that she’d take an extended leave from her job—which I fully intended to pressure my father into approving. It was the least he could do, to make up for his intrusive, unloving, and cold nature. He would always justify his behavior by saying he was doing it for the family. Fucking yeah, right.
But this afternoon, I had a surprise for my Beauty. We were meeting Woody and Cindy for dinner and drinks at the local bar where our band got its first break. Band Aid Showcase was a meet-and-greet location for up-and-coming bands, frequented by record reps, talent agents, and a whole lot of adoring fans.
I rested my hand on her thigh, rubbing the denim of her blue jeans. Just being near her and inhaling her intoxicating scent got me hard as fuck—especially when she was turned on like she was now. Her arousal filled the air. Thank God the top was down. If we had been in an enclosed space. I would’ve had to fuck her, no doubt about it.
At the light, she leaned over, placing a kiss on my cheek. “What was that for, Beauty?” I asked, bringing her hand to my lips.
“Just because you’re you.” She smiled. “You make me happy.” And then she beamed. It felt fucking good. It felt right.
“Have you given any thought to coming on tour?” I asked, wondering if it was even possible she’d say yes. I was losing my mind thinking about leaving her behind. I’d sweeten the pot anyway I could to convince her.
“No. But I will say I’m seriously considering it. I really want to go. I have some savings. It’s not much. But I should be okay,” she elaborated. My heart rejoiced, but I also felt hurt by the fact that she thought I wouldn’t take care of her. She didn’t need money. She’d go as my … my what? My girlfriend. There, I said it. She’d go as my girlfriend. And my girlfriend wouldn’t want for a thing.