Page 61 of In Control

Is that who Gabe’s with? Esra’s student? The beta?

Eventually, when I’ve worn away the floor in my goddamn office, Gabriel finally answers his phone.

“Hey, Ro.”

“Gabe, are you all right? Is everything OK?”

He laughs in the light-hearted manner I remember from our early days together, when we spent all our time flirting or in bed. God, that laugh could get me hard in a heartbeat. Still can.

“I’m absolutely fine. Are you OK? I have like twenty missed calls from you.”

“I was worried about you.”

“Tsk, no need.”

I frown. There is a need. He knows that.

“Where are you?”

“I’ve been out shopping with Sophia.”

“Are you buying her stuff?” I frown harder. Gabe’s generosity, like the rest of him, can be taken advantage of.

“Sadly, not. She won’t let me. Says she has her own money, thank you very much.”

A feminine voice murmurs in the background and there’s that flash of joy through his bond again.

So it’s her. She’s the cause.

I rub at my brow.

Fuck. This is fucked up.

“I’ll come pick you up and take you for an early dinner before curtains up.”

“Let’s take Sophia to Riccardo’s.”

“You’re not bored with each other yet?”

“No,” he says, making an adorable little omega growling noise in his throat, like I threatened to take away his new toy.

I rub my head again. That description is probably closer to the truth than I’d like.

I switch off my laptop, lock up the office and duck into the car, jumping two red lights to arrive at the designer shopping district within fifteen minutes. I park on a double yellow line and ping Gabe my location. Five minutes later, he comes strolling out of a shop, his arm wrapped around a tiny little brunette’s neck, his free hand full of shopping bags, and his attention captured by her.

I understand immediately.

She’s stunning. The type of girl who has breaths catching, steps halting, jaws dropping. Big blue eyes, smooth skin, soft looking lips, and a figure men would die for and women would kill for.

I watch as they chatter to each other, laughing and giggling, and I realise they look like some superstar couple. The type you see advertising perfume or blockbuster movies.

At the car, the woman’s gaze glides over my car with apprehension as Gabe opens the door for her and she slips inside. Gabe follows straight after, leaning his forearms on the headrest on the seat in front of him.

“Ro, this is Sophia. Sophia, this is Roman.”

“Nice to meet you,” she says, silvery-blue eyes alighting on me. “Nice car.”

“Thanks,” I say, diverting my attention to Gabe. “Am I your taxi driver?”

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