The piece had been poorly written, thin on details, and yet it said more than Gabe or his management ever had. I was ashamed that I was one of millions who read it—discovering that Gabe’s father had died when he was ten.

The whole thing might have gone away if Team Parker hadn’t threatened to sue the tabloid. Instead, it just made people more curious. After all, if Gabe and his late father had had a good relationship, there would have been nothing to hide. Clearly there was something to hide. Abuse or estrangement or something equally horrible and juicy. Exactly the kind of information the public seemed to feel entitled to.

The kind of information that any interviewer would kill to have access to.

Looking at Gabe now, I could guess what he was thinking. That I was the kind of interviewer that would do whatever it took to get what I wanted—that I wasn’t above pushing his buttons to get a reaction. To get a story.

I wanted to get a story, just not in that way.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know the rules.”

If I had to grovel, I would.

“I didn’t mean—”

He waved a hand. “Let’s just move on, okay?”

Fuck. When I’d thought about all the ways I could mess up this interview, I hadn’t really considered that I would unintentionally and thoughtlessly lob a “gotcha” question at him.

“I won’t include that,” I said, knowing he probably wouldn’t believe me.

“Uh-huh,” he said. “What about your father?”

“My father?”

“Is he a Bond fan?”

His arms were crossed.

“Sure,” I said. “What man isn’t?”

I was trying to be playful, tossing Gabe’s words back at him. I had no idea if my father liked James Bond movies. The only things I’d ever seen him watch were Lakers games.

Gabe didn’t say anything, just cast a cynical look down at my notebook. I put a hand over the page. As if he could read it upside down and from across the table.

“I—”

But before I could finish my sentence, Gabe stood abruptly.

My stomach plummeted.

“Will you excuse me for a minute?” he said, scooping the puppy off the ground.

His tone was cold and polite.

I nodded.

He left the outside patio and I watched him go, those wonderful broad shoulders, that narrow waist, that very, very nice ass. I was one hundred percent sure that this was the last I was going to see of Gabe Parker, so I might as well take a long look.

When he was out of sight, I drew a line through the condensation on my beer glass, knowing that our food would appear soon and it was going to be very, very embarrassing when Madison arrived at the table with two burgers and only one person to eat them.