Page 52 of The Billionaires' Prize

“You’re kidding.”

I can tell by his tone that the person on the other end of the line is not, in fact, kidding.

“They’ve got nothing to do with this.” His lips twist. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

I hit the stop button and reach for my water. Holy heck, H20 never tasted so good. And it’s not even from the Alps. But it’s cold and wet, and my lips are parched.

Wiping the sweat from my face with my t-shirt, I watch Gabe. His shoulders are back, and he’s radiating fuck-off energy.

I stalk across the room and grab two bottles of water, then return to his side and swap one for the empty in the cupholder in front of him. He gives me a nod of thanks.

“We’ll discuss it when I get to the office.” He disconnects the call as I’m turning toward the locker room.

Gabe falls into step beside me, removing the cap from his bottle with a vengeful twist. “Paps are scum.”

“What’d they do now?”

“They contacted my family for a quote.”

I’m not really up on his history, but it doesn’t take a psychiatrist to see that he has issues where his family is concerned.

“What did they say?”

He stops and downs the entire bottle. That should not be so fucking hot. But I can’t help myself from watching the strongcolumn of his throat. Or the way his muscles move as he swallows.

Jerking my attention away, I take a sip of my own. But measured because I’m apparently a spaz today, and I don’t want to choke in front of this guy on top of tripping a zillion times.

He heaves out a sigh and crunches the plastic before tossing it into a blue bin. “They said I haven’t spoken to them in years.”

“Is that the truth?”

He glances around.

“No judgment,” I add. We’ve all got our own demons. Probably a few skeletons in the closet. Crazy ghosts from our past.

“It’s the truth.” He stops at the lockers. I follow, not sure if this little heart-to-heart is over or not. “Sauna?”

“Sure.”

Gabe hurtles the hand towel at a hamper, and it misses. I quickly stoop, pluck it up, and drop it into the bin.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” We get changed and stop by the showers to clean up.

Fuck me. The long, lean lines of his torso will haunt my dreams. The curve of his biceps. . . the dark trail beneath his naval. I yank my gaze away and pay attention to where I’m going.

The space is elegant and minimal, with frosted glass partitions and doors. But not one hundred percent private.

I step into the shower, shutting the door before my body gives me away.

What the hell?

I came back for Katherine.

There’s a heavy sigh from the next stall.

I wish I could tell him it gets easier, but it doesn’t. You get better at dodging reporters and figure out some canned answers, but it still feels like an invasion of privacy.

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