Managed: A VIP Novel Part 35

He holds me so tightly, my ribs ache. But the hug is over soon, and he sets me away and stalks over to the window. He doesn't fool me. I see the sheen of sweat on his brow and the way his hand trembles before he tucks it into his pocket.

Jax speaks up first. "That settles it, then. You're taking a vacation."

Gabriel doesn't bother looking our way. "No."

"Ah, yeah you are," Killian snaps. "And if you say no again, I swear I'll clock you one. I don't care if you can kick my a.s.s or not."

Gabriel snorts and turns to face us, his cold mask firmly back in place. "I do not need-"

"Stern literally said you need a vacation, Scottie," Whip cuts in, looking p.i.s.sed. "So stop messing around."

All the signs of an imminent blow up are rising in Gabriel: eyes going icy, cheeks flus.h.i.+ng, nostrils flaring. But his voice remains calm. "There's too much to do."

"Jules can handle it." Brenna gives a firm nod. "You told me yourself she's getting on well. And everything is set, so all she needs to do is steer the boat, so to speak."

His eyes narrow. "Yes, thank you for that observation, Brenna."

"You're welcome."

With a huff, he tugs at his cuffs. "Go on holiday. It's absurd. Where would I even go?"

Rye laughs without humor. "You're in Italy, for f.u.c.k's sake. Laze around, eat good food, drink wine, f.u.c.k-"

"Do not finish that statement, Ryland." Gabriel's stare is suppressive.

Rye shrugs. "You get my point."

"I think it's a great idea." I pipe up.

Oh, but Gabriel looks at me as though I'm the worst traitor. I move closer and put my hand on his forearm. It's like rock beneath his jacket. "Come on, suns.h.i.+ne. You've got the all clear. Let's celebrate life, laze around like Rye suggests, and..." I grin wide. "Eat. We'll hole up in the room, just you and me."

"Nah." Jax shakes his head. "He'll find a way to slink off and work."

Whip nods. "Truth."

"See?" Gabriel gestures toward them. "It is agreed."

"Go to your villa," Killian says, firmly.

"You have a villa?" I picture wineries and rolling Tuscan hills.

Gabriel's jaw bunches. "On the coast. In Positano." He glares at Killian. "But it's all closed up."

"You can have it aired out with a call. Come on, man, try a little harder with your protests."

"a.r.s.e."

"It must be beautiful," I say. With Gabriel's sense of style, it's probably perfect.

"We wouldn't know," Rye says with a dramatic sigh. "He never invites us anywhere."

"Because I work, you git."

Rye waggles his brows. "I bet you'd take Sophie."

If looks could kill. "Sophie has to work too."

Hurt makes my voice small. "You don't want me to see your villa?"

Gabriel's brows lift. "What? No. My home is your home, Sophie. I thought you knew that much."

I smile at the tender reproach in his voice.

"Or take her to one of your other houses," Jax puts in.

"How many houses do you have," I ask, because, really?

Gabriel glances away. "Five."

Every time I feel I've finally got to know all there is about this man, he surprises me with more. "Where?"

With a long-suffering sigh, he answers. "The flat in New York. The townhouse in London. A flat in Paris."

"The lodge in St. Moritz," Brenna adds.

"The villa in Positano," Rye reminds us.

Gabriel's gaze darts around, glaring, as if he can't figure out how to stop them all from speaking but is dearly wis.h.i.+ng he could.

"And didn't you buy a place in Ireland last year?" Jax asks.

"Right," Killian snaps his fingers. "That little cottage in County Clare."

"Near my place," Whip says with a grin. "By the Cliffs of Insanity."

"They are the Cliffs of Moher," Gabriel says with a grimace. "Christ, you're half Irish. Know your country."

"Dude, whatever, the Cliffs of Insanity sounds way cooler."

"So that's six homes," says Libby, who has been quiet this whole time.

"Great gravy," I mutter. I rent my place, and it is literally the size of a walk-in closet.

The difference between our stations is staggering, and yet I can't see him as anything other than mine.

Gabriel ducks his head and shrugs. "Property makes for a good investment."

Jax saunters over and puts an arm around my shoulders. "Sophie girl, you don't know the half of it. Scottie is a genius with money. Our boy here is solely responsible for all of us being obscenely rich, as opposed to mostly rich. Seriously, stick with him."

I roll my eyes. "I'd stick with him if he was a pauper."

Gabriel looks up and a quiet smile softens the hard edges of his expression. I return it, my heart beating a little faster. Relief that he isn't terminally ill weakens my knees, and the lump has returned to my throat.

I will stay by his side in sickness, in health, the whole deal. Yet I'm so very glad that he's safe, my voice comes out thick and husky. "Given that Positano is the only place we wouldn't have to fly to, I vote we go there."

His eyes search mine for a long moment. "Do you truly want to go?"

I could give him a hard time about trying to p.a.w.n this off as doing me a favor, but there's something to be said for picking your battles. So I nod and give him the puppy eyes.

"Do this for me? Please, suns.h.i.+ne?"

He sighs, and his shoulders lower from their defensive stance. "All right, chatty girl. You win."

"Awesome," Jax says, lifting his hand for a high five.

Gabriel doesn't move.

"Always leaving me hanging." Jax shakes his head.

"Just one thing." Killian rises from his seat to face Gabriel. "You're leaving your phone with Brenna."

"What?" Gabriel snaps. "Absolutely not."

Killian holds out his hand. "Give it up, Scott, and n.o.body gets hurt."

"Over my beaten and b.l.o.o.d.y body."

The guys all stand, and Rye rolls his head, setting off a dozen cracks in his neck. "Fellas," he says, flexing his hands, "let's do this."

And they do. They actually jump him.

The scuffle is a loud, curse-filled tangle of flailing limbs and grappling men.

It ends with a b.l.o.o.d.y lip for Rye, a poked eye for Jax, Killian without a s.h.i.+rt, Whip without a shoe, and Gabriel on the floor, suit rumpled and his precious phone spirited away by Brenna, who can run surprisingly fast in her heels.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.ds," he mutters as they file out the door.

"It's for your own good," Killian says.

"We love you too, Scottie boy," Jax calls.

I kneel and kiss a scuff mark on Gabriel's forehead. "Poor baby. I'll make it better. I promise."

He does not look appeased, but his lip quirks. "I'll hold you to that."

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Sophie

Gabriel has something to pick up for our trip, and he's gone when I wake. He's left me a note that says I should be ready to go by nine. Mother hen that he is, he also set my phone alarm for seven, something I b.i.t.c.h about for a good ten minutes as I b.u.mble my way into a hot shower.

As it nears eight, room service arrives with cappuccino and a little bowl of extra creamy, ridiculously thick yogurt, topped with roasted hazelnuts and drizzled in golden honey. It's not something I'd have thought to try, but I sc.r.a.pe up every little bit clinging to the gla.s.s bowl.

Determination steels my spine. I'm supposed to be taking care of Gabriel, helping him relax, and here he is pampering me, arranging every step of my morning without even being present. I cannot let myself forget that I'm contending with a professional manager of people's lives. I need to step up my game.

I'm not remotely surprised when a bellhop arrives at eight forty-five to take my bags and escort me down to the lobby. Mr. Scott, he tells me, is waiting.

Wry amus.e.m.e.nt puts a bounce in my step as I walk through the lobby. Were I someone into high fas.h.i.+on, my heels would be clicking on the marble. But I'm in white flip-flops and a red, cotton eyelet sundress. Gabriel has warned that it will take about four hours to get to Positano, and I intend on being comfortable.

The bellhop leads me out to the front drive, and my steps slow as I catch sight of Gabriel waiting for me.

"Oh, f.u.c.k me," I blurt out.

At my side, the bellhop makes a gurgled sound of shock. I'm too busy staring at my man to care.

Dressed in a crisp white polo s.h.i.+rt, which shows off the deep gold of his skin and stretches around the bulge of his biceps, and slouchy, gray slacks that highlight the narrowness of his hips and drape over his thick thighs, he leans against a red Ferrari, his hands tucked into his pockets.

Move over Jake Ryan.

When Gabriel smiles-a full one, complete with that cute dimple on his left cheek, the corners of his eyes crinkling in joy-I'm tempted to look around before mouthing, "Who me?"

But I don't do that. I run to him like a loon. He catches me with a soft oof and wraps me up in his arms as I kiss his cheeks, the corner of his eye, the edge of his jaw. Chuckling, he captures my mouth and gives me a proper kiss.

He tastes faintly of tea. His body is warm and solid, and he is mine.

I give his lip one last nibble before pulling back. "s.e.xy beast, you're going to melt me on the spot one day, you know."

He gives the tip of my nose a quick kiss. "If you're taking requests, I prefer that you melt on my mouth."

"Sweet talker." I glance at the car, truly taking it in now that I've had my Gabriel fix. "Holy s.h.i.+t, that's a Ferrari 488GTB Spider."