His warm eyes suck me in, so much emotion, so much good in them. “Can you just imagine what their next story will be?” I ask. “Think about it. They always need to up their game, and they’ve already gone to a bad place. We cannot let the tabloid ruin your reputation.”
Suddenly, his expression changes, warming a little with the curve of his mouth. “Are you protecting me, love?”
“I care about you.” I finally say that aloud for both of us to hear and accept. “I care about you a lot, and I refuse to be a part of the thing that’s destroying your public image.”
He pauses. Then, “What do you propose we do?”
“We don’t go out in public together.”
His body stiffens again, eyes slowly narrow on me. “I can’t hide from the tabloids. They will always look for a story.”
“Then we don’t give them one.”
Another pause, while he’s studying me again with his intense eyes. “While I appreciate you looking out for me,” he eventually says, “and you know that I care about you, too, I can’t allow the tabloids to have me running in fear. I will face the stories that come out, and if I need to deal with them publicly, I will do that.”
“I know that you will,” I counter, “but I can choose not to be a part of those stories. That’s my choice.”
He huffs, clearly frustrated, crossing his arms. “What exactly do you think that will accomplish?”
I need to win this fight, that much I believe. I’m in the right. “It will stop the stories from coming out,” I explain gently, not allowing him to shut this conversation down. “They will have no ammo against you.”
He adamantly shakes his head. “It won’t change anything. All it will do is change what the stories are about.”
“Exactly.” I rest my hands on his crossed arms, feeling the tension beneath them. “But at least the stories won’t be about me. I can’t be responsible for seeing you dragged through the mud.” I pause, then let my emotions free, spilling my heart out for him to see. “I can’t do that to you anymore.”
He draws in another long, deep breath, letting it out slowly through his nose, clearly considering me. “I don’t like the thought of hiding,” he finally says.
“We’re not necessarily hiding.” I pull away his crossed arms, and he lets me so I can tangle my fingers with his. “We’re being proactive. We’re not giving the tabloid anything to print that can hurt us.”
One brow arches. “They can only hurt us if we allow them to hurt us.”
“Yes, I know,” I agree. “And this is how I ensure they don’t.” I gesture at his phone, where the article is still showing on the screen, a harsh reminder of our situation. “What they’re saying about you, Gabe, is awful. This is your public image we’re talking about. Are you honestly not thinking about how this is going to affect the business?”
“It’s something I’ve considered, yes.” He brushes my hair back over my shoulder, sliding a hand around my nape. “But right now, I’m only thinking about you in all this.”
“Thank you for that.” Goosebumps rise with his touch as I add, “But I’m only thinking about you. I don’t want to hurt you any more than all this already has.”
His frown is harsh, voice low. “I take that to mean you won’t be attending Micah’s wedding with me this evening?”
“It’s not a good idea.”
Mouth set into a firm line, he glares at me. I know he’s not angry at me, he’s pissed at the situation.
“I don’t like this,” he says again, sterner this time.
I lean in and before I press my mouth against his, I say, “You don’t have to, but this time you’re going to let me protect you, instead of you always protecting me.”
Chapter 12
Gabe
Late into the evening, I reach for a shot of whiskey and toss it back, washing away the stress and strain of the past days. The band off to my right is playing a classic from the eighties, and the dance floor is full of Allie’s friends and coworkers, including herself. Quite the beautiful bride, she’s wearing a stunning lace wedding dress with her hair in big loose curls around her shoulders. The ceremony was beautiful and simple, as is the venue. Stone walls meet with dark wood accents and an unlit fireplace rests against the far wall. I assume the rustic wood tables and black chairs are all rented, as well as the tall centerpieces. I can’t help but think if I ever get married, I’d like something like this. Micah and Allie’s ceremony was personal, with their telling of their own vows. There’s just the right amount of people, and it’s obvious that everyone, for the most part, seems to know each other. There’s something special about that.
I motion for the bartender, who’s dressed in a white shirt, bow tie, and black vest, to serve me up another shot. He grabs the bottle, pouring the dark amber liquid into the glass.
Just as I raise the glass to my lips, a stern voice says, “Now that we’ve got some time, care to explain to me why McKenna’s not here.”
I swallow the fiery liquid and glance sideways, finding Micah, no longer with his black jacket on, frowning at me. I hadn’t told him when we were getting dressed before the ceremony that McKenna wasn’t coming. I can only assume he thought she’d meet me for the reception, but her chair during the dinner had remained empty. “She thought it best she didn’t come,” I tell him, returning the glass to the bar.