Chapter 2 - The Sixty-Million-Dollar Ride
The Astor Grand’s private service elevator didn't go to the lobby; it dropped straight into the underground VIP vault.
The heavy metal doors slid shut with a pneumatic hiss, cutting off the ballroom's stifling air and the horrified whispers of Manhattan’s elite. The moment we were enclosed in the brushed-steel silence, the crushing weight of Gabriel’s arm loosened from my waist.
He stepped back, giving me space, yet his towering frame still dominated the enclosure. He stood well over six feet two, his broad shoulders filling out his midnight-blue tuxedo with lethal grace. His jaw was razor-sharp, shadowed by a faint trace of evening stubble, and his dark eyes were cold, calculating, and completely impenetrable.
I clutched his cashmere jacket tightly around my shivering frame, the dampness of my ruined uniform beginning to itch.
"Who are you?" My voice sounded tiny, cracking against the polished steel walls. "Why did you do that?"
Gabriel adjusted his platinum cufflinks without glancing up. "You know who I am, Ava."
"You know my name." It wasn't a question. A cold dread pooled in my stomach, battling with the residual shock of Damian kneeling in broken glass. "I’ve never met you in my life. Bellmere Events assigned me to this floor this morning. I’m a coordinator. A nobody."
The elevator dinged softly, arriving at the subterranean garage.
"Nobody is a nobody when they possess something I require," Gabriel said calmly.
The doors slid open to reveal a solitary, matte-black Maybach idling beneath the harsh industrial halogen lights. Two men in dark tactical suits stood beside the rear doors; the moment they saw Gabriel, one immediately opened the passenger side.
"Get in," Gabriel said, stepping aside.
"I’m not getting into a car with a stranger," I replied, planting my cheap, champagne-soaked heels firmly onto the concrete. "I don't care how much money you have, Mr. Thorne. I don't know what kind of game you’re playing with Damian and the Langfords, but I am not collateral. I have a shift to finish. I have an inventory report to sign."
Gabriel paused, turning his head slightly to study me. For the first time, a flicker of genuine amusement crossed his carved features.
"Your inventory report burned the moment I told Victoria’s father his bond was dead," he said, his voice quiet yet vibrating with absolute authority. "Your boss, Mrs. Bellmere, is currently having a panic attack in the green room because she believes Thorne Enterprises is about to audit her LLC into oblivion. You don't have a job to go back to, Ava. In their eyes, you are radioactive."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "You ruined my job?"
"I liberated you from a life that required you to pick up orchids for parasites," he countered smoothly. "Now get into the car before you catch pneumonia. I dislike my assets catching chills."
*Assets.*
The word struck me like a physical blow. "I am not an asset."
"You are if you want to see Damian Cross begging on the street by autumn," Gabriel replied, his voice dropping into a dark, seductive register that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. "And more importantly, you are if you want to keep your grandmother in the St. Jude Memory Care Pavilion for the rest of her life."
Every drop of blood drained from my face.
My breath caught in my throat, freezing me to the core. My grandmother’s dementia care cost $8,200 a month—a bill I had barely been scraping together by working sixty-hour weeks at Bellmere, driving rideshares on weekend nights, and selling off every piece of jewelry my mother had left behind.
"How do you know about that?" I whispered, my voice trembling with sudden fury.
May you like
"I know everything about you, Ava Collins," Gabriel said, gesturing once more toward the open leather interior of the Maybach. "Now get in. We have a contract to discuss."
***