Managed (VIP 2)

A tremor goes through him, and his hand jerks. My breath hitches.

When he hangs up, everyone stares at him. The silence grows, and then he finally speaks. “All clear.”

I sob and throw myself into his arms. Around us, the guys and Brenna are talking, laughing—I’m not even sure. There’s only Gabriel for me at the moment, the sound of his pounding heart, the faint dampness of his shirt, and the scent of his cologne mixed with the sweat of his body.

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 ass 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 pissed. “So stop messing around.”

All the signs of an imminent blow up are rising in Gabriel: eyes going icy, cheeks flushing, 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 fuck’s sake. Laze around, eat good food, drink wine, fuck—”

“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, sunshine. 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.”

“Arse.”

“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 wishing 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.”