Haze (The Fosters of New York 2) - Page 32

This time I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Gabriel Foster was not only checking me out, he's as interested in me as I am in him. This may be the best birthday I've ever had.

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nbsp; CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Gabriel

It was mid-afternoon when the floral bouquet I'd ordered for Isla was delivered. I'd been insistent with the florist about the flowers she included. I don't have any knowledge about what Isla prefers but I know what I find beautiful. I wanted something fragrant and bright that will bring a smile to her gorgeous face.

It had.

She'd called my office shortly after three, asking to speak to me. I was in a meeting but Sophia had been instructed to interrupt me the moment Ms. Lane called.

Her voice is as soft on the phone as it is when I speak to her in person. I could hear the sincere gratitude in her tone.

The card, delivered with the bouquet, was a request for a celebratory drink at my favorite bar after her dinner plans. She'd agreed on the phone to meet me there at eleven.

Six hours from now.

It's a risk, perhaps not even a calculated one. The moment we kissed last night, I was lost to it all. To the need to know her, the hunger to be near her, and the constant and always present desire to fuck her.

"Are you going to make time for mom today, or not?" Caleb rounds the corner and walks through the open doors of my office. "I was just at the hospital and she said you're a no show."

Naturally she'd say that. I stopped by there after I'd been to the boutique to return Isla's violin. My mother had been upright, sitting in a chair by the window, chatting away on her smartphone to someone who obviously sympathized with her plight.

I'd sat on the edge of her hospital bed, for a full twenty minutes, waiting for her to end the call, but she hadn't. My day was too busy to devote it to listening to my mother discuss what nail polish color would be the best choice since her manicurist was on her way to the hospital.

After a quick kiss on her forehead, and a chat with my cousin, Ben, about the improvement in her condition, I'd left.

"I was there earlier." I swipe my finger across my tablet. "She was talking on the phone."

"She's waiting for you to visit her." He ignores everything I just said. "Rowan is stopping by the hospital after work. You can catch a ride with her."

"I have plans." I do. I'm going to the gym before I take a long, hot shower. After that, I'll get dressed and then head to the bar to meet Isla.

He arches his left brow. "She's going to be pissed."

"I'll call her to say goodnight." I gesture towards my phone. "She'll get over it, Caleb. She always does."

***

I'm on my second scotch when I see her walk into the bar. Her hands are holding the skirt of her short black dress in place against the harsh wind that blew up late this evening. Her hair, likely polished and pristine when she left her apartment for dinner, is now a tangled mess around her face.

She looks disheveled in the most alluring way possible.

Her eyes scan the dimly lit space just as I stand. I see the instant recognition and perhaps, relief, in her expression when her hand rises in a small wave.

She walks towards me. Steady and determined in her heels. Although they give her a fair few inches in height, I still tower over her.

"Gabriel." Her tongue darts out to wet her bottom lip. "I'm sorry if I'm late."

She's not late. I'd paced the floor of my penthouse for a solid hour before I called for my driver to bring me here. That was shortly after nine.

I've been sitting in this chair, tending to emails on my phone, while waiting. I shared the table briefly with a designer we'd done business with three years ago and then twice with women who took it upon themselves to join me.

I'd made it clear, quickly, that I was saving my time, and attention, for someone else.

Any other night, I might have bought one, or both, a drink. I'd listen to them tell me about their lives and the shortcomings with the men they've been with before. Then, I'd pay the tab, escort them to a hotel and within minutes, I'd be fucking every last ounce of stress in my body away.

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Fosters of New York Romance
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