Chapter 65: Why Didn't You Come to Me First?
Gabriel's POV
I watched Taylor approach my desk with that deliberate stride he always pulled out for bad news.
"Sir, Miss Gray and Julian just had a phone conversation," he reported, standing at attention like a soldier.
My fingers froze over the keyboard. Luna talking to Julian? That was unexpected. And it pissed me off.
"Give me the details," I said, keeping my voice steady despite the possessive surge hitting my chest like a gut punch. "Why'd she call? How long? What'd they talk about? Spill it, Taylor."
"Miss Gray initiated the call, sir. Three minutes and nine seconds total." Taylor glanced at his tablet. "It seems to have been about borrowing vehicles from Julian's club for an upcoming production shoot."
I leaned back in my chair, mulling that over. "So, just business, you think?"
Taylor hesitated—and that said it all. "That's my take, yes."
"Monitor Julian's line," I ordered, my tone leaving no room for debate. "I want transcripts of any more chats with Miss Gray."
"And Miss Gray's phone, sir?"
"No." The word came out sharper than I meant. "Her privacy stays intact."
Taylor nodded and slipped out, leaving me stewing. Why the hell would Luna hit up Julian for cars? She knew I had a whole damn fleet she could borrow. I'd buy her a dozen more if she just asked.
The question ate at me as I wrapped up my work.
---
At six sharp, I stood outside the Legacy Media lounge with two bags from Rosetti's—Luna's go-to Italian spot.
I knocked twice, firm. Footsteps approached, and the door cracked open just enough for Luna to peek out. Her eyes went wide when she saw me, and she tried to slam it shut.
"Gabriel! What are you—" She kept it mostly closed, her body blocking the view inside. "This isn't a good time."
I arched an eyebrow. "Acting so jumpy. You hiding someone in there?"
"My assistant Tina's here," she shot back quick. "We're swamped with work."
"Dinner," I said, holding up the bags. "You gotta eat."
Before she could argue, footsteps echoed down the hall. Dean Foster, the balding director on Luna's project, came strolling up with what looked like takeout boxes.
"Mr. Ashford!" His surprise was almost funny. "I... wasn't expecting you."
Luna's face went pale. "Dean! Perfect timing. Gabriel was just dropping off your dinner."
_What the fuck?_ I stared her down, not hiding my irritation.
The director's face lit up like a kid at Christmas. "For me? That's awfully thoughtful!" He reached for the bags.
I yanked them back. "Afraid there's a mix-up. These are for Luna."
The hallway turned ice-cold. Dean's grin froze solid.
"Dean," I said smoothly, "if you like Rosetti's, take your family sometime. Put it on my tab."
"That's—that's real generous," he stammered.
"Luna, Tina," Dean said, shoving his own bags at her. "I brought these for you guys, but I just remembered an urgent call. Gotta bolt!"
He hightailed it down the hall, tossing one scared glance back before vanishing around the corner.
---
Once we were alone, Luna whirled on me, eyes blazing. "Did you have to be such a dick about it? You could've played along for two seconds!"
"And hand over food I got for you?" I stepped closer, forcing her to crane her neck to meet my gaze. "Ungrateful little brat. I bring you dinner out of the kindness of my heart, and you try to pawn it off?"
"I was trying to keep things low-key," she hissed.
"I give you things that are yours alone," I said, leaning in until our lips were inches apart. "Don't forget that."
Her breath hitched, and I couldn't help myself. I caught her lower lip between my teeth, nipping just hard enough to stake my claim—without drawing blood.
"Gabriel!" She shoved at my chest, darting a nervous glance down the empty hall. "Someone could see."
"So?" I smirked. "Let 'em know you've got a... what'd you call it? A 'special arrangement' with the CEO?"
Her cheeks flushed that gorgeous pink. "I never said that."
"No?" I chuckled low. "Your face says otherwise."
She snatched the bags from me. "Thanks for the food. Now I gotta get back to work."
"I'll drive you home when you're done."
She froze. "I'm NOT going to Ashford Estate!"
The fire in her voice cracked me up. "I meant your place, Luna. The Mayfair." I watched her expression shift. "We made some killer memories there, didn't we? Three years back?"
Something sparked in her eyes—lust, maybe nostalgia. She shut it down fast.
"I seem to recall you promising certain... duties as my fuck buddy," I teased, loving how her eyes widened at the bluntness. "When you planning to deliver?"
Luna bounced back with a sly grin. "Patience, Gabriel. I'll let you know when I'm free."
"Convenient," I noted. "Let me guess—too busy with work?"
"Exactly." Her smile was all fake innocence. "I'll wrap up around nine. If you're dead set on driving me, meet me in the underground garage."
"Deal," I said. "I'll be waiting."
---
At nine on the dot, I was parked in my Bentley on the basement level, eyes on the elevator. It dinged, doors sliding open to reveal Luna clutching her bag like armor. She scanned the area nervously before darting over and sliding into the back seat.
I glanced over my shoulder. "Babe, come up front."
"Someone might spot us," she whispered.
"I've got this whole level locked down," I told her. "It's just you and me."
"That's insane," she muttered, but she climbed out and settled in the passenger seat.
As we drove, I kept stealing looks at her profile. City lights danced across her face, catching the soft curve of her cheek, the plumpness of her lips.
"How's the production shaping up?" I asked, actually curious about her world.
Luna sighed, heavy with frustration. "It's a grind. Savannah's fighting her character arc, Dean's nitpicking my script tweaks, and budget cuts are killing us."
"Want me to step in?" I offered.
She shook her head hard. "No way. I gotta handle this on my own."
I respected her fire, even if it drove me nuts. "Luna, why not ask me about the vehicles? Why call Julian?"
"The props guy suggested Julian's club. Didn't realize I had to clear every production detail with you."
Her offhand tone sent a chill through me. My grip tightened on the wheel.
"Gabriel?" she prodded after a beat of silence.
I stared straight ahead, not trusting myself to look at her.
"Are you seriously pulling the silent treatment?" Disbelief dripped from her voice.
I stayed quiet, eyes locked on the traffic light.
When we pulled up at The Mayfair, I parked but didn't unlock the doors. Luna twisted in her seat, her face hardening.
"Gabriel Ashford, are you using the cold shoulder as some kinda punishment?"
In one smooth move, I hauled her onto my lap, ignoring her gasp. She felt perfect against me—warm, fitting like she was made for it. I locked eyes with her, seeing confusion and spark in those stormy gray-greens.
"Luna Gray," I growled, voice rougher than I planned, "are you really this clueless?"