by Ava Harrison
“What are you working on?” I ask as I pop into Grant’s office at half-past four.
“Actually, nothing. I got all my stuff done.”
“See. I told you. Pays to have a kickass assistant who does half the work,” I joke.
He stands, walking toward me. I take a step back, my earlier thoughts running amuck through my head. Don’t be weak.
“You’re right. I couldn’t do this without you.” His hand darts out, moving a piece of hair behind my ears. “You’re beautiful, Bridget.”
I’m holding my breath. His hand on me is too much. “Grant,” I croak. “We—you can’t touch me.”
He chuckles. “Is this affecting you, Bridget?”
I inhale, taking in his masculine scent. Mint and sandalwood do nothing to help calm my raging hormones.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“No.” I don’t need to think about his question. I don’t want him to ever stop touching me.
He leans in, whispering into my ear. “You’re all I think about, Bridget. Your lips on mine, my hands all over you.”
An unauthorized moan escapes my lips.
“What you’re feeling, I feel too. Don’t ever question that,” he commands. “Right now, though, I have to step away.”
He does, leaving me cold and wanting . . . more.
“I’m sorry. I don’t want us to find ourselves in the position we were last time. I don’t give a fuck what people think or say about me, but it’s not fair to you. I won’t have anyone say anything about you, Bridget. Ever.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can say. I don’t want to be the talk of the office and the fact he’s thought about that warms my heart. He cares.
“Listen, I’m taking a few big potential investors out. I want you to come.”
“Really? You’re inviting me to meet with investors?”
“Potential investors, but yes. I’d like you there with me.”
My mouth must drop open at his words because he chuckles.
“I don’t know why you’re so surprised. Temp or not, you’re part of the team, and honestly, Bridget, I’m not sure what I would’ve done without you.”
My face begins to warm as if it’s on fire. My mother’s words come crashing down on me.
“Do you think that’s a good idea?”
He smirks. “Why wouldn’t it be? You’re my intern, and this is a good opportunity to learn, right?”
“What would people in the office say? I don’t want to cause problems.”
“I don’t give a fuck. This is my company, and I don’t need permission. You’ve earned this, Bridget.”
I chew on his words. How would Chelsea react to him taking a woman to dinner? Would she even care? Should I care what she thinks? The whole thing makes me uneasy.
“What would it look like to your wife?” My question comes out meek. I don’t want to sound like a prying woman, but after everything that’s happened between us, I think my asking is called for.
He stiffens at the mention of Chelsea. His eyes darken, and his face hardens. “Quite frankly, I care about her opinion least of all.”
“I’m sorry, Grant. I just had to ask. This whole situation is out of my comfort zone.”
His face softens. “Let’s not talk about Chelsea tonight. Let’s focus on work and enjoy ourselves. Can you do that?”
I nod.
“So, will you join me?”
I consider his offer. It would be great experience to sit in on a potential investor dinner, and if he doesn’t care, why should I? This is a learning experience, right? My answer is obvious. I’m not skipping. No way in hell. I want to learn and I want to be near him. God help me, but I do.
“Of course I’ll join you.”
He smiles wide.
“Thank you.” He seems relieved, his shoulders less tense, and the lines on his forehead have disappeared. “It’s tonight at seven. If you want to head out and get ready for dinner, you’re welcome to do so.”
I take in my work attire and frown. This definitely won’t do for a dinner with potential investors.
“I’m going to take you up on it.”
I walk toward him, lean up on my toes, and kiss his cheek. “Thank you again, Grant.”
Without another word, I gather my stuff and I’m out the door. I need to impress, and right now, I’m less than my best.
With the hotel not yet open, the gathering Grant planned for tonight with Ace and Ethel Knapp is set up on the rooftop terrace. I admire the breathtaking view all around us. From the hotel rooftop we have a panoramic view of the entire city. Goose bumps pepper my arms as I take it all in. It’s magnificent.
“Thanks for inviting me tonight, Mr. Lancaster.”
I decide to go with professional, feeling a little out of my element in this moment. I turn my head to look at him and find him watching me intently.
“Grant. Call me Grant, Bridget.”
My name rolls off his tongue, his voice throaty with seduction. I find it hard to breathe with him around. He’s told me repeatedly he doesn’t care about his wife, but I can’t help but still feel what we’ve done is wrong. He’s married. He’s a father. I’m not a hussy.
At least during the day, I can concentrate on work, but here, even though we’re talking business, it feels like we’re not boss and employee. Right now it feels like I’m a woman and he’s a man. A very delectable looking man, indeed. For one night, I don’t want the warring voices floating around my head to compete. I don’t want awkward or stifled conversation. I’m an adult. He’s an adult. We can both be professional.
An hour into the discussion of plans for the hotel and expansion in the future, Grant has hit his stride. His suit jacket is discarded, shirt sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he’s leaning across the table, assured and powerful.
“Why Europe?” Mr. Knapp, Silicon Valley, venture capitalist and possible investor for foreign expansion of The L, asks while sitting back and crossing his arms.
“Why not Europe? The piece of property we’re looking at is in a provincial location that could benefit from additional tourism. The place is stunning, but without nearby accommodations, it’s virtually nonexistent to tourists. With luxury accommodations and the right marketing, we could put this town on the map.”
“You won’t disclose the location, so how can I possibly understand what you’re proposing?”
“Yes, won’t you paint us a picture, Grant?” Mrs. Knapp bats her eyelashes, clearly taken by my companion for the evening.
Grant gives a short nod. “From one side as you’re perched atop a hill, you have views of the cobblestoned streets of a town that has some of the best pastries in Europe, wonderful cafés, antiques, and one of the best farmer’s markets in the area. On the other side, you’ll have a panoramic view of the sea for as far as your eyes can see. The clearest blue waters will have you thinking you’re in the tropics.”
“It sounds lovely.”
“Throw in the first-class service of The L, and you’ll have no reason to leave. It’ll create jobs for the small village and bring more money through from tourism.”
His excitement for the hotel is evident to everyone sitting at this table. The air is electrified by his charisma. Grant talks for what feels like another hour about the possibilities with expansion into Europe, and Mr. Knapp is eating out of his hand. He’s secured enough interest that further expansion is a big possibility for The L.
“Lancaster, you’ve sold me,” Mr. Knapp states. “Big things are ahead for The L and Knapp industries wants in. Count on our funding.”
Grant sits back, putting his hand under the table. His large palm brushes against my bare leg and a shiver runs down my spine at his touch. He looks over at me. He doesn’t move his hand and I can barely handle the tension crackling in the air between us. Watching him talk about The L was one of the biggest aphrodisiacs. Now that he’s touching me, I can barely breathe.
“How’s Chelsea doing?” Mrs. Knapp’s words cut th
rough the tension like a dull knife. The reminder of Grant’s wife ruins any chemistry between us and makes me feel like an interloper. I’m not here as his date. I’m here as an associate.
Grant stiffens beside me at the mention of Chelsea and then removes his hand from my skin. The void of his warmth makes me feel cold and insecure. He doesn’t look my way, and for that I’m thankful. I’m trying the best I can to smile and act interested in the question so to not give away my true feelings.
“She’s doing well.”
“That’s wonderful. Such a lovely woman. Please give her my best.”
He nods, and with that, I find the perfect time to make my departure.
“It was so nice meeting all of you, but I must head out,” I say, not focusing on any one person as I collect my things. “I apologize for having to cut the night short, but I have a lot of work to do.” I stand on shaky legs.
Three pairs of eyes meet mine. “It was lovely to meet you, Bridget. Good luck with our Lancaster here. He’s going to make you a very busy girl,” Mrs. Knapp says.
I give a tight-lipped smile to her, just wanting to be gone. You have no idea, lady.
“It was wonderful meeting you, as well.” I turn to Grant. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
I hurry downstairs and out of the hotel. My exit was so awkward, but I had to get out of there. I was ready to combust. I’m halfway down the sidewalk when I hear Grant calling my name. I turn to see him jogging toward me.
“Grant? What are you doing?”
“I’m sorry about back there. I shouldn’t have touched you. I’m sorry she mentioned Chelsea. They go way back and—”
I throw my hands up in the air to stop him. I don’t want to talk about Chelsea. Her name alone can ruin the night. It’s a reminder that no matter how strongly I feel, he’ll never be mine.
“It’s fine. I’m just tired.”
I begin to walk away toward my place.
“Bridget, don’t lie to me,” he says, grabbing my hand to stop me. “Let me walk you home.”
I twist around to look at him. “Oh, no, you really don’t have to. Honestly, it’s not far.” I try to not sound desperate for space from him, but I am. His very touch has the effect of a tsunami on my insides. With one simple brush against me, my will to fight him would disappear and my body would melt into his.
“Well, then, you shouldn’t mind.” He smiles. “I told them you had my keys so I said goodbye and ran to catch you.”
“You shouldn’t have. I’ll be fine, Grant.”
My tone is a little harsh. I need to get away from him so I don’t do something stupid. Something like push up on my toes and press my lips against his in the middle of the street for anyone to see—including his wife.
“Please, Bridget. After all the help you’ve been, I don’t want you to walk home in the dark. It isn’t safe. I won’t hear of it.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Fine,” I say in exasperation.
We walk in silence for a couple of blocks. “What do you think about the idea for the fountain in the middle of the lobby?” Grant asks awkwardly from beside me.
The fountain? Is he serious?
“Um, I’m not sure it’s needed. The hotel is so beautiful and modern looking. A fountain would take away from that and completely throw off the feng shui.”
He looks at me. “Feng shui?”
“Grant, you can’t tell me you don’t know what feng shui is. You own a freaking hotel, for shit’s sake.”
He laughs at my outburst, sidling up beside me so our shoulders are touching and his hand brushes mine. I warm instantly at the slight touch. “Enlighten me.”
“It’s about centering and balance to make an environment pleasing to all,” I scoff. “From the details I saw, that designer of yours doesn’t even have the damn fountain balanced. Besides, fountains are more old-world in my opinion. The hotel has absolutely zero old-world vibe. It wouldn’t go at all. I’m shocked you even considered it.” This conversation is . . . different.
“Interesting,” he muses. “The decorator was Chelsea’s idea. I think you’re right. We need to pass on it.”
There she is. No matter how much I want to avoid her, she creeps in. The muscles in my back tighten. My jaw clamping tight as I grind my teeth.
“Don’t do that,” Grant commands. “Don’t make that face. I’m sorry I even said her fucking name, but you’re right, the idea was ridiculous. I don’t even know why I entertained it.”
I smile to myself. I’m finally being heard by Grant Lancaster, and chosen in some small capacity over her. It’s childish and the very definition of ridiculous, but I can’t help it. When I finally see my apartment, my shoulders sag in relief.
“Well, this is it. Thank you so much for walking me home,” I say lamely.
I lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. I turn my head and his lips lightly brush over mine.
What the fuck did I just do?
He pulls me into him, deepening the kiss. I sigh into it, needing this more than I realized. Standing here on the curb of my building, I allow myself to melt into him. A moan escapes my mouth and it only fuels him on. We walk backward toward the wall where he pins me in place, bringing his hands up my sides, just below my breast. My knees go weak and I need more. More of his mouth, more of his touches, more of him.
He strokes my breast through my dress, making my nipple pebble and my core tighten. “Bridget, you’re beautiful.”
“Oh, God . . .”
He grabs my leg, placing it around his hip, pressing his erection into my core. I whimper at the feel of him through my clothes. I’m on fire, and the need for release is growing by the second. I’m about to ask him into my apartment when his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.
I pull myself away, breathing raggedly. I’m pathetic.
“Don’t say a word, Bridget. We both wanted that, and I won’t let you make this awkward.”
“Too late,” I groan.
“No. It doesn’t need to be. Get out of that head of yours.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Don’t say anything.” Moving a stray hair behind my ear, he leans in and kisses me once more, leaving me speechless. It’s such a tender thing to do. “Go. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I nod, smile, and walk toward my apartment, every doubt from moments ago forgotten by his actions. I’m on cloud nine and I hope the fall is worth it.
Four days.
It’s been four days since the kiss outside Bridget’s apartment. I’ve found that I count my days based on moments with her. It’s fucking stupid for a number of reasons, but I couldn’t care less. For once I feel something other than the typical animosity, regret, and self-loathing.
My phone rings and I answer an unknown number. “Grant Lancaster.”
“Mr. Lancaster, it’s Margret.”
My stomach shifts uneasily at the sound of my daughter’s nanny calling. The woman sounds like shit.
“What number are you calling me from?” I bite out, annoyed that not only is she calling me at the office, but where the hell is she? She better not have taken my daughter somewhere.
“I just got a new phone. I’m running a fever and vomiting. I’m going to have to leave.”
“Why are you calling me? You’re supposed to call Chelsea if you ever need to leave early. Contact her.”
“I can’t get in touch with Mrs. Lancaster, so I’m calling you.”
Fucking Chelsea. She’s probably off causing me more issues. “Did you call her?”
“Yes, but she’s not answering.”
“All right, I’ll get my stuff together and be right there.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lancaster.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ll hurry.”
I hang up without another word. The soft opening is a few weeks away and I have a mountain of things to do. The last thing I need is to quit my day early. I stand and pace my office.
“My babysitter is sick. I have to go home, but I have shit to do.”
“Can your daughter come here?”
“We won’t get anything done here with her.” I get a crazy idea. “Would it be all right with you to work with me from home?” Shit, I didn’t think that through. Having her in my home is a bad idea for so many reasons.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
It’s not, but we don’t have any other options. Bringing Isabella to the office isn’t an option, and we can’t lose a day with the opening approaching. In truth, the only person who would have an issue with it is Chelsea, and she’s the reason we’re in this predicament to begin with, so I don’t give a fuck what she thinks.
“It’s the only option we have. There’s too much to get done and I need you, Bridget.” My eyes penetrate hers, begging, pleading for her to agree.
“Okay.” Her head nods as she contemplates my suggestion. “Sure. I mean, I need to be flexible, right?”
My body relaxes. “Yeah?” I should have known Bridget would rise to the occasion. She’s amazing and I don’t deserve her in my life.
“Let’s go get your daughter.”
She strides out of the room like she’s on a mission, and I watch in awe of the beautiful woman. She’s willing to sacrifice her own comfort to help my daughter. She’s everything Chelsea never was, and in this moment the thought of never truly making her mine causes a stabbing pain in my chest.
My hands are sweating as we walk through the doors of Grant’s home. On the other side of this threshold is his daughter. Oh, God. What the hell am I doing? This is a bad idea. I can’t meet his daughter. I’ve practically been the other woman.
I am. Present tense. I. Am.
I turn to walk out, determined to fix this fucking colossal mistake before it gets to the point of no return, but I feel Grant’s large hand grab me at the elbow, halting my move. “Bridget, calm down. Where are you going?”