Gabby smiles and raises a hand in greeting. “Nice to meet you both.”
They both nod, acknowledging her.
“That doesn’t explain how you two ended up here together,” I say, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.
Hadley shrugs. “When we walked out, we headed in the same direction. Again, we started talking and…here we are.” She shoots me a concerned look. “Something wrong?”
I shake my head. I’m just overwhelmed by the whirlwind that is Gabrielle Davenport.
“Ready to go grab a bite?” Zach asks Hadley.
She nods. “Ready. Remy?”
He walks towards them. Like me, Remy is single but the three of them are a tight group. “Let’s go get a table,” Remy says, then turns, glancing at me. “How do you two know each other?” He glances between Gabby and me, with a smirk on his lips.
As I try to find the best explanation, Gabby answers for me. “I had some…personal issues, came to the bar, got a little too drunk and Maddox was nice enough to let me sleep at his place. I can’tgo home yet, so again, he’s being such a gentleman letting me stay longer.”
Both Zach’s and Remy’s eyebrows shoot upward.
I’m not sure if it was her calling me a gentleman or the fact that I have this young spitfire living with me. Temporarily, I remind myself. “It isn’t for long, and she’s in Joe’s old room,” I say of my brother.
“Isn’t that what they all say?” Zach snickers, and Remy chuckles, enjoying putting me on the spot.
Hadley rolls her eyes. “I’m sorry they’re behaving like adolescents,” she says and turns her gaze to Gabby. “Congratulations again. You have my cell phone now. Call me and we’ll have lunch or drinks.”
“I’d love to!” Gabby smiles as the trio walks out the door, then she turns to me.
“Making friends, I see.”
She braces her hands on her hips, tipping her head to one side. “Do you have an issue with that?”
Do I have an issue with her making friends with my people? Becoming even more a part of my world? Getting a job around the corner?
I have no fucking clue. “Congratulations on the job,” I say instead of answering her.
“Thank you.” She blows out a long, obviously relieved breath. “I didn’t expect it, but I’m so excited. It’s something I got on my own. I wanted to be a docent at a museum but that didn’t happen.”
“Why not?” I can’t help but be curious about her.
She lifts her shoulders in a little shrug. “My parents, of course. I majored in art history and applied to the museums in Manhattan.” Her eyes sparkle as she speaks, the idea obviously a passion of hers.
“What did they do?” I ask of her parents, already angry on Gabby’s behalf.
“They interfered, what else? Both called their friends and contacts who are on the boards of the larger institutions. Everyone turned me down. One woman on the board of a smaller museum admitted she was afraid to lose my father’s yearly donation.”
Her dejected look doesn’t sit well with me. Nobody deserves to have their dreams undermined by people who are supposed to love them.
“I didn’t get one interview.” Her normally sweet disposition gives way to a frown, and she curls her hands into fists at her side. “I had straight A’s in my major. I paint and have taken classes for years, but do they care? Acknowledge my ability? No, they do not,” she says, clearly on a roll and not waiting for a reply. “They want me to be a stay-at-home wife, be active on charity boards, and host dinners for myhardworkinghusband.” She treats me to that cute wrinkle of her nose again. “As if I’d marry Mr. Grabby-hands.” Her face flushes, this time not from anything good.
The reminder of how Preston cornered her has my own hands curling into fists. I’m not frustrated, I’m furious. Given the chance, I’d introduce the man’s face to a wall and remind him what happens when he touches someone without consent.
I step forward and brace my hands on her shoulders. “Breathe, Gabby.” I unintentionally hit a nerve with my question, and I want to calm her. “Hey. Be proud of what youdidaccomplish, okay? Forget about the past and concentrate on the present and the good things happening for you.”
She nods, and when she glances up, I notice her eyes are wet.Shit.I hate when women cry. I grew up with a mom who never showed her sadness; she kept it hidden. I have a brother, not asister. And the women I’ve dated specialized more in fake tears than real ones.
Something about Gabby gets to me, though. Her genuine personality and the vulnerability she doesn’t hide shine through. I sense she’sreal.
And to a jaded guy like me, that trait is extremely appealing.
