Sordid: A Novel

by Ava Harrison

  “So what are you gonna have?”

  “I could kill for a hamburger and fries.”

  With that, his eyes open wide, and what was once a small smile now spreads across his face into a full grin. “A hamburger.” He laughs. He actually laughs. In all the time I’ve known him, I’ve never heard him laugh. Maybe he laughed the first night, but I was too drunk to appreciate the sound.

  “Does that surprise you?”

  “You have no idea.”

  “Good. I like to surprise.” My tone is a little flirty. I’m talking to Mr. Lancaster as if we were at the bar not at the office. The revelation has my cheeks warming again.

  His smile falters, but he keeps his cool.

  My stomach tightens. Shit. Just when we were getting along, I had to go fuck it up. I stare at him for a beat, willing myself to speak. I need to say something to ease the embarrassment. As I open my mouth, he beats me to it.

  “I’d love a hamburger.”

  Forty-five minutes later, I enter Mr. Lancaster’s office with a very heavy bag of the best burgers in New York. I place the bag with his food on his desk.

  “What do we have here?” he asks, not looking up from his desk. “It smells amazing.”

  “Just a family favorite,” I respond.

  “Is this family favorite a secret?” he muses, still typing on his computer.

  “Yes, and if I tell you, I have to kill you.”

  “That so?”

  “Absolutely. We wouldn’t want the place to get too popular. I like not having to wait for my food. Nobody wants to meet up with a hangry Bridget Miller.”

  With that, he looks up from his desk. A half smile appears on his face. “Hangry?” He chuckles.

  “That’s right. I’m angry when I’m hungry.”

  “Duly noted.”

  He doesn’t look up from his paperwork when he says that. I take the moment to study him. The scruff on his face and the circles under his eyes tell me something is up. He appears tired as if he hasn’t slept.

  “Are you okay?” I ask timidly, not wanting to overstep and piss Mr. Moody off.

  “Honest answer?”

  “Always,” I say.

  “I’m exhausted. I have a lot riding on the opening going off without a hitch.”

  I nod, not knowing what else to say. He doesn’t look up at me, and I take it as my cue to exit. I’m halfway out the door when I turn around. “It’s a little diner down the road from my apartment.”

  Grant looks up, confused. “What?”

  “The hamburgers.”

  “You live nearby?”

  “Define your definition of nearby?”

  He angles his head as if he doesn’t understand, and I laugh.

  “I live in the West Village.”

  “You went to the West Village to get me lunch?”

  “It’s really not that far, and besides, I didn’t just go to get you lunch. I went to get us the best lunch.” I put the emphasis on us. I need him to know I haven’t eaten yet either. I just hope he’s not mad that I went so far.

  “I did it all in under forty-five minutes. I figure that still leaves me time to eat as well. Hope you don’t mind. Technically, I still have fifteen minutes. I promise to eat quickly.”

  He opens the bag and inhales. I can tell by the way he licks his lips that he understands why I say these burgers are the best. The smell permeates through the space, making my mouth instantly water. “Sit,” he orders, and I stand like a deer in headlights.

  “You want me . . . You want me to eat with you?”

  “Yes.”

  I don’t move. I can’t. It’s as if I’m cemented in place.

  “Please.” His voice dips with sincerity.

  The tone is my undoing. I walk back over to his desk and take the seat across from him as he removes the pile on top of the desk.

  “Do you want anything to drink?” he asks.

  “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  “Maybe I want to.” His words hang in the air uncomfortably. What does he mean? I don’t want to think too much into it. “You did go to all this trouble to get the best burger . . . for me.”

  I smile shyly.

  “So what do you want?”

  “I’ll have a Diet Coke,” I reply.

  He stands and walks out of the office. About a minute later he returns with a Diet Coke for me and a water for him.

  “Thanks.” I smile, earning a smile in return.

  Neither of us talks as we devour our food. The only sound is the occasional moan we each make as we eat. It’s easy. Comfortable. It’s shocking how right it feels eating together in silence. It brings me back to our first meeting. To the Grant I met at the bar. As I take my last bite, I want to savor it. Make it last. I’m not ready for this reprieve to end. But eventually we’re done, and Mr. Lancaster looks up at me. He stares at me for a second, studying me.

  Assessing me.

  “You’ve been here for a few weeks now. How do you like it?”

  I about choke on my burger at the directness of his question. How do I answer? If he had asked me only a few days ago, my answer would be quite different. “Well . . .” I stop, and he feigns distress.

  “Don’t tell me your boss is a tyrant,” he says seriously, but his green eyes give him away as they sparkle brightly with humor.

  “I wouldn’t say tyrant.”

  “What would you say?”

  “I’d say he’s tough but fair.”

  “Tough but fair,” he repeats my words. “Sounds like a tyrant to me.” He grins.

  “If I’m being honest, the verdict is still out. It’s different from what I was looking for.”

  “What was that?”

  “I love marketing. It’s what I really want to land a job doing. Assistant work is fine for now, but it’s not my long-term aspiration.”

  “Perhaps we can incorporate some time with the marketing department while you’re here.”

  “Really?” I say excitedly.

  “Once we get through the opening, I’ll see what I can arrange.”

  Our eyes meet, and I’m happy to find kindness in his. The animosity from before seems to be gone. I can only hope it stays that way. I could get used to working with this Grant Lancaster.

  “You’re here early,” I hear from across the room. Grant is standing just inside the doorframe. His presence is overpowering in the small space, sucking the oxygen right out of the room.

  I shrug. “I figured I should get an early start today.”

  “Smart.” His head is inclined as he speaks. “You want coffee?”

  Did Grant Lancaster just offer to make me coffee? I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “I’d love a coffee.”

  He nods, then walks out the door. A few moments pass before he reappears. This time, he’s holding two mugs with steam curling up from them. I’m surprised when he sits in the chair that fronts my desk, looking relaxed and happy. This is the first time in the few weeks I’ve worked here that he’s come into my office for a purpose other than to stand at the threshold barking orders. A glimmer of hope spreads through me. Have we finally turned a corner? Who would have thought a burger could do this . . . although it was a pretty damn good burger. My lips spread, but I refrain from laughing at my ridiculous inner monologue. He leans forward.

  “What are you working on today?”

  The warmth of a crimson flush rises up my neck and colors my cheeks. I’m working on something that was never asked of me. Something that could potentially overstep the boundaries of my job. The idea of telling him has my heart racing and the trembling in my hands causes my coffee to slosh. I’ve worked hard and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but what if he thinks it’s dumb?

  “I’m compiling a list.”

  “A list?”

  “Yeah. A list of influencers.”

  “What type of influencers?”

  I bite my lip. Here goes nothing. “Instagram travel influencers. I’m compil
ing a record of Instagram profiles that revolve around travel and have over one million followers.”

  He bobs his head up and down as though he’s considering what I’m saying. The corner of his lip rises as though he’s impressed. Leaning forward, he places a folder on my desk. I look up and then down at the large stack now sitting in front of me.

  “For when you’re done,” he says before walking out the door.

  Uh . . . That went well?

  Not that I expected some huge show of gratitude for my ingenuity, but I was thinking we’d have a conversation. Something that gave me a chance to explain my idea. I guess at this point I should be glad he didn’t shoot it down.

  I look down at the papers he laid in front of me. The stack is overwhelming, but once I open it, it’s really not that bad. I set to work and not even an hour passes before I’m at the end. Truth is, I’m a fast worker. Most people would have taken double the amount of time, but I’m not most. I don’t stop until I get what I want, and right now what I want is to impress Grant Lancaster.

  Why?

  Pride. I refuse to be seen as a mere temp. I need a glowing recommendation and to do that, I need to wow.

  If I’m being honest, it’s also a little self-preservation. I don’t want to be another mistake. I want him to remember me long after I’m gone. It doesn’t matter whether it’s for the kiss or the work, as long as I’m burned into his memory.

  I step into his office, standing tall in front of his desk. His eyes lock on mine. Neither one of us says a word. I came in here with the intention of impressing Grant with my work, but in these few moments, something has changed. There’s a shift in the air, and I see something brewing in his eyes. I feel naked under his gaze.

  “All done.” The words come out husky. “Anything else I can do for you?”

  Grant drags his teeth over his bottom lip again, grinning at something I said. I can’t even dissect what he could find funny because my attention is locked on his lips. He clears his throat, bringing my attention back up to his eyes.

  “I didn’t think you’d get through it all.”

  I shrug. “I’m good at my job.”

  “Bridget, you’re incredible at so many things.”

  His words turn my legs into jelly. All the air in my lungs whooshes out of me. This man is so good. So good at his job. So good with his words. So good at making me feel so, so good.

  “Thank you,” I whisper back, wanting to reach out and touch him, but knowing better.

  His phone rings and our connection is broken.

  “I do have more work for you. But it’s not urgent, so take your time with these.” He motions to a stack in front of him.

  I grab the new set of papers, then head back to my office. About thirty minutes pass when my phone buzzes.

  “Bridget Miller.”

  “Hey, Bridget.” Grant’s voice echoes through the earpiece of the phone. The sound of the rasp of his voice has little butterflies taking flight in my belly. “Can you please come to my office? I want to go over some work I’ll need done in the next few weeks before the launch.”

  “Okay. I’ll grab a notebook and head your way.”

  A few minutes later, I enter with my pad in hand. He furrows his brow, and for a moment I’m afraid I did something wrong. He’s just staring at me, not saying a word. Until he does.

  “Look, I . . .” he starts, and I know it’s serious. “About that first time, at the bar—”

  I hold up my hand. I don’t look at him—too embarrassed. “No need,” I mutter. My face has grown hot and my hands are shaking slightly as I pretend to write in my notebook. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, it’s forgotten. I don’t hold it against you, and I don’t think you’re a bad person,” I say without making eye contact. Good, my heart hums in my chest. That’s the first word I think about when I look at him.

  “Don’t you dare say sorry,” he hisses, and at the tone of his voice, I force myself to look up at his tormented expression. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. You had every right to be upset with me.”

  “It’s okay,” I promise earnestly. I don’t want to disregard his feelings or his sincere apology, but this isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having. The memory of being left in that alley is embarrassing no matter how much time has passed.

  “It isn’t. I can see it in your eyes, Bridget. Please don’t lie to me.”

  “Honestly, Grant, I’d rather not relive that night.” I lower my gaze, hoping he sees how over this conversation I am.

  “Bridget—”

  My eyes meet his and I hope he hears my next words. “No. Please. Things are good right now. Let’s not make it more complicated.”

  He nods. “Fine.”

  Yesterday didn’t go well.

  Yes, he respected my decision to shelf the conversation of that night, but I can’t help but feel bad. As much as I didn’t want to talk about it, I could tell he really did, so today I’m second-guessing my decision to push the memory to the side. Did I ruin our easy work atmosphere? Will things be stifled and awkward again today?

  When I arrived today, Grant wasn’t in his office yet. I decided to grab the items I needed from his office before he got in. Maybe I can buy myself a couple of hours before I have to face him.

  I’m in the corner of his office bent over riffling through files when Grant sneaks up behind me. “Bridget,” he calls, causing me to jump a mile.

  “Jesus, Grant. You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”

  He chuckles. “Sorry about that. I probably should’ve announced myself in my office.”

  “Hardy-har-har.” Relief. That’s what I’m feeling. The fact we’re able to fall right back into this easy conversation makes me happy.

  “Could you check in the bottom drawer to see if there’s a file called Access? I can’t find it anywhere,” Grant asks.

  I pull the lower drawer open and look through all the files, but it’s not there. “I’m not seeing it,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. He’s staring at me intently. I know that look. Lust. He likes what he sees, and God if I can help it, but I feel the same damn way every time I look at him. “Um, let me check one more spot,” I say, breaking our stare. This train of thought isn’t healthy for me.

  I move a few things around until I spot a misfiled item tucked within another folder. Access. Bingo. I lift the file, but as I do, I notice there’s also a framed photo in the file. I take both out and look up at Grant. He narrows his eyes as he spies what’s in my hand.

  “I forgot that was in there,” he states with a hint of sadness.

  I look down at the photo. In it, Grant looks much younger and much happier. He’s smiling into the camera, looking carefree. It’s a look he definitely doesn’t wear often anymore. Next to him is a young woman, and in his arms is a little girl.

  “Your family?” I ask hesitantly. For as long as I’ve worked here, I’ve never heard of a daughter. I obviously knew about the wife, of course, but not the child. There’s a lot about Grant I don’t know, and right now that thought hurts. We’ve spent so much time together in this office and he hasn’t confided in me at all.

  “It was my family. Things aren’t the same as they were then.” His eyes are hard. He almost seems angry.

  “Grant—”

  “There are parts of my life I’d rather not discuss.”

  And there it is. Once more I’m shut out. Suddenly, I feel unsure about everything. The thought sours my stomach, but then my uncertainty is replaced with sheer . . . anger. He’s acting like I snooped or I’m pushing him into sharing. I’m not, dammit, and I’m tired of always feeling awkward and out of place. Fuck this.

  “I’m not asking you to share parts you don’t want to share. I stumbled across this because you left it lying around in places I’ve been given access to . . . to do my damn job. It’s not as though I was digging through your personal items.”

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not your fault. I put it there an
d truly forgot.”

  “It’s a nice picture. You look happy in it.” The words come out before I have a chance to think.

  He stiffens. “It was a lifetime ago, Bridget. Trust me, you don’t want to know about any of that.”

  He’s wrong. I do want to know about him. I don’t know why after everything. I shouldn’t care, but I do.

  “You’re wrong, Grant,” I say honestly. “Tell me. Please.”

  He stares at me for what feels like a solid minute. “That photo was taken two years after I had a falling out with my family. Chelsea was pretending to be a doting wife. I thought things between us were turning around. She seemed to be obsessed with our daughter.” He huffs. “But it was all a mirage. If I’d look closer, I would’ve seen what was really going on.”

  “What was going on?”

  “A hostile takeover. Soon after this picture was taken, she suggested we take my family head-on by starting our own luxury brand of hotels. It was all an act to butter me up.”

  He starts pacing the room, toying with his watch absently. He looks tortured, and I can’t tell if it’s because of his relationship with Chelsea or the fallout with his family. Perhaps it’s both.

  I need to comfort him.

  I approach him like one would a wounded animal. Slow and steady. When I reach him, I place my hand on his shoulder, stopping his movements. He turns to look at me.

  “I can’t claim to know anything about what happened between you and your family, but I’m sure they miss you too.”

  He scoffs. “Not after everything I’ve been a party to.”

  What exactly did he do? What’s the hostile takeover that he mentioned? I’m finally starting to get answers, and I don’t want to push too hard, so I switch up tactics. “Starting your own chain of hotels seems like a big undertaking. Was it something you’d thought about doing before?”

  I know very little about the Lancaster family, but from what I do know, he would have never needed to start his own. In fact, it would be in direct competition unless he was opening another branch or sister hotel, but that’s not what The L is.

  “I always planned on owning and operating my own hotel. It’s my family legacy. It was always supposed to be mine.” His tired eyes pierce mine. “I fucked that all up. I’m not a good man, Bridget.”