Chapter 9 Episode 9

“I was wondering when you would show up,” Helen says. “For a moment there I thought you weregoing to stand me up.” “I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I tell her. “You know how much of a fan of yours I am.” Helen grins, and I notice her friend subtly elbow her in the side. “Oh, how rude of me,” she chuckles. “Gabriel, please meet my sister, Fiona. Fiona, this is GabrielBelluci, whom you’ve heard so much about.” The younger woman smiles at me hopefully, and I notice the resemblance for the first time. I take herhand and clasp it. “Lovely to meet you,” I say. Fiona’s eyes widen. “Helen says you’re an avid supporter of the arts.” “I’m happy to attach my name to anything with the power to save humanity,” I reply. “And art is auniversal language by which people from all walks of life can communicate.” The image of a spray-painted clover flashes through my mind. I grit my teeth unconsciously. “Please excuse me,” I say. “I should mingle for now, but I will speak more to you ladies later.” Both of them deflate a little, but smile and send me on my way. I make a circuit of the room, droppingin and out of conversations, laughing at boring jokes, dredging up details from memory so I can askso-and-so about his wife’s knitting obsession and so-and-so about his new yacht. It is exhausting. I catch a shimmer of silver in the crowd, but before it can evoke my rage, I realize it is a dress and Iam transported. Instead of smoke and ash, I see a girl with long brown hair, twirling in a crowd ofpeople. I see a pair of pink lips turned into a disapproving scowl. I don’t know why I still think about the sassy girl from Fiamma sometimes. I only knew her for a fewhours, and she disappeared from my life as quickly as she sashayed into it. What was her name? I have struggled to remember it in the years since. A-something. Annabelle?Allison? I look around the room. Hungry eyes meet mine from every corner, and I consider taking someonehome to distract me from today’s losses. There are plenty of options to choose from; I should not stillbe thinking about a girl I f****d from two years ago whose name I can’t even remember. My phone buzzes in my pocket, dragging me back to the present. It is an email from my assistant,Jenny, reminding me that I have an interview in the morning. I’d completely forgotten. Fuck, can I not have a moment of peace? I hate interviews. I hate the tedious questions, always thesame but in different words. But that’s the life of a billionaire—responsibilities stacked on top ofresponsibilities. I sigh and shove my phone back in my pocket. I don’t have the time for women. I dial a smile up and dive back into the fray. I check my hair for the fifth time in the elevator mirror. I’m still not sure about it. I cut my long locksto just above my shoulders a couple of weeks ago and I haven’t been able to get used to the way itlooks or feels. I look more mature, and I know that’s a good thing, especially when it comes tointerviews like the one I have today, but I miss my long hair. The elevator dings and the doors slide open. I whip around and march out, hoping that the receptionistacross from me didn’t see me staring at myself in the mirror. “I’m here to see Mr. Belluci,” I inform her. She nods and taps on her keyboard. “Please take a seat.” I sit, clutching my notebook to my chest. I am a warrior. I am here to ask questions and get answers.Reclusive billionaire Gabriel Belluci is known for being polite but closed off, and many journalistshave tried and failed to obtain details of his personal life. He rarely gives interviews, but because herecently donated a large sum to the newspaper’s charity, I have a unique opportunity to dig into him. I just hope I don’t screw it up. A moment later, the receptionist strides around the desk. “Please follow me.” I stand and adjust my pencil skirt, ensuring my blouse is tucked in properly, and follow her down ahall to a large set of oak double doors. She opens the door and gestures for me to enter, then closesthe door behind me. Gabriel Belluci is typing on his laptop when I enter. He looks up and a shard of ice stabs through myrib cage. Oh no. Oh. No. You’ve gotta be f*****g kidding me. I can’t believe my eyes. It’s Gabe, the sexy stranger who f****d me senseless in Fiamma two yearsago. The one who gave me… Focus, girl. This isn’t Gabe. Well, not exactly. It’s Gabriel Belluci. He might be the same man, butwe aren’t tangled in each other at Fiamma. I’m here to do my job, just like he’s here to do his. If I’mgoing to get through this debacle without actually imploding in my seat, I need to focus on the task athand. Save the theatrics for later, when I can properly process just what the f**k is happening to me. He blinks, and for a second, I think he is about to smirk and make some sort of lewd comment, but hedoesn’t. He closes the lid of his laptop and stands, extending his hand, without a single drop ofrecognition in his features, even though he must be experiencing the same flashback I am. “Alexis Wright, I presume,” Gabriel says. I stride forward, adrenaline spiking through me, and shake his hand. Heat flashes from my palm all theway up my arm. “Yes. Thank you for meeting with me.” He drops my hand and gestures to the seat in front of him. “No problem at all. Challenging illiteracyin youth is a cause close to my heart. I think the Finn Striker Foundation is doing great work.” Curiously, his answer feels disingenuous. His body language is stiff, and his face barely moves whenhe speaks. I don’t get the feeling I’m welcome here at all. Finn Striker was the editor-in-chief of the New York Union decades ago and he set up the charity as away to give back to the community. The charity has struggled in recent years, so Belluci’s generousdonation has caused quite the stir. Gabriel looks at me expectantly and I feel my cheeks heat. He is just as hot as I remember—powerfuljaw, thick black hair, stern brown eyes that are deep pools just waiting to swallow me up. And, just incase there was any doubt, his nose is a little crooked. This is definitely the man who dominated me inthe VIP booth two years ago. I am quiet just a little too long and he frowns. “Is everything okay, Ms. Wright?” His voice is like chocolate—rich and dark. I remember the way he commanded me in the booth andmy heart flutters. Get your head together, Alexis. You have a job to do. I sit upright. “Yes.” I pull out my tape recorder and set it on the desk. “Do you mind if I record this?” “Yes.” I pause. Nobody has ever said they minded before. “It’s just for me to review while I write theinterview out later.” He doesn’t flinch. “Take better notes.” I don’t understand. Is he being like this because he recognizes me and is playing with me, or is he justalways this icy? I want to snap back at him, but I hear Debbie’s Scottish drawl in my head. This is it, Alexis. This is the big times. You get a juicy scoop on this elusive billionaire and I’llknow you’re ready. I take a breath. “Okay,” I say, scribbling on my pad while dictating out loud. “Take better notes.” When I look back up, Gabriel is nearly smiling. Just nearly. Not enough to dimple his left cheek, buthopefully it’s a sign that he’s warming up to me. I scan my list of questions. “Let’s start with something simple,” I say. “You have a reputation as a bitof a lone wolf. You and your family have always been very private, which is a hard feat toaccomplish when you hold such an elevated position in society.” I pause, trying to formulate my thoughts, but they are all scrambled by the memory of his searing lipson my skin. “Is that a question?” Gabriel asks in a clipped tone. I look up, blinking at him. “I was getting there.” “You know what? I’ve got a better idea.” Gabriel leans forward with a condescending smirk. “I havea very busy day ahead and I’m sure you’ve got lots of meandering questions to ask other people. I’mgoing to make this easy on you. I’ll have my assistant send you some copy and a couple of quotes foryour paper and we can both get on with our day.” He leans back. “I deal with pushy journalists likeyou all the time and it always goes the same way in the end, so let’s not waste any more time.” I am appalled. The sheer arrogance. The lack of respect!