Cuffed by His Charm (Dirty Little Secrets 4)

“Business,” is his curt reply.

Which tells me wherever we’re going is the last place he wants to be right now.

Tense and unusually quiet, he stops in front of the elevator and swipes a key fob against the scanner. When the elevator doors begin to open, he glances sideways at me. “I apologize that coming here is necessary. I know you’d rather be at home, but I want you with me. This won’t take long.”

By the look of forced responsibility and definite irritation on his face, I take a guess where we are. “Is this O’Keefe’s headquarters?”

He nods and steps inside the elevator.

I follow him inside as he presses the button for the thirtieth floor. Now I’m taking a better look at my surroundings, realizing that I’m in Gabe’s baby. All his sweat, hard work, and endless late nights made this building what it is today. Sometimes I forget that Gabe isn’t like me. He not only comes from money, he is money. Hell, this fancy glass elevator currently shooting up to the top floor only reminds me just how different we are in this aspect.

“You do realize it’s Sunday, right?” I ask, trying not to let that thought run away with me too much. Too many reminders of how different we are can’t be a good thing. We have enough stacked against us. “Will anyone even be here?”

“No, and that’s the way I like it.”

I frown. “Why?”

“Because it’s quiet, and I’m not in the mess of things, so to speak.”

“Oh,” is all I can think to reply. I’m more fascinated by what I’m looking at as the elevator doors open. Suddenly, I feel like I’m in a different world. Up ahead, there’s a reception

ist desk. Behind that desk, there’s wood paneling that mirrors what Gabe has on the pub walls, and in the center of that wood paneling is the burgundy O’Keefe’s Pub logo with the gold Celtic knot.

In awe now, I follow Gabe as he leaves the elevator and turns right past the empty receptionist desk. Offices line the hallway as we make our way to the very end. Marketing, accounting, we pass each door with an employee name and their job title beneath. This is the brainchild of O’Keefe’s Pubs, and only now do I realize how badass Gabe’s business truly is.

He vanishes into the last corner office on the left, and as I enter, I notice brad morgan on the door. “Who’s Brad Morgan?” I ask.

“CEO of O’Keefe’s.”

I stop at the doorway and shake my head. “What? Aren’t you the CEO of your own company?”

“No, and yes, the answer for why I’m not the CEO is complicated.” He lowers down onto the white leather couch in the seating area, where there’s a pile of papers on the coffee table and a pen, clearly important documents that need Gabe’s attention.

Seeing Gabe begin to read the paperwork there, I take a quick look around the office, with the white leather chairs next to the couch, glass desk, and leather swivel chair, then I move to the floor to ceiling windows, with a view that drops my mouth open. For as long as I’ve lived in San Francisco, I’ve never seen a view like this. In photographs, yes. But not for real. The sun glistens off the high-rises; the street is busy below. It’s like a person could feel they own the world up here. “Wow,” is all I can think to say.

“It’s quite something, isn’t it?”

I glance over my shoulder at Gabe and nod. “That’s a little bit of an understatement, I think.”

His eyes are firmly glued on the paper he’s reading. I turn fully and lean my shoulder against the wall next to me, studying him, and laughter bubbles up.

Slowly, his head lifts, one eyebrow arches. “Something funny?”

“I’m sorry.” My mouth twitches. “But you look like a fish out of water here.”

Warmth slides over his expression, and he winks. “And that, Kenna, is what I like about you.”

“What do you mean?” I move to where he’s sitting and drop down into the chair kitty-corner to the couch.

“I don’t like this life.” He signs his name to two documents then addresses me again. “Office life. It’s never suited me.”

“Ah,” I say, now understanding. “So that’s what you meant by ‘complicated,’ and it’s why you don’t run your company yourself?”

“I do run the company,” he corrects. “I have complete control, and at the end of the day I approve all major ideas. But I trust Brad implicitly and he runs the day-to-day within the corporation.”

Back to business, he lowers his head again, reading a document before signing it. I examine him and pride suddenly warms cold parts in my soul. Gabe could be a powerhouse, and yet he works behind his bar because he loves it. “You’re pretty amazing.”

His head lifts, both his brows raise. “Am I?”