Page 61 of Untamed Protector

The elevator doors shut, and I finally let my shoulders relax, realizing how tense I’ve been since Lucas walked in on me. Mike puts his hand on my shoulder, and as I look up at him, he gives me a reassuring wink and a smile.

“We’re getting out of here. It’ll be okay,” he says as we get to the parking lot and hop into the car.

It’s a silent drive to the building where Gabriel has his offices: me trying to process all the stuff I’ve heard, and Mike focused on the road.

We get there quickly. Mike tells me to leave the box of Grain Inc. stuff in the car and explains how to get from the parking lot to the elevator and then to Gabriel’s office. It’s on the twelfth floor of a twenty-story building right next to the port’s industrial area.

There’s no one else beside us in the elevator, and there’s no front desk upstairs, next to the fancy sandblasted door where Mike drops me off. It seems Gabriel doesn’t have an office assistant. I’m guessing his floor has restricted access since Mike swiped a card in the elevator before pressing twelve. Apparently, not everyone can go up to see Gabriel.

I knock on the door, but my fingers barely make a sound on the thick glass, so I walk in.

The room seems almost too big to be an office. It’s on the corner and incredibly bright. Through the large windows, you can see ships, cranes, the pier, and grain silos. And amid all the industrial colors, a glimpse of dark blue sneaks out of the sea.

Gabriel’s not here, but I notice an open door to the right. Before I check where it leads, I take another look at the modern, masculine space where he probably receives the VIP clients he’s told me about. It’s sleek, furnished with dark brown leather sofas and armchairs, a large crescent-shaped table, an elegant laptop, and a stylish bookcase in the back.

This luxurious, intimidating office is the total opposite of his simple, down-to-earth house. The last few days, it was all comfy jeans and shirts that showed off his muscles. Sometimes, no shirt or pants at all. This morning, after breakfast, he came out from his study looking super sharp in his elegant trousers, paired with a crisp white shirt and a double-breasted sleek navy jacket. Even his hair, still messy from our late-night sessions, was now slicked back with a bit of a spiky edge, revealing a slightly wrinkled forehead. As he bent down to help me, I caught a whiff of his beard—the awesome mix of spice and citrus that always gets me.

I step closer to read the titles on that meticulously organized bookshelf, but then I hear Gabriel’s footsteps behind me and see him emerging from what appears to be a restroom. “Lexi, is that you? I didn’t know you’d arrived,” he says, jacket-free and looking a bit disheveled with his hair ruffled.

He comes up and gives me a quick hug, whispering in my ear. “I’m sorry. Mike texted and said it got ugly.”

I want to hug him back and rest my head on his shoulder. I wonder how my meeting with Anita would’ve played out if Gabriel had been with me instead of Mike.

Gabriel quickly pulls out of the hug and takes a step back. I hear a woman’s voice behind him from the open doorway to another room.

“Gabriel,” she says. When he turns to her, she continues. “I’m leaving now. Thank you for the coffee. I’ll be back in a week. You have until then to decide. And don’t forget, the law is on my side.”

She seems to be in her late thirties or early forties and slightly taller than me. She’s wearing a pair of worn-out jeans, simple ballet flats, and a green shirt. A tiny bag hangs from her shoulder, which she clutches tightly as though afraid it might fall off. What strikes me are her big eyes on a pale face and her aggressively blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun with lots of stray strands. It looks as if someone’s hands have run through and tousled it. I take a quick look at her lips—no trace of lipstick. Did they just kiss? I check out her left hand—no wedding ring, no evidence of ever wearing one.

Gabriel motions toward the door like he wants to walk her out. She gives me a once-over, and I notice her red eyes. I can tell she’s been crying—the lack of makeup and the sad eyes give it away.

I stand frozen near the bookcase where Gabriel left me waiting before walking over to her. He doesn’t introduce us. As she heads for the door, he follows her down the hall. I wait for him for a few minutes, guessing he’s probably calling the elevator for her. I can’t help but want to go to the door and see them interact, but I stop myself. Gabriel didn’t seem to want either of us to know who the other was. I must’ve shown up at a bad time, and he’s trying to make things less awkward by getting one of us out.

“A client?” I ask when he gets back to the room.

He looks at me as if unsure of what to say. “A private matter,” he finally answers. That can mean anything—a girlfriend, a client, a relative—but clearly not something he’s willing to share with me.

Avoiding eye contact, he disappears behind his desk, the laptop snapping open like a shield. My stomach clenches—this doesn’t bode well for whatever conversation is coming.

“There’s something I need to do,” he sighs, already frowning at his screen. “I’m just getting myself set up now., but it looks like I’ll have to work late tonight.” A grimace pulls his frown deeper as he clicks away, already lost in the work ahead.

“Am I bothering you?” I ask, hesitant from across the table.

“No, Lexi, you’re not bothering me; otherwise, I wouldn’t have asked Mike to bring you here,” he mumbles into his beard, not even looking up.

“And yet this seems like bad timing.”

“Yeah, it’s a bit complicated, but it’s fine.” He looks up from the laptop he’s been glued to, trying to avoid talking about the woman in his office, and continues, “You must’ve had a rough day. What did Peter say?”

“Peter was okay. Even that idiot Lucas was calm. But Anita… now that was a true revelation. She talked to me like it was the last time we’d see each other and wanted to make sure I knew everything there was to know.”

“Yeah, that sounds like her. She never misses an opportunity to inflict misery. What did she say that made you so upset?”

“Has Anita ever been over at your place?” I ask, taking a few steps closer to his desk. He takes a deep breath; then his hand reaches up to run through his hair, a nervous gesture I recognize well. I don’t get my answer until I reach the edge of his massive wooden desk. Leaning down, I trace the smooth surface with my fingers. We’re less than two feet apart now, and I can see the faint flush creeping up his neck as he glances down. He has regrouped after my first question hit.

“I heard she went off on you. I’m sorry. It would’ve been better if I came,” he says, tapping slowly with his left hand on the desk.

“Why? Do you think you could’ve stopped her? Trust me, she had plenty to say. She’s never talked to me this much in the almost two months I’ve been working there.”

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