Friends to Lovers (24 page)

If Gib was still manager, he’d care. He’d even offer to help in whatever small way possible. But right now it took all his control not to stalk over to that fucking display case and start lobbing awards through the window.

Silence for a few beats from Philippe. “It pains me to remove you from your position. It is true, you have been
tres magnifique
as manager. If only you were an American, you could continue to head up Cavendish Chicago for years. I wish there were some other way. Let me know what you decide.
Au revoir.
”

The drone of a dial tone filled his office. Gib didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Because when a black hole of bureaucracy swallowed up the life you’d worked so hard to create, what was the point?

How could they do this? How could some faceless human resources exec who wanted to make his mark at Castellan so carelessly fuck with people’s lives? Years of training. Years of sixty-, even seventy-hour weeks, proving himself. Proving his worth to his supervisors. Once the awards started rolling in, profits edged up, proving his worth to the company.

All that rendered meaningless. No discussion. No chance to present his case. Hell, he’d be gone before it was time to get another haircut. The enormity of this change felt the same as a sucker punch straight to his balls. Knocked the breath out of him. Cemented him to the spot, still hunched over his desk. Erased every other thought from his mind.

His office door burst open. Pink cheeked and beaming from ear to ear, Daphne said, “Geez, why didn’t you tell me you were going to Lyons? Would’ve saved me a trip—” Her voice faded out. Dropping her coat to the floor, she rushed to him. Threw an arm around his shoulders. “Gib, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Are you having a heart attack? Panic attack? Should I call an ambulance?”

“No.”

“No to which?”

“All of it. Everything.” Gib let her press him back into his chair. Knees folded automatically, just like he kept breathing. Registered the outside chill clinging to her hair as it swung across his face. The fresh scent of crushed flowers that clung to her fingers as she stroked his cheek. Daphne must’ve unloaded an early shipment today. He saw the worry line indented between her eyebrows. None of it mattered. Like Han Solo encased in carbonite, nothing penetrated his layer of icy anger.

Cool lips brushed his. Once. Twice. On the third time, Gib’s lips responded involuntarily. No thought, just reaction. The way his heart knew to beat. The way his hand curled around a cricket bat. A soft warmth spread from her lips to radiate through his body. Still working on autopilot, he grabbed, twisted her to land in his lap without breaking their lip-lock. Daphne curled into his embrace with a soft moan.

He speared his hand through her hair. God, it felt like satin and sex rippling through his fingers. Gib opened her lips. Hungrily swept in to lick the sensations straight from her tongue. His other hand slid down to cup that sweet, heart-shaped ass.

Daphne broke away, eyes bright and panting just a little. “Hang on, there. This is nice, don’t get me wrong. But we’re in your office. With a glass door. With Agatha right outside. Workplace hanky-panky’s not very doable. Not here, anyway. My office at least has a supply closet for these sort of shenanigans.”

“You’re right. Sorry.” Gib let her slide off his lap. Part of him couldn’t believe he’d acted so unprofessionally. The other part of him, the part with the raging hard-on, pointed out that professionalism hadn’t gotten him jack shit. It
had
gotten him demoted and deported. “I needed that. I needed—you,” he admitted. She’d managed to pull him back from the brink. “Didn’t expect to see you this morning.”

“I needed a break from processing a trillion and two tulips. For the party this weekend.”

He looked at her blankly. Even with his brain deadened by shock, he knew the event calendar without checking. The Cavendish had three weddings and a bar mitzvah in the next two days, but no party. “What party?”

“Duh. Your party, Gib. The one where
Windy City
magazine honors all its top bachelors. You’re the main attraction, remember?” Daphne rested her butt on the edge of his desk. “What’s going on? Because you’re acting very, very weird. Frankly, you’re scaring me right now. Did something bad happen?”

Bad. Catastrophic. Like a fucking stallion kick straight to his balls. “Yes.”

“Well, what happened?”

God, where to start? “It’s complicated.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I do have a college degree. Might not be as pretty as the one Cambridge gave you, but I think I can follow along. Unless your current problem involves quantum physics. Just spit it out.”

“On second thought, it’s simple. I’ve been notified my services as manager are no longer required here. I’ve got to ship out to London, and suck up a demotion to assistant manager for who knows how long. And before you suggest that I quit, they’ll yank my work visa. One way or the other, I’ve got to leave Chicago.” He’d thought hearing the news was bad enough. But speaking the words stabbed the sword of finality through him once more.

Daphne exhaled, as though his news thumped all the air right out of her. “No.”

“In two weeks. That’s all the time Goudreau gave me to wrap up my life.” He pushed out of his chair. Paced to the far wall, then back again. Did another circuit when Daphne didn’t say anything. Wished desperately that there wasn’t a foot of snow on the ground. Gib needed to stretch his legs, run along the lakeshore until the cold knifed his chest and his muscles cramped. That would clear his head.

Twisting to face him, Daphne said, “We’ll fix it. We’ll find a way to make it right.”

“You can’t fix this.” And then, with the weight of a freight train, the truth barreled into him. “In fact, you’re the one who caused the problem.”

She sucked in a breath. “That’s not funny.”

“I agree.” He cracked his office door. “Agatha, why don’t you take those muffins down to the catering office? Chat them up for a good quarter of an hour. Find out if Raquel’s having a girl or a boy—I think her sonogram was yesterday.” Gib waited until she’d collected her sweater, purse and the bakery box. The woman went nowhere without her purse. Even carried it between the living room and kitchen when he went to her house for their monthly Sunday dinners. Then he locked the outer door behind her. Shut the inner door, too. Couldn’t take a chance on any staff member overhearing him lose his shit with Daphne.

Gib advanced on her. His anger hadn’t really had a target before. Hard to yell at a faceless conglomerate. But now he knew where to focus his rage. He knew exactly where the blame should lie. With one finger, he pointed straight at the cause of his ruin. The blonde, blue-eyed living doll with the quivering lip looking as confused as a Bears linebacker would be at the Queen’s garden party.

“You cost me my job. You cost me my life here. You cost me
everything.
”

“Gib, no.” Her voice shook. She slid off the desk, backed away from his tangible anger. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”

“But you did. This is all your fault.” He stabbed his finger in the air between them.

“How can you say that?”

Gib could barely look at her. “The only reason I’m no longer allowed to work at Cavendish Chicago is because I’m not an American. A detail I tried to remedy five months ago. Got my papers in order. Studied my ass off for the citizenship test. Let Milo stick a tie with the Stars and Stripes on it in my pocket, to put on for the ceremony. Remember what happened next?”

“Oh.” Daphne squeezed her eyes shut tight. Bit her lip.

“What’s that? Little hard to hear you over the noise of my entire bloody life crashing down around me.”

In a near whisper, she said, “I stopped you.”

“That’s right.” Gib crossed his arms over his chest. “You barged into the courtroom. Interrupted the bailiff. Pissed off the judge. And gave me an elaborate song and dance about duty. Birthright. Legacy. Queen and country. How I needed to be constant, honor my heritage.”

Her eyes flew back open. “Those things all still hold true.”

Christ. How could she be so stubborn as to refuse to shoulder the blame? “Do they? You’re in my back pocket most of the time. What part of my daily life involves my title? How often do I speak of my estate holdings? Yearn for anything British other than more soccer on television?”

This time, she advanced into his space. Balled her hands onto her hips and jutted her chin defiantly. “I know you, Gib. You wouldn’t have been happy splitting your loyalties. As much as you enjoy America, you’re British to your core. I helped you stay true to yourself. I know you made the right choice that day.”

Bollocks to that. “Really? Because here’s what I know.” He splayed his fingers and ticked points off, one by one. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be an American citizen. I wouldn’t be sacked. I’d still have a job. I’d still be here in March to throw Ben a bachelor party. I’d still be here to help Sam load up all his chocolates for the Fancy Food Show at the end of the month.”

“You can still do all of that.” She threw her arms in the air. “Go ahead and quit. We’ll find you another job.”

All those years of owning her own business must’ve blinded her to the reality of the job market. “In two weeks? Daphne, positions at my level can take two years for an opening to come around.”

“You’ve got savings. Stick it out until you find one.”

Why did people assume money solved everything? He banged the wall with his fist. It didn’t begin to bleed off his tension. “I can’t. They don’t grant you a work visa to bag groceries in America. It has to be a job that requires a foreign national with special skills. Without a job, I have to leave the country. Period.” And, there it was. The simple fact that spun his life into a one-eighty. Saying it out loud again was like opening a valve. Some of his anger drained away, already replaced with crushing defeat. “You know my story now. You know the last thing I want to do is return to England. Don’t you think if there was a way out, I’d snatch it with both hands?”

Daphne grabbed his hands. Gib tried to shake her off, but she held firm. “You have to try. Don’t just give up.”

“I’m not giving up. I’m being realistic.”

“Okay, you’re entitled to pitch a hissy right now. I get it. And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not worth as much as, say, a bloody American passport would be,” he grumbled. Daphne certainly hadn’t known how her speech that day would affect him five months down the road. Hadn’t torpedoed his career on purpose. Yelling at her wouldn’t change his circumstances. Hard to stop, though. Especially with those small, strong hands of hers curled around his. Hard to bundle all those exposed emotions back under wraps. Like a proper British man would do.

“What about that Four Seasons they’re building in Milwaukee? Lots of people live on the North Shore and commute to Milwaukee.”

Finally, he managed to twist out of her grasp. Sank into his chair and tilted his head back. “It doesn’t open until next year.”

Daphne braced herself on the arms of his chair. Straddling him, she interjected herself into his awesome view of the ceiling. “So look outside Chicago. Find a hotel someplace else for a year, and then come back when they’re ready to open. Phoenix, Miami, Los Angeles, anywhere. We’re a big country. There’s got to be at least one hotel with an opening.”

She stared down at him with so much sympathy, so much fucking understanding. Such unquenchable optimism. As much as he wanted to keep railing at her, just because she was here and he needed someone to yell at, he couldn’t. This wasn’t just any convenient woman. This was Daphne, who understood him better than anyone. Who never turned him away, day or night when he needed to talk. Who always, without fail, could coax a smile out of him. Who evidently refused to give up on him, despite the undeniable, unfixable facts.

Beneath the power of her unswerving stare, Gib was helpless. Not that his anger at the situation disappeared with a flutter of her lashes. No, he still seethed at being sacked, and at Daphne for the part she’d played in it. But it simply didn’t matter as much as the feelings Daphne stirred in him. The feelings he’d managed to hold at bay all these years. And yet, now that they’d crossed that invisible demarcation from platonic best friends to almost-lovers, every moment he spent with her sucked him deeper into a morass of bloody tender feelings. Feelings that scared the shit out of him. Feelings he couldn’t control. Could only marvel at how much he adored the sweet, passionate woman fighting simultaneously with him and for him.

Gib deliberately softened his grumbling. “Sure. Big, corporate resorts where the hiring process lasts three months and eight rounds of interviews. There’s nothing to be done in two weeks but to pack.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I can think of a few other things to keep you occupied over the next few weeks.” She tugged his tie loose with a suggestive smile.

No red-blooded man could resist that smile. Especially not with her hovering an inch above his suddenly very optimistic cock. “Christ, you’re relentless. All right. I’ll look for a job. I’ll scour the web until my eyes bleed. I’ll send off a CV to every five-star hotel from sea to shining sea. Is that bloody well good enough for you?”

“It’s a start.” Daphne sank onto his lap, hands splayed on his chest. “One more thing, though. Do you forgive me?”

Why? The woman was squirming on his lap, and she wanted to be serious? Daphne didn’t have her priorities straight. Gib pushed her hair behind her shoulders. He cupped her neck, lightly stroking the back of it. “Do I have to decide right now?”

“Gib, I’m serious.”

Damn it. He deserved to be mad for at least five sodding minutes. “If you could go back and change the past, would you still do it? Even knowing it would cost me my job?”

“Yes.”

Didn’t she understand how forgiveness worked? Daphne had to regret her part in the utter ruination of his life first—then he could forgive her. He dropped his hands to his sides. “Don’t you want to think about it for a second?” Gib asked flatly.

“No. I still believe it was the right choice. A choice
you
made, by the way.” She stabbed him in the sternum with her index finger. “I didn’t hold a gun to your head. Especially considering the twenty-minute wait in line to go through the courtroom metal detectors. You’re a grown man, Gib. One who listens to the counsel of his friends, but ultimately makes his own decisions. Something I said that day resonated. You must’ve been having second thoughts about changing your citizenship already. So don’t you dare throw all the blame on me.”