Managed (VIP #2)(26)

“Shouldn’t that be the other way around?”

“Details.”

I smile, despite myself, and give his shoulder a nudge with my own. It’s like trying to move a brick wall.

Gabriel takes my sandwich again, and because I’m feeling generous, I leave him to it and take the other half instead. He finishes his side in two neat bites, then wipes his mouth with a napkin.

“Your parents are lovely, chatty girl.”

Warmth floods my chest. “Thank you. I miss them.”

He nods in empathy. “Do you not see them often? You talked before of living off ramen…”

“I love my parents,” I cut in. “And I see them when I can. But there’s also only so much I can take. They’re…slightly suffocating in their attempts to watch out for me.”

I lift my phone and scroll through pictures until I find the one I want. It’s an older one of me, smiling wide and pained as I sit between my parents on a couch. I hand it to Gabriel.

He studies the picture for a long moment. “You look a bit like both of them.”

“Yes.” I know this well. I have my mom’s dark brown eyes, cheeky smile, and pert nose. I have my dad’s bone structure and wavy, dark blond hair. I look down at Mom, her caramel colored hair stick straight. I’ve always wanted her hair too. “This picture is of me at my college graduation party.”

He quirks a brow, waiting for me to explain further.

I shake my head, my lips pursing. “It was a kegger. They were the only parents there.”

A short, shocked laugh bursts from him before he swallows it. “That explains your knickers-in-a-twist expression.”

“Ha. That expression was me plotting their untimely and slowly torturous deaths.”

He makes a noise of amusement.

“They’ve always been like that—really, really involved. Mom’s half Filipino, half Norwegian American. She used to bring me care packages: big trays of lumpia and lox.”

“Lumpia?”

“Filipino spring rolls, basically. Which are delicious. Paring them with lox? Not so much.” I make a face. “And then there’s Dad. This big, goofy, half Scottish American, half Armenian sociology professor. He used to tease me, calling me a UN baby while explaining the intricate paths of my heritage to bored friends.” I sigh. “So, they’re best taken in small doses.”

“You’re loved,” he says gently. “That’s a wonderful thing.”

“It is.” I look out over the wide stadium, watching the roadies pack up instruments as Kill John breaks for the day. “And that was also the problem. I didn’t want them to know I was failing. Or what I did to make a living. I wasn’t lying when I said I was ashamed of my work. It’s only within this past year that I’ve gotten back to wanting to see them, you know?”

Slowly he nods, a frown pulling at his mouth.

“I’m proud now,” I tell him quietly. “I love that Mom is a closet Kill John fan.”

“Shall I send your mom a signed picture of the band?” A gleam lights Gabriel’s eye.

“God, do not encourage her. Next thing you know, she’ll be here, and I’ll lose my mind.”

“It almost sounds worth it.”

“I’ll sic her on you,” I warn. “You’re much prettier than any of the guys. She’ll follow you around, plying you with food and pinching your butt when you’re not looking.”

“She’s married,” he says, as if that matters.

“And has a weakness for pretty men. Go figure,” I deadpan.

He makes a face. “Men aren’t pretty.”

“There are many types of pretty, sunshine.” I count them on my fingers. “Pretty girls, so cute and sweet. Pretty women, who are rarely prostitutes with hearts of gold, despite movie claims. Pretty boys, attractive but basically you just want to pinch their cheeks. And pretty men.” I give him a pointed look. “You know, the kind often mistaken for internationally renowned models—”

The rat bastard shoves the sandwich in my mouth. “Be a good chatty girl and eat up.”

I take a hard bite and slowly chew, my glare promising dire retribution. But inside, my blood feels like champagne in my veins, bubbling and fizzing with happiness. I’m having fun. Too much, because I don’t want it to end.

Perhaps he is too, because his pleased expression grows. He sits with me in companionable silence as I devour the rest my lunch and drink my water. When I’m done, he hands me a napkin and packs up the trash, stuffing it into the bag he brought it in. It’s all done so simply, neat and quiet. Nothing that would draw attention to the act. It’s as if he’s always taken care of me—no big deal, just part of his job.

And yet it’s all a lie. Gabriel Scott might know everything about everyone under his management, but to them he’s the unapproachable shadow in the corner of the room. He likes it that way. The fact that he’s taking care of me spreads warmth through my chest.

Before he can get away, I lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek. He flinches but looks at me through lowered lids as I ease away. “Thank you for lunch, Gabriel. I feel much better now.”

His gaze moves to my mouth, and my lips swell and part as if he’s licked them. He draws in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and the tip of his thumb finds the corner of my lip. The touch sizzles in a tight line straight to my sex. Everything there clenches, hot and sweet.