“Thanks.” Stella’s high heels echo down the hallway as she makes her way to his office. The door’s partially closed, and she gently knocks.
“Come in.”
“Hi babe.” She enters the room, giving him an infectious smile. Unable to return her grin, she can tell he’s upset by his demeanor. His arms are crossed behind his desk as he glares at a sheaf of papers stacked on his blotter.
“What’s wrong?”
“I hate this depressing office and this dipshit client.”
“Okay, first things first, what about the office?”
“It’s out-of-date, and I’m tired of looking at the same boring shit.”
“Yeah, I’m sure staring at a picture of us day in and day out is frightening.” Her attempt at a joke falls flat when she realizes their wedding photograph isn’t even on his desk anymore.
“Speaking of, babe, where’s our pic?”
“Huh?” He’s staring at his desktop, his eyes glowering in disgust at the screen.
“Our wedding pic. The one in the silver frame from Restoration Hardware.”
Scanning his desk and the shelf behind him, he scowls. “I have no idea. Maybe the cleaning lady misplaced it when she cleaned.”
Stella settles into a chair. “I had my meeting with Saks.”
Grant automatically swivels his head, smacking his palm to his forehead. “Geez, babe, I’m sorry. I was so excited for you today and then this happened...”
“Thanks for the roses. They’re beautiful.”
“Tell me all about it. This clown has me up in arms and I’m sorry.” He swivels away from his screen, resting his elbows on his desk. “Let’s hear.”
“It went well, I think. It’s a lot of back and forth and I’m letting Darcy get caught up in some of the more minuscule details, but I still need your rock-solid opinion.”
“Of course.”
“If I email you the proposal, can you look it over and see if I’m missing anything?”
“Absolutely.” He grins at her. “Should I take it by the proposal that your dreams are coming true?”
Giddy, she reaches forward to clasp his hands in hers. “Yes, I think that might be the case.”
“Oh babe, I’m so happy. Let’s get some champagne to celebrate.” He stands. “Let me see what Rebecca’s got stocked.” Exiting the room, he turns to her, “I am so proud of you, wife.”
Beaming, she blows him a kiss.
While he runs to figure out a celebratory drink, Stella decides to look for the missing frame. She can’t believe a cleaning staff would be careless with their employer’s items.
There’s nothing in the closet besides a change of clothes for Grant and some workout gear. An umbrella’s shoved in the back along with a pair of tennis shoes.
She runs her hand over the top shelf, nothing.
Flipping the blinds open on the French doors, she walks around to his side of the desk, settling in his chair. One of the doors is locked, the other is half-open. She finds gum, pens, loose change, and the missing frame.
Pulling it out of the drawer, she feels a sharp jab, and puzzled, turns the picture over to find the culprit. It looks like a spider web, the broken glass splintered into long, cracked shards inside the actual frame.
Sighing, she sets it on his desk. Why the hell would he lie about their picture?
Maybe he dropped it accidentally and felt stupid.
She doesn’t want to get slivers of glass in her purse, so she sweeps the broken pieces into the trash. I’ll just have to get him a new frame, she decides.
Her hand fumbles for another drawer, and she starts to reach in, feeling some kind of fabric she thinks is a handkerchief, but it’s caught in the back. Trying to gently tug it out, it’s caught on a piece of metal. What in the hell is this? a voice in the back of her head screams.
9
Stella
She’s about to yank it out when Grant reappears. His brow furrows. “What're you doing?”
“Looking for this.” Her eyes focus on the destroyed picture frame.
He cocks his head to the side. “You found it?”
“In your desk drawer.” She frowns, “broken.”
“I didn’t break it.”
“Then who did?”
He shrugs, “I would tell you if I did.”
She stares at him in disbelief. “But you use these drawers. Didn’t you notice it?”
“I barely open that one, Stel, hence why it’s unlocked.”
“…and a piece of fabric is stuck in the back of your drawer.”
Impatient, he points a finger at her, motioning her to stand. “Come here.”
“Why, you don't want me looking through your drawers?”
“I have a meeting in fifteen, and I’d really like to celebrate your exciting news with you.” He holds up a bottle of Dom Perignon. “Vintage.”
“Where are the wine glasses?”
Motioning to a side cart, he says, “Should be some on the table over there.”
“Perfect.” She rises from his chair, stopping to give him a long kiss. “I’m so happy I get to celebrate with you in this fashion.”
“Me too,” he nuzzles her neck. “I can’t wait to see the SMK line at Saks.”
“Can you imagine?” She shuts her eyes, picturing the opulent display. “I can, and it’s magnificent.”
Grant pops open the Dom, pouring them both a glass.
“To SMK.”
“To SMK,” she echoes, “and to making our dreams come true.”
They toast, and before she knows it, her lips are sealed on his. They make out like lustful teenagers, hot and heavy, when Grant suddenly pushes her away.
“I got a meeting, babe.”
“You can't postpone it for just a few?” she teases.
“I wish, but you know how I feel about using my office as a bedroom.”
“That it's unprofessional and something a twenty-five-year-old would do.” She mimics his old sentiments.
“Exactly.” He touches her nose. “I’m going to do some very bad things to you tonight.”
She tries to hide her disappointment, sipping the rest of her champagne. “I can’t wait.”
After he cleans up their wine glasses and puts the bottle away, he motions Stella to follow him. “I’ll walk you out.”
Halfway out his office door, he abruptly stops, directing Stella to keep going. “Just wait for me in the lobby.” Nodding, she continues on as Grant disappears back in his office. She waves goodbye at Rebecca, who’s engaged in an animated conversation with what Stella assumes is a client. When Grant catches up to her, they walk outside.
“You forget something?”
“Just wanted a breath mint,” he gives her cheek a kiss. “I don’t want the next client to think I’m a lush.”
Grant pauses next to her car, giving her a tight hug. “I love you,” he whispers in her ear.
“I know,” she murmurs, “I love you too.”
“What're you going to do with the rest of your afternoon?”
“Since you can't do happy hour, I might see if Lucy or one of the girls can.”
“Okay.” Grant peers at his watch. “I’ve got this meeting and then I’m going to go to the gym.”
“No dinner date tonight?”
“I’ll be home later, but I’ll eat one of our meals and we can watch something on television, or pick a movie you want to see.”
“Or maybe we can get naked.”
“That was the intention.” He gives her a deep kiss, checking her belt to make sure she’s securely belted in. “Okay, babe, I’ll see you later. Be safe.”
Before Stella speeds off, she notices Grant stop at his vehicle, where he reaches into his back pocket and slides something in the backseat. Unable to make out the object, she smiles in the rearview mirror. I bet he got me a present, she grins with excitement.
Lucy doesn’t answer when she calls, so she dials Keira and Nichole, who both agree to come out, but she has to
meet them on the other side of town.
“Give me at least an hour,” she warns. “It's going to take a while in traffic.”
When she arrives, the three of them are seated on a patio, all content to sip Mai Tais and snack on appetizers.
“We’re so proud of you,” Keira squeals, “here’s to our friend clawing her way up the ladder.”
The three of them are a force to be reckoned with when they get together. One drink turns into three, which turns into five.
Before Stella knows it, the sun has set, the sky’s turned pitch black, and the lights have dimmed for the dinner crowd. They’re still sitting there, telling stories, their tongues getting looser as the night wears on.
Stella loses track of the time, shocked when she sees a text from Grant.
Where are you?
Out with the girls.
I’m just leaving the gym.
She glances at the time. Shit, it’s after nine already. Flagging down the waiter, she asks for the check. Her phone flashes, signaling a call, and Grant’s name flashes on the screen.
“Stella?”
“Yeah babe.”
“How much have you had to drink?”
“Enough.”
“That’s what I thought. I don’t want you driving.”
“An Uber will be a fortune from here.”
“I’m not worried about that.” She can hear him tapping his steering wheel.
“Wait, you’re leaving the gym?”
“Yeah.”
“Can you swing by and get me?”
“Sure. Text me the address.”
Stella orders another round, knowing it will take him another forty-five minutes to arrive. She chugs a glass of water in between her next cocktail to help with the presumed hangover. The last drink went down choppy, and it's now turbulent in her stomach.
She catches the sight of a clean-shaven man in gym clothes out of the corner of her eye. It’s Grant, and he doesn't look amused. “Stel, I’ve been trying to call you. I was driving around in circles waiting for you to come outside.”
She looks down at her phone, the tiny sliver emblem of a moon at the top of her screen. Her phone is set to switch to the Do Not Disturb feature after 10pm.
“Sorry,” she mutters. “Would you like to sit down and have a drink now that you’re parked?”
“Actually no.” He reaches in his pocket, pulling out some bills. “Need anything for the check?”
“I paid my half but ordered another drink. Twenty should cover it.”
Turning to her friends, Grant makes his apologies. “Not to be rude ladies, but I have a 7am meeting and I need my beauty sleep.”
“We understand.” They raise a glass to him. “Maybe your wife can develop a men’s line of anti-aging skin cream.”
Grant raises a brow. “I definitely need that, no arguments here.”
He helps her gather her clutch and when she stands, she wobbles. “How many did you have?” he whispers in her ear.
“I don't know...” she slurs, “I lost track after four.”
Grant leads her by the elbow as Stella stumbles outside in her too-tall heels.
“You look hot,” she says, clawing at his drenched gym shirt.
“Uh-huh,” Grant rolls his eyes, “sweaty and gross.”
“I like it,” she says appraisingly. “Where to now?”
“Home, babe, so I can get some sleep.”
Eyeing the valet stand, she sees lights blinking from his wagon, the four-way flashers lit up. Grant explains, “The guy took pity on me since I said my wife was intoxicated and needed a ride.”
Handing the driver a twenty, Grant takes his keys back and helps Stella in the passenger door. Leaning back in the seat, Stella closes her eyes, the musky scent of car polish and cologne now replaced by something else.
Sniffing, she wrinkles her nose.
Oblivious, Grant pulls away from the curb. “How’re Nichole and Keira doing?” he asks.
“They’ve been busy. Nichole just got back from a two-week trip to Europe.”
He whistles. “Nice, we need to take a long vacay like that this summer.”
“Will you have any free time?”
“I’m more worried if you will.” Grant catches her eye. “You’ve just blown up on your work commitments, which is awesome, don’t get me wrong, but I hope I still get to see my wife.”
“I’ll take you with me wherever I go.” Resting her forehead against the seat, she murmurs, “I feel like I’m going to be sick.”
“Shit, Stel, there’s nowhere to pull over on this road.”
“I know,” she groans, “I’m just giving you a warning,”
“Why’d you drink so much?”
“It’s not that.”
“What do you mean it’s not because you’re drunk?”
“The smell.”
“What?” Grant automatically sniffs his armpits. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to shower before I grabbed you.”
“No, not you.” Stella flicks her eyes open. “It smells like perfume.”
“You mean my cologne.”
“No, I like the smell of your cologne. Women’s perfume.” She emphasizes the women’s part.
“I don’t know from who.”
Stella swivels her head to look in the backseat. Unsure what she’s searching for, maybe a spilled perfume bottle that’s infiltrated the floor mats.
Unbuckling her seatbelt, she slides around to raise her body half in the back.
“Stella,” Grant’s exasperated, reaching a hand out to grip her elbow, steadying her. “You’re gonna get me a ticket. Sit down and put your belt on.”
“I’m trying to find it.”
“What?”
“Whatever the hell’s permeating your vehicle.” She flops down angrily. “I can’t believe you’re pretending you don’t smell it.”
“Well, I don’t,” he says crossly, running a hand through his hair. “You want me to stop and get some air freshener?”
“No, I want to know who’s been in your wagon that felt the need to drown herself in a bath of poison.” Cracking the window, she turns to breathe in the cold air.
Grant chuckles, giving her shoulder a squeeze, “You’re always so dramatic.”
“Are your sensory neurons that off?”
“Or maybe my body odor’s that overpowering.”
Stella sits in silence for a moment, her arms crossed. “I bet I can guess the brand of perfume.”
Grant ignores her comment, speeding up on the freeway. “Where would you want to go if we could go anywhere on vacation?”
“Fiji.” She answers automatically. “And,” she inhales, “the perfume is French, Memo Paris. Juniper and Pink Pepper essence are in the spray, but what I’m picking out are the notes of cedar and musk.”
“It’s brilliant how you can do that.”
“What?”
“Figure out what’s in a scent.”
“How someone smells to you is very important.” Stella looks her at him, a fingertip trailing down his arm. “Take for instance, pheromones, the substance we produce that impacts how we are perceived by others when they get a whiff of us.”
“Do I smell good to you?” Grant asks.
“Yes, which is part of what attracted me to you. You smell like a combination of soap, driftwood, and clean sheets.”
“Umm…” Grant quickly kisses her cheek, his eyes planted firmly on the road. “I like that.”
Stella continues, “But her, not so much, she’s trying to overpower her natural scent with something that smells of antiquated leather.”
Grant’s silent, his hands gripping the steering wheel securely. He appears tense to Stella, his shoulders hunched.
“You okay?” she whispers.
“Yes.”
“Where would you want to go for a trip?”
“Bora Bora. Iceland.” Grant taps a finger to his chin, “Fiji would be great, so would a remote place like parts of Tibet.”
&nbs
p; The rest of the drive’s dead air, both of them lost in their own thoughts. She reaches into her purse for some headache medicine, fumbling with a half-used bottle of water.
“Hope this is yours,” she holds it up to him.
“Course it is, who else would it be?”
Silently she seethes, saying nothing.
When they get home, she wordlessly exits his vehicle, heading upstairs to bed. He follows a few minutes later, gym bag in hand, as he turns on the shower.
“Want to join?” he asks as he steps into the walk-in shower. The multiple jets sound inviting, but a close intimate space with her husband does not.
She frowns into her mirror. “No, I’m going to crash.”
“Might help sober you up.”
Not bothering to meet his pointed stare, she shrugs, “I think I’ll be okay.” Stella climbs into bed, an edginess she doesn’t like starting to crowd her thoughts. Her pulse starts to stomp in fury as she considers the woman who had to be in his vehicle.
She sits and glares in the dark, and unable to stand it, tiptoes downstairs.
His keys are tossed next to his wallet on the counter, and she wobbles outside to the garage.
Grant must’ve been sensitive about the odor, since he left all of the windows down. So he did notice the scent, she snorts.
In a flurry, she starts reaching her hands in under the seats, pulling out trash and straw wrappers, a half-eaten McMuffin and the smashed Styrofoam of coffee.
Making her way towards the back seat, she finds nothing alarming underneath the front seats, and the back is empty except for some clothes. She reaches in the pockets behind each seat, but they’re empty.
Stella can’t take no for an answer.
As a last resort, she tries to fit her hand between the back seats. It’s a snug fit, but she grapples with a piece of fabric. At first she thinks it’s netting, or a rag, one of the small ones they give you with your purchase to clean your lenses.
Disgusted, she glares at a piece of gauzy lace, barely enough material to cover anything substantial.
It’s a thong.
A women’s black lace thong.
And they don’t belong to her.
The queasy feeling reappears with an intensity that has her lurching to the garbage can. She flings the lid open just as her mouth sputters out liquid, the burning lava churning as it rushes out.
The Perfect Stranger Page 6