Page 14 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter fourteen

Gabe

I ’m know I’m sending mixed messages to Tess. I know it, yet I can’t stop myself.

I basically ghosted her last weekend, but when Pax walked through the door it hit me how inappropriate my actions are. She’s my employee. She’s closer to Pax’s age than mine.

During the week I can refrain from texting her.

I can pretend that our relationship is purely professional.

But the weekends? I don’t know what it is about the weekends that make me itch to reach out to her.

It’s like I have two different brains at war with one another.

And no, it’s not the little brain and the big brain. I’m not attracted to her physically.

Well, not much.

All of the pictures Jack sent me show a beautiful, vibrant, woman.

Yes, I went through them several times. Yes, I tried to find more but Jack’s right.

Tess James doesn’t exist on any social media, or if she does, it’s not under her name.

As a person whose job is virtual, I think that’s strange.

As a person who shuns social media myself, I don’t think it’s that odd.

She’s a conundrum. An enigma. A puzzle. A challenge. A mystery. All wrapped up in this bright, beautiful package that goes so much deeper than physical. She’s a good person down to her core.

She wants to mother a cat, for God’s sake.

She goes out with her friends even when she doesn’t like that scene.

I can’t be the only client she wishes a good morning to every fucking morning.

She’s sweet and vulnerable and I can’t help but wonder why someone hasn’t swept her up and locked her down. Why is she single?

Why do I care?

She’s all I think about during the week.

When I have to email her, I get this low hum under my skin because some connection is better than no connection.

I’m constantly checking my emails for her response, but she’s following my lead and remaining professional, keeping her responses business related.

And here I am on a Friday night, sitting in my favorite recliner, staring at my phone that I left across the room, so I won’t text her, my book in my hands, turned to a page I’ve read five times and still have no idea what it says.

I need to get her out of my system but short of firing her I don’t know how. And firing her is out of the question. Not happening.

My front door opens and footsteps come down the hall toward the back of my apartment. Unlike last weekend I’m not preoccupied with texting Tess, so I hear it this time. It’s either Pax or Jack because they're the only two who have access to the apartment.

Sure enough Jack appears dressed in a dark gray suit, matching dark gray shirt and tie. Which is very not like his usual jeans and t-shirt.

“Very monochromatic,” I say as he flops onto the couch across from me with a sullen expression.

“It’s the damn gala that you refused to attend, so I have to go.”

“Ah.” I vaguely remember telling Jack that no way in hell was I going.

For the most part he’s the face of Strong Sterling and I remain in the background. That worked for years until we both hit a net worth of over a billion dollars and suddenly we became a hot commodity, invited to everything. I went to a few events and hated the attention.

This is where Jack thrives. He has the charisma that I don’t.

He’s scowling at me and I grin. “Come on. You love this. Who’re you taking tonight? The runway model? What’s her name? Lucia? Valeria? Something ending in ‘ia’.”

“Guilia. And no, not her.”

I lean forward and whisper. “Does Jack Sterling not have a date?”

His scowl deepens. “Of course I have a date.”

I lean back. “But not the runway model. The congresswoman? Darlene?”

“Dianna and no, not her. She’s too serious and too worried about her reputation. No fun.”

I laugh because Jack is all about fun unless it has to do with work. That’s about the only time he’s ever serious.

“I could have told you that. I was surprised you went out with her for as long as you did.”

“Three dates isn’t long.”

“For you it is. So, who’s the lucky girl tonight?”

“You know, if you’d pull your weight with these things I wouldn’t have to pick a girl each time.”

“If you settled down, you wouldn’t have a list of girls to pick from. You could take the same one.”

His gaze shoots to the side and I still, because that was a huge tell right there. “You didn’t say who the lucky girl is.”

He surges to his feet and tugs at his suit jacket before pointing at me. “Next time you’re going. I’m tired of these things and you owe me.”

“Owe you? For what?”

“For attending all these boring galas and schmoozing.”

“You like to schmooze.”

“Not anymore, I don’t,” he mumbles.

He flips his wrist to look at his watch then heads to my kitchen where I hear him rummaging around. He comes back with a glass of bourbon and a bag of chips that Pax left last weekend.

I don’t say anything as he settles back on the couch and shoves a handful of chips in his mouth, washing it down with expensive bourbon. Something’s on his mind and I know my brother enough to wait until he’s ready to tell me what it is.

It takes three more handfuls of chips and listening to him crunch before his guilty gaze slides to me. He pauses his chewing.

“What?” His mouth is full, and I bite back my smile at the man in a five-thousand-dollar suit eating a ninety-nine cent back of chips, drinking from a nine-hundred-dollar bottle of bourbon. He shrugs and reaches for another handful of chips. “The food at these things sucks. I need a snack.”

“You don’t have snacks at your place?” His place is one floor below mine and I know for a fact he has a pantry full of unhealthy snacks.

He holds up his almost empty glass. “I don’t have the good stuff.”

“Look, Jack, if you need to get drunk to go to these things then I’ll take over for a while.

” I won’t. In truth, neither of us needs to attend these galas anymore.

At first it was to get our name out there, but we have more business than we know what to do with and if it’s a fundraiser I’m not opposed to sending a check and being done with it.

He brushes the crumbs from his hands onto my carpet, then grabs his glass, the bag of chips and returns everything to the kitchen.

Something’s off with him. Something’s bothering him but he won’t tell me what it is unless he’s ready.

He stops in front of me, hands in his pockets, looking down at me with an unusual-for-him serious expression. “Nora.”

“Nora?”

“I’m meeting Nora at the gala.” He spins around and walks out, slamming the door behind him.

I spring out of the chair. “Wait! Jack!” But he’s gone and I’m left staring at the closed door in stunned silence.

Nora? His ex, Nora? The one who...

Oh hell. Shit, this isn’t good.