Page 9 of Every Broken Piece

Chapter nine

Gabe

I lift my finger to catch the bartender’s eye. He pours me another two fingers of Macallan’s before gliding away.

I let my gaze wander around the hotel bar while avoiding eye contact with the others sitting around it.

The muted sounds of the couple’s conversation a few seats down drift to me but it’s more a cadence than actual words.

There’s a woman across the way who’s tried to catch my attention a few times, but I actively avoid eye contact.

I’m well on my way toward buzzed and heading straight for drunk if I don’t watch it.

I should go to my room and get some sleep but the thought of being alone isn’t appealing.

It’s been a shit day. The client I flew to New York to meet isn’t going to be happy with my report on Monday.

I was hired because the company was losing money, and they wanted my help turning things around.

My team discovered that the CFO has been siphoning funds for years, to the point that the company may not be salvageable.

To make matters worse, the CFO is the president’s brother-in-law.

Come Monday, a family will be ruined and hundreds of employees possibly out of a job if I can’t figure a way to turn this mess around.

Also, today is my forty-third birthday and I’m stuck in New York City alone. Usually I don’t mind traveling, and I’ve traveled over my birthday before, but this trip hits different for some reason.

I’ve been thinking a lot about Cara, and Pax, and me.

My wife has been gone for eighteen years.

Eighteen birthdays. Eighteen Christmases.

The first two were hell, but it got easier after that until the grief turned to a slight twinge, then a warm memory.

Until there were so many birthdays and Christmases without her that it seemed normal and that’s a whole different kind of grief to deal with.

Why this particular birthday is different, I don’t know.

I spin my phone on the bar top and sip my bourbon, actively avoiding the longing look of the woman in the tight red dress across the way. There’s not even a hint of interest in me regarding her because while my mind is flirting with thoughts of Cara, it’s also thinking of another woman.

A woman who sends too friendly good morning texts, now with a smiley emoji rather than an exclamation point. Texts that I’ve found myself looking forward to when I wake up and ignore each time.

If that doesn’t make me a fucking idiot, I don’t know what does.

I press my finger to my phone to stop it from spinning and stare at it for a long time while sipping my drink. I glance at the woman across the way, but she’s turned to a man who slides in next to her. She leans toward him, smiling, placing her hand on his wrist.

I pick up my phone. Tap the screen. Open the texts from Tess and stare at our exchange from yesterday. The exchange above her good morning text that I ignored and feel a twinge of guilt over.

She’d sent me the car information when I landed in New York. I thanked her for stocking the car and my hotel room with my favorite sparkling water. Both texts were direct and professional.

Yet something about them makes me hesitate. Maybe it’s the connection to another person that I’m craving right now. Not the woman-in-the-red-dress kind of connection. Something deeper.

None of my past assistants made sure my cars and hotel rooms were stocked with my favorite brand of bottled water. It never occurred to me to ask them to do so, as I’m sure it never occurred to them to order it.

Yet Tess did.

And she checks in with me every day, asking if I need anything, sometimes anticipating my needs before I do.

It makes me feel...on edge.

It’s been a long time since anyone’s put me first.

I don’t know what to make of it.

I stare at the blank message box and before I know what I’m doing I type out: Are you awake?

I hit send before I can stop myself then cringe.

What the fuck am I doing?

I can’t text my assistant late on a Friday night to ask what she’s doing.

The bubble immediately appears, and I’m suddenly panicking because I didn’t think this through and that’s not like me. I always think my actions through.

Tess: I am. Do you need something?

I don’t know what the hell to do. I feel like an idiot, yet connecting with her so late at night is almost comforting.

Jack will always be there for me when I need him. Pax too. But this is different, and I need to nip this in the bud. Whatever this is.

Madness. That’s what it is.

Madness mixed with loneliness and a lot of whisky. Not a good combination.

Me: It can wait until tomorrow. Sorry to bother you

I turn my phone face down and ignore it. Done. Bud has been nipped. Madness has passed. I signal for my check. The woman in red is alone again, sipping her deep burgundy wine and watching me above the rim of her glass.

I sign the slip, grab my phone, and slide off my stool.

The woman mirrors my actions.

She’s attractive in a mature way. Maybe my age. Maybe a bit younger, but with a tight body and generous chest wrapped in all that shiny red. Like a Christmas present.

I keep her in my peripheral as we head toward the exit of the bar.

We make our way to the same bank of elevators, her a few steps behind me on my right. I push the button while she stands beside me.

My phone vibrates in my pocket.

“Heading up?” she asks.

“I am.”

The elevator door opens. I wave her forward, then step in behind her. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the doors as they hiss closed, and I push the button for the twelfth floor.

“Care for some company?” she asks.

My phone vibrates again.

I shake my head. “Not tonight.”

She sighs, then nods once, pressing the button for the fifth floor. When the elevator stops, I hold the door open as she exits with a longing look over her bare shoulder. The dress plunges low in the back, showing off surprisingly sculpted muscles.

I let the doors close and ride to my floor, not regretting my decision to let her go.

For a long time after Cara’s death I didn’t date.

I was too busy putting the pieces of my life back together and figuring out how to be two parents to my son while building my business.

There were a few years after that when I dated sporadically but as Pax grew, his demands on my time grew too.

I didn’t want to waste one minute with him because I knew how easily it could all be taken away.

And I also didn’t want to introduce a string of women into his life, confusing him.

I kept my dating away from my home life, which built a wall between the women I was seeing. None of them liked that, so I just stopped it all.

It’s been years since I’ve been on a date, less since I’ve slept with a woman, but still a long time.

A hotel bar hookup isn’t my thing.

When I get to my room I shrug out of my suit coat and unbutton my shirt, suddenly exhausted and still a little buzzed. I pull my phone from my pocket and see that Tess has texted back.

Tess: No bother! I’m at a bar with friends. Are you doing anything exciting?

I go still; the phone clutched in my hand as I think about Tess at a bar. Has she been drinking? Is she safe? Are her friends taking care of her?

What the fuck.

Why do I care?

Because she’s my assistant and I finally have her trained and she’s been the best assistant I’ve had yet. That’s why I care.

But it’s more than that. I’m worried about her, and it’s been a long time since I’ve worried about anyone other than Jack and Pax. This feeling unsettles me. Tess unsettles me and that’s exactly why I shouldn’t answer her. Why I should shut my phone down and go to bed.

Me: Have you been drinking?

I cringe as soon as I hit send because what does it matter to me if she’s been drinking? Except it does matter. I need to know she’s safe, or that someone’s taking care of her.

Tess: LOL. No. I mean, yes, but not alcohol. I’m assuming you were referring to alcohol.

I close my eyes because the relief rushes through me and that unsettles me even more.

Tess: Did you need something?

Me: No. Have fun. But if you drink will you please be careful?

Tess: Of course! Good night, Mr. Strong

It’s the Mr. Strong that has me crashing back to reality.

I’m over here worried about her safety and she’s thinking of me as her client.

She stopped her night with her friends to answer my text because I’m her client and she’s an efficient PA.

The best damn PA I’ve ever had. But I’m still her client.

Me: I think by now you can call me Gabe

What the ever-loving hell is wrong with me?

I’m digging myself deeper and deeper and making more of a fool of myself.

I throw my phone on the bed and head into the bathroom where I take a cold shower, then crawl into bed.

But before I plug my phone in to charge and set my alarm, I check my messages one last time.

Tess: Good night, Gabe

I chuck my phone away from me to keep from answering something maudlin and stupid. Who cares if I haven’t set my alarm or the damn thing will die in the middle of the night. At least I can’t make an even worse fool of myself.

The first thing I do the next morning is swoop my almost dead phone off the floor and plug it in, then check for my good morning text.

There isn’t one and it sets off a frisson of panic that has my heart pounding. There’s always a good morning text. Always.

Except on the weekends. Of course she won’t text on the weekends. I don’t make her work seven days a week.

But I need to know if she made it home okay.

I won’t be able to think straight if I don’t know if she’s okay.

I’m well aware this has to do with Cara and her accident and those hours of not knowing where she was before the cops came knocking on my door.

But knowing the why doesn’t make the not knowing any easier.

I don’t even hesitate when I text this time.

Me: Did you make it home okay?

No bubble pops up. No dancing dots to tell me she’s typing out an answer. She always answers right away.

It’s Saturday. Chill the fuck out, asshole.

Maybe she’s not alone. Maybe she has a boyfriend.

Or, I don’t know, maybe she’s still sleeping because it is Saturday morning.

I rub a hand down my face and toss my phone on the nightstand to continue charging while I put on shorts and a t-shirt and make my way to the hotel gym.

I have all weekend to cool my heels until my meeting on Monday morning when I fly home.

It's going to be a long weekend.