Page 35 of Love What's Left
The (potentially) asthmatic receptionist popped her head around the corner. “Did I hear you say you needed a room? Because the Apple Festival is happening this weekend, so everywhere is booked”—breath—“full, but we own a vacation cabin on the lake. It is so cute and cozy. You will love it.”
“What a great idea, baby. So glad you thought of it,” Zack said in a tone nearly as weird and wooden as hers.
I eyed the two of them suspiciously, noticing her wedding band for the first time. I smelled a setup. If we got to that cabin and there was only one bed, McRae was sleeping on the floor.
A thrill shivered through me.Nohe wasn’t, but only because his arm would be hurting from his tattoo, and it would be cruel to make a man in pain sleep on hardwood. But I would put a wall of pillows between us. Even if it meant I didn’t have one for my head. Even if it killed me.
I’d be an idiot to fall for him. There’d be nothing left of me when he was done. No career. No friends. No self-respect. Just a bleeding, broken heart.
In this beautiful kitchen in Hawai’i, so far away, I put the cap on my marker and look into the eyes of the man across from me. “What’s your name?”
“Gabriel.” His voice is barely audible.
“Gabriel,” I repeat the syllables in the same volume, combination, and intonation, but that’s all they are: random syllables without meaning. It’s as though I’ve deliberately greased up his name, so it won’t stick. How?Why?
“I called youMcRae. The day I chose this ink,” I argue.
“McRae is my last name.”
It should have been obvious all along. I have no idea why I hadn’t recognized it sooner. “My name is Sydney WalshMcRae.”
“You added my last name to yours when we married.”
I did it. He wasn’t lying. Imarriedthat man on the street bike. The one whose arms are covered in ink I chose.
Once upon a time, I’d craved him beyond all reason . . . and I’d trusted him as far as I could throw him.
14
Gabriel
Considering her mood after dinner, giving Sydney a little more time alone seems like a good idea. Three months ago, if she’d gotten that look on her face, I’d have asked her who peed in her Cheerios. That was a lifetime ago.
I work out hard, then shower in the guest bathroom to remove the sweat from my body. It does jack-all for the worry on my mind.
After I’ve thrown some sweats on, I close the library door behind me, then I dial the number for one of the scientists on Dad’s research and development team. The phone rings three times before Rob Sennett picks up.
“Mr. McRae?” His voice holds the gravel of sleep.
I glance at the time on my phone. “Yes. Sorry for the late call. I didn’t think about the difference in time zones.”
He clears his throat and seems to rouse himself. “How is Sydney? Where are you?”
“Awake and recovering. Not in New York. I didn’t get an update from you this week.”
“There’s nothing to tell. No one has contacted either me or Amelia with a job offer. I haven’t remembered anything new. Working without Sydney to reconstruct this is slow going.”
“My only concern is that the lab was a weak spot in our security. The formula she was working on can wait for her to return.” Certain aspects of Sydney’s job maintained a high level of confidentiality, even from her co-workers. She had her own projects for a reason.
“I can do it. I just need time on the project.”
“Don’t. You have your own to concern yourself with.” She was attempting to develop a sealant that could be applied in seconds to the hands or any body part to create a protective barrier that allowed the wearer to retain the sensation and dexterity of bare hands but offered one thousand times the protection of latex. The idea was born out of a desire to protect our own team in the field. If she pulls it off, everyone from surgeons to chefs could use it. It could even revolutionize barrier birth control.
But Markov taking her research, if it was him, didn’t hurt me. At best, it was a loss ofpotentialfuture financial gain for our family. Even then, there was no guarantee of a payoff. It was an idea in the beginning stages. Not yet more than my sexy scientist playing with possibilities. “Do you have any guesses at how Markov found out about the research in the first place or why would he want it?”
“I have no idea, but Sydney does. If you can get her to tell us—”
“She doesn’t remember.”
