Page 41 of The VIP Doubles Down

“I might not have made it to the Super Bowl without Miranda.” The quarterback strolled up behind his wife’s chair and bent to drop a kiss on the side of her neck. “I wasn’t in great shape when I met her.”

“What did Gavin do?” Allie asked. “I can’t picture him playing Cupid with a bow and arrow, wearing nothing but a diaper.”

Luke lifted an eyebrow. “He told me I was an idiot.”

“That sounds more like him,” Allie said.

“And he told me to admit my feelings to Luke.” Miranda tilted her head up toward her striking husband. “It didn’t go well.”

Luke’s face grew serious. “You had more courage than I did.”

“This is becoming nauseating,” Gavin said, taking her hand and pulling her upright. “Time to get you home.”

Luke put a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Miller hates for people to know that he’s a romantic at heart.”

“And Archer likes to kick a man when he’s down. Comes of being a football player, I suppose.”

“I never kicked a man,” Luke said. “I had defensive players to do that.”

Gavin snorted and put his hand on Allie’s back again. She was pretty sure her skin was sizzling underneath his touch as he moved her toward their host and hostess.

They departed with a flurry of exchanged cell phone numbers so everyone could keep in touch. Allie imagined her phone felt like a gold ingot with the weight of all those billionaires’ private contact information.

Gavin was silent as the elevator glided downward to the garage. Allie made a few attempts at small talk, but he had retreated into monosyllables again. That left her to consider the unexpected revelation that he had intervened in Miranda and Luke’s romance in such a significant way. She cast a sideways glance at his brooding profile while something inside her softened at the kind of insight and caring his intercession showed. Not many people would risk involving themselves in someone else’s love affair.

When they stepped out of the elevator, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders to guide her toward the Maserati, which stood waiting for them. Allie gaped in astonishment. “Are the valets psychic?”

“Ed called down as soon as he saw we were leaving.” Gavin waved the valet aside and opened the door for Allie.

“What a way to live,” she said, shaking her head as she slid into the leather seat.

“The rich aren’t really different,” Gavin said. “They’re just insulated from the normal wear and tear of life.”

As he folded himself into the driver’s seat, she said, “Where do you park your cars?”

“In a garage down the block.” He steered the car out onto the street. “I’m not going to apologize for having money, Allie, because I sweated for every penny of it. I shared a hellhole of an apartment with multiple roommates for two years before I sold my first book. I choose never to live with cockroaches again.”

“I’m not criticizing you. I’m just—what’s the right term?—overawed.”

“Good word choice,” he said with a flash of a smile.

“High praise from a writer.”

Gavin wove through the late-night Manhattan traffic with the skill of a race-car driver. Too soon they arrived in front of her apartment. Amazingly, there was an empty parking place a few doors down, so Gavin could pull in.

“Thanks for the ride,” Allie said before she remembered the question she desperately needed an answer to. “We haven’t talked about what time I should come on Monday.”

“And we’re not going to.”

Panic and despair felt like fists tightening around her throat. “You said that the treatment is working. Why wouldn’t you want to continue?” She swiveled toward him in her seat.

His hands were still gripping the wheel, but he was staring at her with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

“I don’t want to be your patient any longer,” he said.

“I know you feel better, but you have a ways to go before you’re back to normal.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to be your patient,” he repeated, “because I want to do this.”