Managed: A VIP Novel Part 43

"You are not disgusting." I take another step toward her. "I spoke out of turn. I am a jealous prat. I didn't expect to be, but I am."

I move closer. If I can just get to her, simply hold her, things will be all right. They have to be.

But she holds up a hand, warning me off. "Look, I'm going to stay with Brenna tonight."

This is wrong. She shouldn't go. "You should stay."

A bitter smile pulls at her lips. "But I don't want to."

I swallow so hard it hurts. "Oh."

Brilliant rejoinder. b.l.o.o.d.y brilliant.

She makes a noise in her throat as if she's thinking the same thing. "Like I said, I don't want to stay on the tour either."

My body strains toward hers. "Why?" It sounds more like a plea than a question.

She huffs out a toneless laugh. "Jesus, you can't be this thick. You gave me an ultimatum. Either grow up or get off the tour. And by what I've heard from you tonight, all this is moot anyway. And you know what? I don't want to grow up. Not if it means being coldly clinical like you, so I guess I'm out."

She grabs the bag I'm only now seeing and heads for the door. My feet are rooted to the ground. I have to force them to move, to follow her. I feel hollowed out and numb. My head pounds with her angry words.

"Wait," I say.

She doesn't turn. "You know," she says. "I like you just as you are, faults and all. But you clearly don't accept me for who I am."

"That's not true!" I'm walking faster now. But she's already at the door, opening it. "Sophie."

She pauses, but still doesn't look my way. "Leave me alone, Gabriel. I've reached my limit tonight. I can't talk to you any more."

Give her s.p.a.ce. That's what men are supposed to do when a woman requests it, aren't they? I don't know. I've never had a woman I wanted to call my own before. It feels wrong, but I've done everything wrong at this point. So I shove my protests aside.

"All right. Good night, Sophie."

"Goodbye."

The door shuts with a soft click, and I am alone.

Sophie

Just get to the door. Just get out of the room and then you can lose it.

He lets me go with a softly offered, "Good night." As if he hasn't just torn me apart all over again.

As if he hadn't just told Jules I was out. No first cla.s.s this time? Well, f.u.c.k you and your first-cla.s.s tickets.

A sob tries to break free, and I hold it in by sheer will. My feet propel me down the hotel corridor, but my body is throbbing with this horrible, dull pain. He fired me? And then acted like it was all on me?

I should have thrown it in his face. But I'm so hurt, so shocked. I don't know what to say. I can't think properly. I thought he loved me. True, he never said the words, but every look, every action... That was love. It had to be.

And yet here I am again, coming in second to a man's business needs. It wasn't as if I didn't have warnings this time. I knew Gabriel put the band above all things. But I had hoped there was equal room for me.

I make it to Brenna's room. My knuckles feel brittle as I knock on her door.

The second she opens it, I start to cry.

"Honey," she says, pulling me in. "Honey."

Everything that happened comes out of me like word vomit. And she holds me, letting it all flow.

"He did what?" she shrieks when I tell her about Gabriel ordering Jules to fire me.

"He told her to remind me of the f.u.c.king NDA I signed," I say bitterly.

"No." Brenna shakes her head. "No way. That is not the man I've seen with you. He's crazy about you, Sophie."

I wouldn't have thought so either. A sigh shakes me. "I heard him." I walked in just in time to hear those orders loud and clear.

"You have to talk to him. Because I cannot believe it."

She guides me to a chair as I shake my head. "I just talked to him. I said I was leaving the tour, and he let me go."

Why didn't he come after me? Tell me that he loves me? Is that what I want? I'm so battered and tired of the whole thing, I can't think straight. I only know that I hurt, and I miss him. Even when I want to hit his stubborn, thick head, I miss him. Life is an empty road if he isn't on it beside me.

I hate this weakness. Being in love is akin to losing my mind and having my heart flayed open all at once. It sucks.

"Look," Brenna says gently, "you two have had a bad night. Let it settle and discuss it in the morning." She grows quiet and then bends her head to peer at me. "You really want to leave the tour?"

It occurs to me then that she's not just a friend. She's my boss.

"I'm sorry," I say, twisting my fingers. "It isn't just Gabriel. Killian wouldn't look at me tonight. Logically, I don't blame them. But it was as if all that we've been through means nothing." I shake my head. "And call me a wuss, but I just want to go away and lick my wounds in privacy for a while."

Brenna appears to think that is a terrible idea, but she's kind enough to let it go. "Let's get you to bed. It will be better in the morning."

I'm fairly certain that means Brenna is going to try to talk me out of things, or into things. Either way, I can't face being asked to review the stinking NDA I signed. The humiliation would level me.

Maybe Gabriel has it right; maybe it's better to take a step back and protect yourself. I've always been a walking ball of emotion. Maybe if I take some time for myself, get away from the heady experience of being wrapped up in Gabriel, I'll see things clearly.

Brenna stands, cutting into my thoughts. "I'll leave you to get ready." She takes a few steps, then turns back. "If things turn out for the worst, Harley Andrews is very interested in working with you."

"That's flattering." I feel absolutely nothing. I don't care anymore if I'd be working with a huge movie star. And yet Australia sounds like an adventure right about now. I could go there, take in the country, get some perspective.

A little voice whispers that I'm running away like a chicken. I ignore it.

Chapter Twenty-Eight.

Gabriel

The guys find me the next morning in a pathetic heap on the couch, a pillow over my face. I would say it is my lowest point, but that's already happened. The second Sophie walked out the door and out of my life will always be my lowest point. No, the second I doubted her and tore apart her trust in me was my lowest point.

"Jesus," Jax says, somewhere above my head. "He's wearing sweats. Dirty ones."

And rather foul-smelling ones at that. I don't b.l.o.o.d.y care.

"Is he drunk?" Whip asks with some concern.

"Naw," Killian drawls. "All I see are empty water bottles."

"Drowning his sorrows in bottled water. At least he's not cliche," Rye murmurs before sitting next to me. His hand comes down on my shoulder and he gives me a shake. "Scottie, man, what's up?"

It takes true effort to make my mouth move. But I know if I don't answer, they'll never leave.

"I'm fairly certain Sophie wants to leave me."

They're all silent, which grates even more.

Then Jax sighs. "f.u.c.k, man. That sucks."

The pillow lifts from my face, sending blinding light into my eyes. I squint as Killian frowns down at me.

"What did you do?" he asks.

I don't answer. My body is so leaden, I can't find the energy to talk. I just want them to go away.

"Was it the s.e.x?" Whip asks tentatively.

I give him a glare that, in a perfect world, would cause instant annihilation.

Unfortunately it does little more than make Whip wince. "Sorry, sorry. Just thought I'd ask."

I stare up at the ceiling. Behind me, Jax rummages through the suite's kitchenette and finds some beers.

"Should you be drinking those?" I feel compelled to ask. He looks about as good as I feel.

Jax limps his way to the other couch and falls down on it. "It settles my stomach."

Doubtful.

"Are you all right?" I ask, partially afraid he'll be sick all over my suite.

He gives me a knowing look. "I feel like s.h.i.t warmed over and left out to dry, but I'll live."

Rye pa.s.ses beers to the others, but I wave off the offer. I don't remember when I last ate, and in my current mood, I'm likely to punch someone if I get drunk.

"Once found a book of Brenna's," Rye says, making a face. "Dude in it had some 'monster c.o.c.k' that was ten inches long."

"Yeah, right," Jax scoffs. "Was it a fantasy? The likelihood of a dude with a tenner is slim."

"Speak for yourself," Killian says with a smug grin.

"I am, anaconda. Just simmer down and keep it holstered."

They both snicker. But Rye shakes his head. "How are dudes in real life supposed to compete when women are reading about python d.i.c.ks and p.u.s.s.y whisperers?"

Whip snorts and spins one of his drumsticks. "The average length of a woman's v.a.g.i.n.a is three to four inches. A ten-inch d.i.c.k doesn't mean s.h.i.t when it's all said and done."

"Are you trying to justify having a three-inch d.i.c.k?" Rye asks with a growing smirk.

"Nice try, but you're not getting a look at this magnificent specimen, no matter how badly you want to." Whip grabs his crotch and hefts it in Rye's direction before rolling his eyes. "I'm trying to say, a.s.shole, that men shouldn't be worrying about how big their d.i.c.ks are, but how to use them. I've had women weep with grat.i.tude because they're used to lazy c.o.c.k."

Jax laughs at that. "Lazy c.o.c.k. So f.u.c.king true. You get a woman to come on your d.i.c.k, and she's f.u.c.king hooked."