Visions (Cainsville 2)

CHAPTER EIGHT

Wednesday morning, I drove my newly acquired VW into Chicago for my first day working with Gabriel. His office is a greystone near Garfield Park. A beautiful old building in a respectable but not exactly prestigious neighborhood. I'd expected something flashier--the Jag version of a lawyer's office. He could afford that. So why the greystone? It meant something. With Gabriel, everything means something.

The problem with old Chicago neighborhoods is a distinct lack of parking. Gabriel gets the spot in the narrow lane between his building and the next. I was supposed to park on the street, but I got a call from Gabriel five minutes before I arrived. Apparently, the media had staked out his office hoping for a sound bite on my birth parents' case. I parked a few blocks away, and he picked me up.

There was indeed a news van in front of his building. Gabriel roared past and veered into the parking spot sharply enough to knock me against the door. He paused before pulling up, and glanced off to the left, down the road, as if he'd spotted something.

"There's something I need to do first," he said.

"Okay, let me out here. I'm sure Lydia--"

"You should come with me. We need to talk."

I sighed as the Jag roared back onto the road.

I twisted to face him. "Are you trying to give me whiplash my first day--?"

I caught sight of a familiar figure walking down the sidewalk.

"James?" I said.

Gabriel rammed the car into drive, and it lurched forward.

"Gabriel? Hold on. That's--"

"Reporters. Yes, I see them."

"No, it's James."

He frowned as if he had no idea what I was talking about, and it didn't matter that he still had his shades on and I couldn't see his eyes--I knew that's what he'd spotted a moment ago. James.

"Gabriel, stop the car."

He looked over at me. "Give me ten minutes, Olivia."

"What is going on?"

"Ten minutes. Please."

When I heard that "please," my stomach dropped. I opened the door. The pavement whizzed past.

"Olivia."

I reached for my seat belt. He hit the brakes.

"I can explain," he said.

"Explain what, Gabriel?" I could barely get the words out, my heart pounded so hard. "What have you done?"

I didn't wait for an answer. I got out of the car as James jogged toward us. Thirty years old. Blond hair. Trim, fit, and handsome. Dressed in a suit as expensive as Gabriel's.

James Morgan. My ex-fiance. We were supposed to get married this weekend, actually. I'd realized that yesterday, when my phone sent me a to-do list for the rehearsal party.

Gabriel pulled to the curb and was out of his car before James caught up.

"Liv . . ." James said.

Gabriel stepped up beside me. "If you've come to speak to me, you should have made an appointment." He turned to me. "Would you excuse us, Olivia?"