Gabe
I wake the next morning, sweat coating my skin and a deep headache throbbing in the back of my skull. I slide out of bed, my morning wood ready for action that’s so far from my mind. I glance down at McKenna sleeping on her side in my bed, a naked beauty, one smooth leg out of the dark gray duvet. After all she’s been through in the last twenty-four hours, the last thing I want to do is disturb her so I move to my walk-in closet and grab a pair of black cotton pants from the drawer then quietly leave the room, shutting the door behind me.
I move down the hallway, running a hand through my hair, and enter the kitchen, trying to get my mind right. I’ve made wrongs here that, while McKenna is overlooking them now because of her brother’s involvement in the tabloid scandal, she’ll remember one day. I can never forget that instead of kissing her slowly and passionately, embracing the way we fit together, I had tried to fuck her from my mind. I broke something beautiful between us, the start to the relationship we should have had, and I can’t let myself off the hook for that.
When I reach the sink, I set to brewing coffee. A thousand things are on my mind. As I watch the drips of coffee slowly descend into the pot, the haze begins to lift, my next steps become clear. Regardless that her brother has gotten his name on my short list of people I can live without, I need to be the good in her life, not the bad. No matter what, that has to be my sole focus. Always.
Determined to do exactly that, I turn to the counter next to me and grab my cellphone. There are no calls from Ryder, and I’m not sure if that’s a good sign or not. A quick look at the clock tells it’s a little past nine in the morning. Perhaps Ryder’s holding off dropping a harsh dose of reality on us or he’s still sleeping.
Keeping on point, I scroll through my contacts, finding the name of a longtime O’Keefe’s bartender, and I click call.
Joe answers on the third ring. “What’s wrong?” he asks, voice tight.
I snort a laugh, moving to the cupboard next to the fridge, taking out a mug. “How do you know something’s wrong?”
“It’s a Saturday and you’re awake before eleven.”
I grab the coffeepot and fill my mug to the rim. “Touché.” And it’s probably why my eyelids are heavy and my body sluggish. “Listen,” I say to Joe, refocusing the conversation on point. “I need you to handle the pub for the next few days. Feel free to bring in a couple of the waitresses and another bartender to help while I’m gone.”
“Sure, no probs,” Joe replies. “I’ll call McKenna.”
I pause and choose my words carefully. “I’m afraid that you’ll need to find someone else. She’s got a personal matter going on that will keep her away for the next week or so, and I’ve got business downtown that I’m dealing with.” The last thing I need is more gossip in the pub. “If you need me, I’m a call away. All right?”
“Totally fine, boss.”
“Thank you, Joe.” I end the call, having no doubt that Joe will handle things in my absence.
When I had started up the first O’Keefe’s Pub here in San Francisco, I’d hired him as head bartender. While I’d been busy opening ten more pubs across North America, he’d run the show back home. He’d likely still be the face of O’Keefe’s if I hadn’t realized I hated white-collar life. Instead of running my multi-million-dollar company, I got the hell out of there, hiring a CEO in my place, and found myself back behind the bar where I belonged.
I lift the mug to my mouth and take a sip of the hot brew, swallowing the strong bitter coffee, and glance toward the hallway leading to my bedroom. There’s no movement or sound coming from the room to indicate that McKenna is up. I consider taking her a cup of coffee and waking her, but with all that I learned about her, instinctively I want her to rest. I also want to protect her, especially from her dipshit brother.
Just as I take another sip of coffee, my cellphone rings again. I grab it off the counter and lift it up, seeing it’s Ryder. “Good morning,” I answer.
“Mornin’,” he replies, a hint of tiredness in his tone. “We’ve got some things to discuss, but first, have you caught this morning’s tabloid?”
“No. Why?”
Ryder pauses. When he speaks again, his voice is grim. “Be warned, you’re not going to be happy.”
Imagining the absolute worst, I place
the call on speakerphone and open the web browser, navigating to the Gotcha! website. “Fuck,” I growl, staring down at the screen, realizing the truth is far worse than my imagination.
gabe o’keefe’s latest sex slave? Bothers me. Oh, shit does it bother me. But it’s what is beneath that line that makes me see red. They’ve printed a photograph of McKenna and me exiting my car last night when we arrived back at my apartment. Earlier I felt protective over her, now that need is raging inside me. “Do you think that her brother took this picture?” I ask Ryder, keeping him on speakerphone.
“I wondered the same thing myself,” he replies, “and to be honest, I’m not sure. You’ll have to dig a bit more with her to find out if her brother’s that much of a dick, but I find it hard to believe that any brother would sell out the sister who clearly loves him to the tabloids.”
“I agree,” I tell him. “It’s one thing to print my picture, but something else entirely to print hers.” I consider what I’ve heard of Evan from McKenna, and I wouldn’t put it past him. I ask Ryder, “But what are the chances it could be a random paparazzo following me?”
“Actually, I think those chances are pretty high,” Ryder explains. “You’re now the focus of the tabloid. Let’s say your stories are selling magazines or they’ve seen an uptick in their website hits, your pictures would come at a high price. The chance it could be a random paparazzo is not unlikely. Sadly, until we find her brother, we won’t know for sure.”
I sigh heavily at the thought that now I have more photographers following me. In the silence of my mind it’s almost comical. The truth is, in the past I loved the attention. I purposely sought it out and attended events that I knew would have media presence. If women loved me, they came to my pub, and that brought money to my business. My status as a ladies’ man was part of my success. But I’d always done my best to keep my truth out of the tabloids. I didn’t mind them telling lies that gave good attention to my pubs, but the truth about who I fucked and how I fucked them was none of their goddamn business.
Some things the world doesn’t need to know, nor does my mother. I’d already had to explain to her and my father, who live in Delaware, that the original story about me owning a sex club was fake news. I never like lying to my mother, but she’s a proud woman and this knowledge would be too much for her.
The world feels like it’s pressing down on me, with responsibilities piling up, when Ryder says, “I’ll keep an eye on what pictures are being printed about you, but honestly, if you pay attention I think you’ll notice photographers following you. Just be cautious and aware of what you do and when you do it.”
Don’t screw near a window is what he’s basically telling me. “I understand,” I say, hating the shitshow my life has become. “What else do you need to tell me?”