So Irresistible (25 page)

“Not exactly,” Gabby protested. Then, more gently, “But maybe something close to that.”

They both gazed at one another, still mulishly waiting.

Shane almost admired the depth of their mutual obstinacy.

“If you were ever going to succeed at Campania,” Robert finally explained, “you had to do it
your
way. I knew that. So after you came back home, I tried to stay out of your way. That’s why I wasn’t there after that story aired on the news.”

“It just about killed him, too,” Donna informed them. “He was pacing, and yelling at the TV, and waving his arms.”

Robert frowned. “Only at first!” He added, “But I’ve been in your shoes, Gabriella. I took over the pizzerias from
my
dad, remember? Don’t you think
I
ever wanted to change things?”

Gabby angled her head, clearly struck by that. “Like what?”

“Like that linoleum you hate so much, for one thing.” He grinned. “It’s not as old as you think. When I finally put that stuff in, it was my pride and joy.” Robert smiled to himself, remembering. “Your grandfather hated it with a purple passion.”

Gabby laughed. “So you
do
understand?”

“Of course I do.” Her father opened his arms.

Gratefully, Gabby went to him. They hugged.

Shane felt choked up just watching them. He knew how much reconciling with her parents meant to Gabby.

“That’s why,” Robert said gently, after their hug, “I’ve decided to accept an offer on the pizzerias. Because I know how tough it is, and I know how much you’ve been struggling—”

“Because of Pinkie,” Donna put in. “The stories she’s told us! About the pizza oven breaking and the tomato supplier quitting and the hackers attacking and the dough being ruined—”

“An
offer
?” Gabby went pale. “What offer?”

“It’s complicated.” Genially, Robert waved away her concerns. “It’s still in the works.” He took his daughter by the shoulders, visibly shoring her up. “It’ll
free
you, Gabriella.”

“I don’t want to be ‘free’!” Gabby aimed a frantic look at Shane. “Dad, I’ve worked so hard! Please don’t do this.”

But Robert only shook his head. “Having some time off has made me think. I don’t want you to live your life the same way
I
did—always working, always worried about the pizzerias, never having a night or a weekend off.” His face turned nostalgic. “Don’t you think I wanted to go to your soccer games when you were a little girl? Don’t you think I wanted to celebrate your birthday
on
your birthday, instead of the Monday after?”

“I was fine. It’s
fine
,” Gabby insisted. “You don’t have to do this. Especially not now! I’ve been through so much!”

“You said Pinkie was exaggerating. Now you say you’ve been ‘through so much.’” Donna’s voice was tender. “Which is it?”

Donna glanced at Shane, appearing to expect him to shore up her latest move. But Shane didn’t have the heart to help her. Because he wasn’t sure which “offer” Robert was talking about.

Had Shane accidentally pushed his father into accelerating Waltham Industries’ takeover attempt? Had Shane cast aside his fix only to ensure that the very thing he’d been avoiding would happen now, even faster and more brutally than before?

It was possible that Gregory Waltham had already moved into the gap—that he’d already chosen a means that
didn’t
involve subterfuge and fixing. That he’d recognized Robert Grimani’s
true
Achilles’ heel—Gabby—and had worked a deal without Shane, using Gabby and her well-being as leverage.

Just then, while stuck at the Grimanis’ for dinner, Shane had no way to find out. Unless he could text Lizzy . . .

“It’s . . .” Gabby churned her arm, clearly struggling to come up with some middle ground between the truth and whatever would make her parents see things her way. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s
not
complicated. It’s love,” her father said stoutly. “The bottom line is, I love you too much to put you under the strain of rebuilding the pizzerias. I’m the one who let the others slip away. I’m the one who couldn’t keep them all open.”

“Only because I distracted you!” Gabby cried. “Only because I made you so upset when I left that you weren’t thinking straight.
That’s
why the buyout attempt almost succeeded. Because of
me
. It was all because of me. It was all
my
fault.”

Her parents both looked at her, clearly surprised.

“Is that what you think?” Donna asked. She glanced at Shane for confirmation, but he couldn’t help. Gabby hadn’t confided any of this in him. He hadn’t understood the full burden she’d been shouldering. If Gabby had felt responsible for all of it . . .

No wonder she’d worked so hard. Taken on so much.

He respected her more than ever for doing it.

“None of it was your fault,” Robert said sternly. “The plain truth is”—he shot a hesitant look at Shane, then forged on anyway—“we were skating on thin ice already. We didn’t have the capital reserves to fight off that takeover attempt properly. But
now
, because of this new deal that’s on the table, we—”

“I can’t believe you don’t believe in me, Dad,” Gabby interrupted, tears in her eyes. Her hands were balled up in fists, her feet already pointed toward the door. “After everything I’ve done, that you’d even
consider
a deal now—”

She grabbed her purse, then shook her head. “I’m sorry I came here tonight. I didn’t want to know any of this.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t happening.” Robert’s face turned stormy. His voice raised. “It’s still my decision to make!”

“Then make it already!” Gabby yelled back. “Just don’t expect me to be happy about it. Because I’m not. I’m . . . leaving.” She glanced at Shane. “Come on. I’ve had enough.”

Shane held his ground. “Gabby, no. Don’t do this.”

“Do what?” She glared at him. “Stand up for myself?”

“Don’t do the thing you always do.” He stepped nearer, touched her arm, felt tension vibrate between them. “Leave.”

She shook her head. Frantically, she shifted her gaze from Shane to her parents and back again. “I have to leave.”

“No.” Gently, Shane stroked her arm. “You don’t.”

“You don’t understand,” Gabby protested. “I
have
to.”

“What if you don’t?” he insisted. “What if you stay?”

“I—” Miserably, Gabby shook her head again. “I don’t know.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” Shane said, inadvertently channeling the wisdom of homeless Aussie Bill. “Quit it. That’s how. Just . . .
quit it
, and see what happens.”

“Quit leaving?” Skeptically, Gabby eyed him. She looked at her parents again. “But that’s
all
I want to do right now.”

Shane could feel her pain. In so many ways, she was just like him. When faced with trouble, Gabby wanted to leave.

When faced with difficulty, Shane wanted to “fix” things.

Maybe it would always be that way. Or maybe they could both change. Starting tonight. Starting right here.

Purposely, Shane shrugged. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been looking forward to this Sunday gravy thing.”

Just as he’d expected, Gabby looked stricken. She bit her lip, searching his face. Evidently, she saw the truth there.

“Well”—she hauled in a deep breath—“I don’t want to deprive a potential Italian of his first hit of Sunday gravy.”

Behind her, both her parents sagged with relief. Shane almost did, too. He’d struck on the right strategy. He’d allowed Gabby to save face
and
stay put. Sure, he’d had to exploit her desire to share her family traditions with him, but hey . . .

It had all been for a good cause, right?

“No, you
don’t
want to deprive a potential Italian of his first hit of Sunday gravy.”
Or the family coziness that goes along with it
. With blatant eagerness, Shane examined the dining room spread Donna and Robert had provided. “I could eat a horse!”

Donna beamed. “I like a man who eats heartily.”

“Me, too.” Robert clapped Shane on the back. “You just wait, son. Sunday gravy is like heaven on earth. One taste . . .” With new exuberance, Robert kissed his fingertips. “
Perfetto
.”

Shane was too preoccupied with Robert’s casual use of that endearment to appreciate that he’d won. Gabby had put down her purse. She’d unfisted her hands. She’d pointed her feet to the table and come into the dining room to rejoin her family.

Son
, Shane heard again.
Son
.

What would it be like to hear that word spoken so kindly, so freely and affectionately, for the rest of his life?

It was practically unimaginable. Yet it was happening.

With Gabby, Shane had found the woman of his dreams. Maybe, if everything went even better than he’d hoped, he could find the family he’d always wanted, too. Maybe he could be worthy of them all. Maybe he could win bigger than ever before.

If
his father’s company wasn’t the one that had made Robert agree to an offer. Otherwise, Shane’s days of hiding his work as a fixer were ticking away fast.

Stuffed full of delicious food, Gabriella led Shane up the walk to her house. The porch light shone down on them, leading them past her darkened yard. The air was redolent with the fragrance of roses. Even poorly tended roses smelled good when they were the heirloom variety her Nonna Grimani had favored.

“Ugh.” Moaning, Gabriella hugged her distended belly. “I think I have a food baby. Why did I eat so much?”

“Because it was all so delicious.” Beside her, Shane smiled. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. Your parents are amazing people.” He took her hand, following her up the steps to the front porch. “It’s obvious they love you. You’re lucky.”

Gabriella nodded. “I
am
lucky. I didn’t really realize it before now.”
Before I knew how little you had
. Happy that she’d been able to share some of her good fortune with Shane, she smiled back at him. “You saved me tonight, you know.”

Shane scoffed. “That extra piece of garlic ciabatta on your plate was
begging
to be eaten. Don’t thank me for filching it.”

Her grin widened. “I mean you saved me by convincing me to stay.” Remembering that moment, when she’d had her purse in her hand and nothing but the urge to run like hell in her heart, Gabriella looked down at her keys. “Without you, I would have done it all over again. I would have stormed off, full of hurt feelings and stupid pride, and kicked off another disaster.”

“You didn’t kick off any disaster, ever,” Shane reminded her, being wonderful again—reminding her of the good parts of tonight. “Not tonight, and not any night before tonight, either. Your mom and dad told you so. None of it was your fault.” He squeezed her hand. “You can take it easy on yourself now.”

Gabriella couldn’t help laughing. “Yeah, well . . .
that’s
going to be easy, now that my dad is making a deal for Campania.”

Technically, it was for
all
the pizzerias in their family’s chain, Gabriella had learned tonight. But when she’d pressed her dad for more details, all he’d said was, “It’s in the works.”

Not even Shane had been able to eke out more information. Usually he excelled at getting people to talk, to open up to him, to reveal everything. But her dad had stonewalled him.

“At least he was honest about it,” Gabriella mused to Shane, still not ready to accept that the deal was really happening—that she’d fought to save Campania only to have her dad wave a white flag in the heat of battle. “In the end, that’s all I really want from people. Honesty. Everyone wastes too much time evading the issues. Really. Just say what you mean!”

Shane let go of her hand. He looked uncomfortable.

Gabriella couldn’t imagine why. Unless he had a secret. Or was thinking about the way she’d initially downplayed the difficulties she’d faced at the pizzeria while talking with her parents. Maybe Shane didn’t want to call her on her own hypocrisy.

But that had been different. That hadn’t been
lying
.

That had been . . .
protecting
her parents from something they couldn’t strictly help and didn’t need to know.

Then, guiltily, Gabriella aimed her quizzical gaze in the same direction Shane was looking, and realized what was wrong.

There was a note stuck in her doorway, wedged between the door and the jamb. In the porch light’s glow, Gabriella snatched it. “Probably a diatribe from my neighbor,” she predicted, tossing a teasing look at Shane. “
Someone
stole a daisy from her yard. If I know my neighbor, she’s not above nasty hate mail.”

She read the note. Her lighthearted mood faded fast.

Shakily, Gabriella thrust that scrap of paper at Shane. “It’s hate mail, all right.”

He scanned it, squinting in the low light. Gabriella knew that the words in that note—scratched out in unfamiliar, hateful script—would remain emblazoned in her mind for a long time.

Appearing equally shaken, Shane glanced up. His expression looked . . .
murderous
. “You’re staying at my place tonight.”

“No.” Laughing, Gabriella tried to take back the note. But Shane crunched it in his fist. “Don’t be silly. I’m not scared.”

Shane gave her a long, too perceptive look.

“Okay, I’m scared,” Gabriella admitted. Because, after all, she wasn’t stupid. “But I’m not backing down! I’m not going to let some asshole chase me away from my own home.”

“Then I’ll back down for you.” Shane took her hand. “We’re leaving.”

“No!” Gabriella wrenched out of his grasp. She took a deep breath, then faced down Shane on her front walk. It was time, as he’d said earlier, to
just quit it
. Just quit being defensive, quit being suspicious, quit being so reactive to every threat, real or imagined. “We already knew there’s someone targeting the pizzerias,” she told Shane. “We all talked about it while scraping down the ruined dough. It’s not news.”

“
This
”—Shane raised the crumpled note—“is news.”

“It’s just an attempt to scare me!” Gabriella said. “It’s a big leap from sabotaging dough to making threats. Do you really think someone is going to—I don’t know—
do
something to me?”

“If time is running out for them? Maybe.”

Shane’s stony expression scared her almost more than that note did. Gabriella pointed at it. “Be reasonable. Someone was targeting Campania because they wanted to run me out of business. They wanted to take over my pizzerias. Cheaply.”

Shane seemed surprised by her grasp of the situation.

“I have an MBA, Shane,” Gabriella reminded him. “I graduated at the top of my class. I’m familiar with business strategies. I just don’t like to dwell on the dark side of them.”

“This time,” he said, “you’re already on the dark side.”

She scoffed. He was being melodramatic. “Even if someone was trying to scare me into quitting, they’re too late! My dad has all but signed on the dotted line of the deal he mentioned.” Gabriella nodded at the crumpled note again. “Whoever did this obviously did it before that happened. Or they didn’t know it had happened.”

“You’re still going to my place for the night.”

“You don’t have to protect me!”

“Have to?” Shane’s gaze darkened. “No. Going to? Yes.”

“Look,” Gabriella said as he grabbed her hand again, then started towing her toward the car, “I appreciate the macho routine here. You’re
very
impressively protective. But I—”

“Do I have to take you to bed to make you agree?”

At his mention of bed, all kinds of sensual memories tumbled through her. Despite the potential danger in her situation—or maybe partly because of it—Gabriella weakened.

Shane would do it. He would basically love her into going along with what he wanted. He would use his hands and his mouth and his big, hard cock to make sure she complied. Eagerly.

She flashed him a smile. “My bed is here, steps away.”

“Mine is more comfortable. And we’re leaving.”

Gabriella allowed him to haul her a few more steps. She kind of liked that Shane was being so protective about this. Not only had he charmed her parents, coaxed her into snapping out of her own worst impulses, eaten enough Sunday gravy to qualify as an honorary Grimani, and then washed all the dinner dishes, but he also looked ready to kill for her.

“I get to be on top,” Gabriella demanded.

Shane pretended reluctance. She knew he didn’t mean it.

He
loved
it when she took the lead. That was one of the many things that made them ideal for one another.

“I get to make you breakfast in the morning,” he bargained.

“The only thing you can cook is toast.”

“It’s very,
very
good toast.”

“What if I want waffles? Pancakes? An omelet?”

“Then you’re sleeping with the wrong guy.” Shane opened the passenger-side door. After a wary look around her neighborhood, he bundled her in. “I’m strictly a morning-after toast man.”

Gabriella sighed. She waited for Shane to get in, too.

“Pumpernickel?” she suggested.

He arched his eyebrows. “If that’s a sexual position—”

She gave him a teasing smack to the biceps.

“—then I’m all in.” He stuffed away that chill-inducing note, then managed a smile for her. “Buckle up. I don’t intend to get you hurt on my way to exact vengeance from that creep.”

“The note writer?” Gabriella blinked, surprised by the vehemence in Shane’s tone. Too late, she remembered his violent youth. Just then, he appeared fully capable of making someone pay for leaving her that threat. “You are
not
going after whoever did that. I don’t want you to. I don’t need you to.”

Shane started the car. “It’s no trouble.” He lowered his voice to a menacing level. “I’m good with my fists.”

“I’m sure you are! But I don’t want
you
to get hurt.”

Blandly, Shane looked at her. “I’m telling you I’d win. That’s what I meant by ‘good with my fists.’ I’d win.”

“I know,” Gabriella told him. “You said you and your friend Casey got in a few scrapes when you were younger. But this is—”

“Casey’s gone straight.
He
might not win.”

“But you would? Because you . . . what? You
haven’t
gone straight?” Gabriella shook her head at him. “A little machismo is one thing, Shane. But if you’re telling me that you would—”

“I’d die for you,” Shane said simply. He pulled the car away from the curb in front of her house, then drove into the darkness. “But it’s not going to come to that.”

 

 

Standing in his silent bedroom that night, long after Gabby had fallen asleep in his bed, Shane gazed down at her and wondered what the hell to do next. Everything had been so perfect tonight . . . until Gabby had found that note in her door.

Just remembering it chilled him. Most of the time, fixing didn’t get deadly. It didn’t even get dangerous. Not in the physical sense, at least. There was always a lot of money at stake. Sometimes influence. Sometimes power. Sometimes secrets were revealed or hidden. Sometimes people lost their executive bonuses, their board positions, their patents or their research—but that was on the darker side of fixing that Shane worked in.

More often, fixers worked on more banal problems. They sorted out scandals for star athletes, covered up problems for politicians, made sure things ran smoothly for celebrities on the sets of troubled TV shows or big-budget movies. Basically, fixers solved other people’s problems. If they were
really
good, like Shane’s friend Casey Jackson, they made people like being “fixed” in the process. Most of the time, fixers were nothing more than modern-day alchemists. They turned gossip into gold.

But they weren’t bullies. They weren’t blackmailers (not usually, at least). They weren’t
killers
. Fixing was supposed to be clean. Effective. Invisible.

That threatening note had been none of those things.

Shane felt certain his rival fixer was responsible for it, though. Who else could it be? Pinkie? She had a reason to want the pizzerias—for her cupcake shops—but Shane didn’t think Gabby’s cousin was the type of person to use intimidation to get what she wanted. On the other hand, Pinkie
had
meddled with the thermostat on the day of the pizza dough fiasco. He’d seen her doing it before she’d ducked out of Campania. But Shane hadn’t wanted to say anything to Gabby before he’d found out more.

As far as the rest of the crew went—people who knew where Gabby lived and how to scare her—Shane could rule out almost everyone else. Bowser was huge and taciturn, but he loved Gabby. Shane knew Bowser would sooner take a bullet for Gabby than shoot one. Emeril? Too obsessed with Food Network to put down the remote and write a threatening note. He also didn’t have the know-how to accomplish the rest of the sabotage. Hypo wouldn’t have wanted to risk a potential splinter from shoving the note in the doorjamb.

Frosty was a possibility. Shane was keeping an eye on him. But Shane had spoken with Jennifer a few days ago—ostensibly about some pizzeria business—and she’d verified that Frosty was with her most of the time. Besides, Shane recalled, Frosty believed that Gabby was under Shane’s protection. He’d told him so after Frosty had overheard the end of his phone call with his dad.

He doubted Frosty would risk crossing paths with him. That night, in the alley, Shane had made his feelings about Gabby plain.
No one
was touching her. Not without retaliation.

He hadn’t been kidding about what he’d told Gabby on the way home tonight. It might have been true that his work didn’t usually require violence—but when it came to Gabby, Shane felt 100 percent capable of being violent to ensure her safety.

That left Scooter—who was like a grouchy old uncle to Gabby and had been since she was a little girl—and Jeremy.
He
was more problematic, Shane knew, because he was desperate. The money problems that he’d alluded to that day in Campania’s kitchen were real. Jeremy had a gambling problem—one Shane had easily unearthed with a little research—and Jeremy had no love lost on Gabby. That made him potentially dangerous . . .
and
susceptible to being coerced into sabotaging the pizzeria for a hefty payday. Shane didn’t think Jeremy had the nerve to follow through with a threat, but he was keeping an eye on him, all the same.

Pacing now, with midnight pressing down on him, Shane felt no closer to knowing who the other fixer was than he had earlier. It might be someone utterly unfamiliar. It might be the fixer who’d been axed by his father in favor of Shane—which would certainly have provided motivation for a payback. It might, Shane didn’t want to admit, even be Lizzy.