Chapter 13

13

Part of Leah had questioned how much the entitled warlock could know about organizing a charity dinner, but as an hour spun away under the finer details of planning, she had to readjust her expectations.

She should've known better; Gabriel was all about organization. He insisted they make a plan, a list of things they had to do now—approaching sponsors, vendors, venues—before moving on to how much money she wanted to raise and when by. She could see him as CEO of his company now, at the helm, moving the chess pieces as he willed.

Any simmering attraction was quickly buried under the need to make this work. They'd decided on a black-tie charity dinner where guests would pay $500 a plate. Leah knew that was on the lower end of the scale, but it still made her stomach cramp. What if they couldn't convince sponsors to buy in or guests to buy a plate?

Gabriel steamrollered over her hesitancy, clearly comfortable in this environment. It was yet another new side, the business mogul, and one that suited him.

"You're good at this," she commented when he was flicking through potential venues on a laptop, checking availability for the next month or so. She'd doubted they could pull this off, especially so soon, but he'd brushed her off with his usual imperious Goodnight explanations. Who was she to question a Goodnight?

She'd curled up on the other side of Louie, who'd finished his chew a while ago and now snored contentedly. The other two were sprawled on the floor in front of the lit fireplace.

She rested her arm along the back of the couch. "Which makes me ask why you're having to pass a test to get your company. It's clearly more ‘you' than mopping pens or slinging drinks."

He shifted to her. "Tia and Emmaline didn't tell you?" Something lurked behind the question.

She considered her words, selected them carefully. "They told me something about needing to prove yourself?"

The fire snapped in the fireplace. He stared at her, long and hard enough that the ground beneath her started to crumble.

Then he glanced down at Louie. "Yes. Proving to the board that I can do the impossible."

Leah knew what he meant. Be around humans. But all she said was, "Manual labor."

"Something like that."

She tapped her hand against the back of the couch. Her fingernails were a bright orange today and out of place against the gray material. "It's very admirable you'd go through so much for your family."

His face was always so serious. He'd mirrored her, one strong arm braced on the line of the couch. Their fingers didn't touch, but if she moved, they could.

"It was my father's request," he said in a low voice.

"I... But I thought your dad was..."

"He is. But his last wishes were in his will, and if I want to be his successor, these are the conditions."

"So, you had no choice over it?"

His jaw tensed. Abruptly he pushed up, striding over to the window. He stood there, framed by the darkness. He looked, she reflected with a clutch in her heart, very alone.

"This company," he said, his voice a mere wisp of sound, "was their entire life's work. They dedicated themselves to it, died for it. A choice?" He continued to gaze into the night. "No, there was no choice."

Gabriel said nothing else, but Leah heard everything in the silence.

She wet her lips, debating. When she gave in and went to him, she didn't look anywhere but out at the night. "They'd be proud of you."

He let out a sound, something between a sigh and a laugh. "This from the woman who constantly berates me."

"That's different. You need to be brought down a peg or two."

"Or five?"

"Or six. But that doesn't mean they wouldn't be proud of your choice to leave everything you know, your...way of life," she said, treading carefully. "Just to fulfill their last wish."

Now those eyes she found so breathtaking found hers. "You don't ascribe to the opinion I'm only after power? I know Tia will have said it. Many will."

"Maybe." Humor surfaced. "But...no. I don't think that."

"Why?"

She gave a light shrug. "Call it a gut feeling."

"Feelings can be wrong."

Newsflash. The feelings flowing through her were all kinds of wrong. Still, she didn't move away. "C'mon, you clearly hate it here. Away from everyone—away from your sister. You told me you miss her. Power-hungry people don't care about that."

"That's na?ve." A fine thread of hesitation spun out. "But...she is a large part of the reason I'm here."

What would that be like, she wondered, tracing his face. To be one of the few people Gabriel Goodnight cared for? "Do you talk while you're here?"

"Often."

"You're close." She heard the wistful note in her own voice.

"Yes. It's just us two." He twisted toward her, mirroring again. "You don't have a sibling?"

She shook her head, then paused. "Well, my dad has another daughter and son by his second marriage, but we don't really hang out."

"Why?"

"They're not...we're not family. It's awkward. I don't really see my dad much, not enough to claim them as brother and sister. He calls every few months, we endure conversation until the next time." She passed a hand through her curls, discomfort rolling through her. "It's just me and my mom. And now her new husband."

He was fully focused on her and she wasn't sure she enjoyed it. "She's recently wed?"

"Sort of. They're on an extended honeymoon, so they've been traveling for a while."

"You don't like him."

"What? No." She rejected that with a wave of her hand. "I mean, yes. He's great for her. They're a good match."

"And now you're alone."

"I have my babies," she countered, not liking the hitch the words put into her voice. "I have Tia and Emma. My housemate, Peggy. And my mom will come back at some point. We've always been close."

"You said your father left her."

She didn't like this topic. "How about some coffee?" When she went to walk away, he caught her hand.

"I'm sorry." Sincerity rang in the words. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't. Yes, he left her, us." She didn't move her gaze away from their hands. Such a simple, strong support. "It was hard, but we got over it. We had each other."

"You looked after her when it first happened. You mentioned it," he explained at her surprised glance.

"Yes."

"How old?"

"Fifteen."

He was quiet, the only sound the soft snores of the dogs and the crackle of the fire.

His silence prompted her to speak. "I didn't mind stepping up. She needed me and I like being useful, always have. I don't hold it against her."

"How long?"

Too long. In her mind, Leah's mind picked over the memories of pleading with her mom to open the door, to get out of bed, to be with her. Shut out in more ways than one. "A while."

When he looked at her like that, it felt like he could see the reasons why, what prompted her to crave people, their voices, their smiles, their friendship.

Always feeling like she was on the other side of that door, pleading to get in.

She swallowed. "In a way, she led me to the shelter. Having that place, my place, to go when everything felt...too much? It would've been a lot harder without it."

More silence wove between them, a tapestry of unsaid things and fast beats of her heart as he didn't let go of her hand and she didn't let go of his. It was too much, the taunt of a future she couldn't have.

"Listen to me, playing the violin for you." She saw his confusion at the idiom, motored past it. "Families are complicated. You'd know that, right? Doesn't mean we have to focus on the bad stuff."

His thoughts were hidden behind his usual veil. "You confuse me."

"I know."

The green of his eyes was startling in the low light, hypnotizing as he stepped closer. Close enough she had to tip her head back to keep eye contact and suddenly that became the most important thing. That and the slow swish of his thumb against her hand.

"I'll help you save your place, Leah." His voice, the lovely low, liquid tone, did things to her. Goose bumps spread up her arm from that rasp of his thumb.

"I knew you liked Chuck," she teased through the wild drumming of her pulse.

His gaze skimmed her face, settled for a brief, heart-stopping, moment on her lips. "I don't like anyone."

"Goodnights have more important things to do?"

"Exactly."

"It's better to be lonely?"

"It's better to be alone," he murmured.

She gazed up at him, barely thinking it through as she let the words go. "You can be alone with me."

He didn't answer; she wasn't sure she expected him to. In the silence, her skin exploded with heat, her knees all but melting under the force as he tightened his hand on hers. And tugged.

Helpless, she went where he commanded, so close now that their feet brushed. He was taller than her, the disparity in their heights causing a raw darkness to twist in her belly. The memory of waking up tangled with him that morning was a beat in her veins. How his hands had been on her bare skin. How he'd pressed his face into the sensitive skin of her throat.

For the first time in her life, words abandoned her, her bottomless energy all directed into quelling the desire that pulsed like a living thing inside her. Her legs clamped together where it beat the hardest.

Sparks danced in her blood, in her vision.

Actual sparks, she realized, with a jolt. Magical sparks.

Gabriel had conjured magic.

She immediately dropped her gaze, pretending not to have seen the floating specks of magic. Firework sparks.

But he'd seen. And knew she had, too.

He dropped her hand, his chest laboring with the same breath she dragged into her lungs. They both stared at each other as the sparks gradually vanished.

She'd only seen sparks a couple times, only when Kole or Tia had been mad about something. This hadn't been anger, but it had been something.

Something she wasn't supposed to have witnessed.

They both stepped away as if they'd choreographed the movement.

"I, ah, should get going." Her voice was a rasp, lust playing with it. "Thanks for your help."

He nodded but said nothing as it took her a good five minutes to gather her dogs up. He had, however, ordered her a town car, she realized when she got downstairs and the driver called her name. She didn't know what to read into that, if she should.

She settled back into the buttery leather and rubbed her face with her hands as the car pulled smoothly away.

They'd crossed a line tonight. And tomorrow they'd have to face the consequences.

After the upheaval of the last few weeks, it felt good to be in the New Orleans office at Goodnight's Remedies. Familiar, and a solid reminder of why he was putting himself through it all. He'd intended to check in with August anyway, but after the night before, Gabriel had needed to get out of Chicago. Find his normal. Which was not hanging out with human men at bars or teasing human women, throwing himself into their problems to make the shadow of worry clear from their eyes. Or almost tasting them.

He muttered a curse and August turned from the coffee bar set up in the corner of his office with a quizzical look. "Did you say something?" He proffered the sweet, black coffee he knew Gabriel preferred.

"Nothing important."

His uncle relaxed on the edge of his desk, as ruthlessly organized as Gabriel's own. August had opted for espresso and he sipped it, his magic automatically making it drinking temperature.

Considering his own magic was not fully under his control, Gabriel settled in to wait for the steaming liquid in his mug to cool.

"You look tired," August observed. "Is that why you asked me to conjure the portal? You're not doing well?"

"I am, actually." Which surprised him as much as it clearly did August. "I'm not saying I've developed a burning passion for the work, but I'm learning."

"Is working with humans still causing you uneasiness?"

Not in the way his uncle meant.

Holy hell, he'd almost given in to temptation and kissed Leah last night. If he was honest, if those telltale green lights hadn't sparked into existence, he'd have been swallowed whole by the gut-wrenching desire. Willingly.

Goddess. He wanted to portal to the Sahara, bury his head in the desert sands and scream. Where to begin?

For one, if Leah was a witch and truly understood what those sparks meant, he'd have been mortified. Magical manifestation was something that happened in your teenage years, at least as far as passion went. Anger was allowed, even became a display, like a cobra flaring its hood. But softer emotions like desire?

He blamed the magical binding. His control wasn't at its peak.

The second, more pressing concern was that he now knew who had been with him on that balcony all those weeks ago.

You can be alone with me.

The phrase had slid into place like a missing puzzle piece. Bits and pieces of conversation had all added up to give him the full picture, and it made him sick with dread. Not because she'd been his mystery witch, but because she'd been on that balcony at all. Bad enough to know about witches. By infiltrating their society as she had, she could've courted far worse punishment if she'd been discovered.

Punishment.

His stomach hurt, dark emotions squeezing his chest tight enough to crush his ribs. Every time he thought of it, he couldn't catch a breath. What had Emmaline and Tia been thinking, allowing her to go? Putting herself in danger for—what? The thrill? The impulse to track Leah down, demand answers, to shake some common sense into her, was overwhelming.

He couldn't deal. So, for now, he wrestled it into a box, hid it away. He was good at that.

"I've found it...easier than I thought," Gabriel answered his uncle, mystified that the words were true. "I've even decided to expand my interests and help plan a charity gala for the shelter. We have access to an array of business contacts all over the country that might help, and it's good for the company to put our stamp of approval on a charitable event." All true, but not why he'd offered to help.

August smiled. "Well. That's fine, son. I'm pleased." He cleared his throat. "It's what your father would've wanted."

Gabriel jerked his chin in a nod.

"Perhaps he knew better than all of us." August stood, rounded his desk to sit in his leather chair. It creaked as he leaned back, steepled his hands. His espresso hovered in mid-air. "Maybe immersing yourself fully was the only way to move forward."

Guilt sat sickly sweet in Gabriel's throat. As if he could forget for even a second that his parents had died because they were determined to bring magic, in some small way, to human lives.

Except...he couldn't paint with his bitter brush as easily as he once had.

Before, he'd have said that humans brought nothing but pain. While humans might selfishly benefit from magic, they couldn't give anything back, and their ignorance could only invite danger.

But now...his time in Chicago had tweaked his perspective. He'd never said witches were good, humans were bad. Goddess knew and he knew that witches in society could be cutthroat for a slight as simple as ignoring an invitation. And humans could also be selfish and weak. He'd always thought those weaknesses could only implode, like volatile ingredients in a potion. Now he'd begun to consider what each could bring to the other.

Leah didn't have magic, but she demonstrated strength and intelligence, even correcting some of his ideas for the gala, improving on them. Before, he'd been too swayed by childish fear to really look at the impact their human employees were having on each aspect of the company, but he'd stayed up late all this week reading reports he'd had sent over. The results were good. That slight change of perspective humans could offer was often the key to everything.

He wasn't saying he was over his parents' deaths, he didn't know if he ever would be. But holding onto the grudge was like trying to hold wet soap in his hands.

His mind flashed to another memory, a soapy sponge, white T-shirt material. Black lace.

"Gabriel?"

He blinked as his uncle's concern pulled him back to the sunlit office. "It's still an adjustment," he said, sipping the black coffee and wincing at the burn. "But I'm abiding by the board and my father's wishes and throwing myself into it."

"About that." If bad news had a face, it would have been August's. His espresso floated back down to the desk. "I'm afraid not everyone on the board believes you are giving your all."

Gabriel stopped moving. "I live in an apartment and spend my days cleaning out animal pens. How exactly am I not giving my all?"

"Some members question if you're still relying on magic too much."

He deliberately placed his coffee on the desk. "Wasn't that the point of the binding, the feedback loop? So I didn't use too much magic?"

"You don't need to convince me, nephew. I know you're doing your best."

And his best still wasn't good enough.

Gabriel slid his mask on before any of the stinging pain leaked through. "What do they propose? That I be stripped of magic completely?" As the words left him, dread curled tight in his belly, poisoning everything it touched.

"No." August sounded appalled at the idea, and Gabriel's taut muscles eased. "No. But they want to assign a...what you'd call a minder, of sorts, to drop in, check up on you."

He shot up in his seat. " No. "

The vehemence stunned both of them.

August blinked. "No?"

Gabriel didn't want a minder watching him, judging, seeing too much. Seeing...everything. Seeing Leah . "I don't see why I should be subjected to such a humiliation."

"As I said, they want reassurance." August shook his head in disgust as he spread his hands on the desk. "I argued, my boy, argued until I turned blue, but the majority wouldn't be moved. It'll only be a few sporadic visits." He rolled his eyes upward and muttered something unflattering about the naysayers.

Gabriel gave in. "Who?"

"Will," August said, naming his longtime PA. "I've ordered him to be as unobtrusive as possible."

Even with that assurance, the humiliation bubbled and burned. "What next, Uncle?" Gabriel's voice was bitter. "Will they all come on a field trip to watch me make a fool of myself?"

"Think of it as one more stepping stone. One more hurdle."

Unbelievable. He'd come to New Orleans searching for relief and it'd twisted around and bitten him. One more hurdle. He felt like he was already running a steeplechase.

But what could he say?

Gabriel gritted his teeth. "Very well."