Chapter 4. His Name

“Get out of the car.”

He looked at her hand on the window frame. “Diana—”

“You can explain standing up. Where people can see us.”

He switched off the engine and got out. He wore another dark suit, no tie, and she hated that she noticed how well it fit him.

“Your full name,” she said, holding up her phone.

“Gabriel Valenti.”

She typed it to Eva, adding the car's corner and color.

“There’s a diner,” she said. “We’ll talk there.”

“All right.”

He fell into step beside her. This time she watched him as closely as he watched her.

⁂

Gabriel Valenti looked too large for the vinyl booth at Sal’s. The waitress nearly spilled his coffee, then apologized twice. He thanked her by name.

Diana’s phone vibrated.

Eva: VALENTI?

Then: Do NOT get in his car. Pick up.

She answered by the washroom door, keeping him in sight.

“The Valenti Development man?” Eva demanded over the train noise. “Half the skyline?”

Diana looked at the man sitting patiently across the diner. The name on the presentation she had worked on all weekend.

“Apparently.”

“Remember Danny?”

Her stomach tightened. Eva’s brother had disappeared for nine days two years ago. He’d returned with two broken fingers and a story he wouldn’t tell properly.

“The debt collectors used the Valenti name,” Eva said. “The cops heard it and stopped wanting to help. I don’t know what he did himself. I know what happened to my brother.”

“We’re in public.”

“Stay there. Share your location.”

Diana did. When she returned to the booth, Gabriel put down his cup.

“You’ve heard something.”

“My friend’s brother. Danny. A collection crew broke his fingers while collecting under your name.”

His expression changed, but he didn’t look away.

“I don’t know Danny or the crew. I’ll find out who they worked for.”

“That doesn’t answer what happened.”

“No. I don’t have that answer yet.”

She had expected an offended denial. The admission left her with less to push against.

“I don’t want you hurting someone because I asked.”

“I’ll have it investigated. You’ll hear what I find. Danny can, too, if he wants.”

She watched the waitress carefully avoid his elbow as she passed. Diana wasn’t ready to take his reassurance as proof of anything.

“Now tell me how you knew my name.”

“The winter gala at the Ashford. You were working at the Hans sponsor table. You gave me your card.”

She searched her memory. Donors, bad heels, a display that had arrived with the wrong measurements. Dozens of faces.

“You were wearing a name badge,” he said. “An investor grabbed your wrist. You got free and sold him a lobby before he realized you were angry.”

She remembered the investor. Not Gabriel.

“You’ve been thinking about that since winter?”

“I’ve been thinking about you.”

Six months. The answer warmed something in her before she could defend herself.

Then she remembered the car.

“How many times have you seen me since?”

His silence lasted too long.

“Gabriel.”

“Enough to know you take the earlier bus when you’re worried about work.”

She stared at him.

“And the bookstore on Fulton,” he said. “When you’ve had a bad day.”

“Did you follow me?”

“Sometimes.”

“And the other times?”

“I had someone tell me where you were.”

“For God's sake,” Diana put her hands in her lap. She didn’t want him seeing them shake.

The night in his apartment rearranged itself. What she had thought was a chance meeting had happened to only one of them.

“I agreed to leave with a stranger,” she said. “You weren’t having the same evening.”

“No.”

“And when I said no names?”

“I should have told you.”

He sounded like he meant it. She wished that helped more.

“Why didn’t you just speak to me at the gala?”

He looked down at the coffee. “You were with someone.”

“That didn’t stop you watching.”

“It should have.”

“But?”

““I knew when you walked into a room before I saw you. I could pick you out of a crowd without looking for your face.”

 His gaze returned to hers. “I tried staying away. I thought it would get easier.”

She wanted to dismiss that as a line. Instead she remembered wanting another breath of cedar in a room full of peonies.

“And did it?”

“No.”

A plate broke near the kitchen. Gabriel had turned before Diana registered the crash. When he looked back, she was watching him.

“There’s something else,” she said.

He waited.

“At the wedding, I heard someone tell me to breathe. In the washroom. There was nobody there.”

His fingers stopped moving on the cup.

“Then in your apartment. Easy. I asked you about it.”

“I remember.”

“Was that you?”

He looked toward the kitchen. A waitress called an order, a chair scraped back, and Diana waited for him to decide whether the whole diner was suddenly more interesting than she was.

“I felt something from you at the wedding,” he said at last. “When you left the room.”

“You heard my thoughts?”

“No. I can’t.”

“Then what?”

“Fear.”

She stared at him. “Anyone could have seen that I was upset.”

“You were on the other side of a closed door.”

The coffee between them had gone cold. Diana pressed one hand flat against the seat beside her.

“Are you saying that voice was you?”

“I’m saying something happened to both of us. I don’t understand why it happened like that.”

“That’s half an answer.”

“Yes.”

His honesty was starting to feel like another way of holding things back.

She slid toward the edge of the booth. “I’m not going to spend the evening helping you avoid my questions.”

“Diana.”

She looked at him. It was his ordinary voice, spoken aloud. She wished she didn’t like it so much.

“I want to see you again,” he said.

“You’ve apparently been managing that without my help.”

He flinched. A small movement, but she saw it.

“With you knowing,” he said. “Because you want to.”

She could leave. He hadn’t moved to stop her. Outside, a bus opened its doors; people climbed aboard and went home to lives that probably made sense.

“No more following me,” she said. “Not you. Not someone you pay. You don’t turn up because somebody told you I’d be there.”

“Agreed.”

“And whatever happened on Saturday, it doesn’t give you a way around what I’m saying.”

His jaw tightened. “I understand.”

“You can ask for my number.”

For the first time since she’d sat down, his expression opened.

“May I have your number?”

She wrote it on a napkin. Her work number had been on the card; this one was a choice he hadn’t made for her.

“I’m agreeing to a phone call. You still owe me answers.”

“I know.”

As he folded the napkin, she thought of the presentation on her laptop.

“The flagship tower. Thursday’s pitch. It’s your company.”

“Yes.”

“I built most of that proposal.”

“You did?”

She briefly described the project, watching his interest sharpen. It was the first time since leaving the office that she felt on firm ground.

“I’d like to see it,” he said.

“You’re not getting a preview.”

“I didn’t ask for one.”

He walked her to the shelter. When the bus arrived, she turned toward him. She could have offered a cool goodnight. Instead she rose on her toes and kissed him once.

His hand settled at her waist. He answered with enough hunger to make her forget the bus for a dangerous second.

“Stop,” she whispered.

He stopped and stepped back. She climbed aboard and sat by the window, still feeling his hand.

Her phone lit up.

Trevor: Saw you with Gabriel Valenti outside Sal’s.

She stared at the message. Another followed.

I think you should let me handle Thursday’s presentation.

Then a third.

Unless you’d rather explain to Helena why you’re dating the client.