His mouth curves in a sly smile, letting me know he’s zeroed in on the fact that I’ve just admitted to being attracted to him. Not ‘I can’t believe I liked you’. Not ‘I can’t believe I found you sexy’. No, I am attracted to him. I’ll probably want the guy till I’m dead and buried, and now he knows it.
“Hannah, darlin’, come on over here,” he drawls, allowing his thick Southern drawl free rein.
“No. I’m still spitting mad at you, Gregory Lucas. How could you do that to me?” I breathe past the lump in my throat. “That was worse than the time I told my sister her ass didn’t look fat in tights. Everyone’s ass looks fat in tights. I lied then, and I lied now. To that sweet woman.”
He pulls me into his arms, ignoring my feeble struggles till I stop and burrow closer, finding comfort in the heat and scent that I know as well as my own.
“Hannah, darlin’, Selena knows exactly what she’s getting into. Trust me,” he murmurs, kissing the top of my head. “Now stop fighting with me, and let’s talk about Josey.”
He leads me into the kitchen, where a pizza box and bottle of cola stand waiting. When I have a slice and a glass, we move to the breakfast bar and sit, turning to face each other.
“Gregory.”
“Greg,” he insists for the millionth time, glaring at me.
“Greg, I can’t afford her, and we both know it. I’ve called the agency, and they’ll send someone less…costly…over tomorrow for me to interview.”
I’d have to work two jobs and sell an organ to keep up with rent and groceries and the qualified Josey Barnes.
“I hired her when you looked so impressed,” he says, and I feel myself going icy.
“Look—”
“Don’t argue. We both know Chrissie can’t mind her all the time, and I don’t want to have to drive you home every night. Once in a while I’d like for us to fall asleep together.”
Me too, but that’s not in the cards. Besides, I’m vain, and I don’t think I’m ready for Gregory to see my morning face just yet.
“Gregory.”
“Greg! Goddammit, stop trying to put so much distance between us. We’re together, deal with it and move on already. And the goddamned helper stays!”
I rear back, shocked that he is taking such a small thing so seriously, so…personally. Gregory is usually an easy-going guy. You’d assume that since he’s so controlling and domineering he’s got a stick shoved up his ass or something, but that is far from the truth.
He’s easy to be around, when I’m not focusing so much on my guilt and the wrongness of something that feels too right. Some nights we eat and watch television, cuddled up on the sofa, before he even touches me suggestively.
One time he’d been so comfortable I’d been forced to make the first move.
“Greg, look…”
“I mean, why can’t you just let us be happy together?” he asks softly, in a voice so unlike him I feel guilty for starting this argument. “We’re good together, Han, and you know it. We enjoy the same things, we both work hard — and well together — and we’re both in love with your nana. Just give this enough of a chance that I’m not yelling at you half the time. Please.”
He says the words, and my immediate response is to fling his engagement in his face. But that is so old news already, and I can only use it so many times before even I know it’s old.
The truth is that I do want to give in and let go and just be happy for however long we have together. He’s getting married, when, I do not know, but when that happens I know what we have will be over.
I’ll likely never see him again or get to look into his eyes, touch him, kiss his lips as he strokes my hair. It’s wrong, I know it, but as I look at him and feel the pain of the coming loss, I make up my mind to let go and take whatever it is I can while he’s still mine.
“I want to,” I admit, closing my eyes on a sigh.
“Good. That’s good,” he says, and I hear his relief. “It’ll be great, Han, you’ll see. We can spend more time together—”
“Greg, I can’t leave her alone with the helper all the time. She’s old. She’ll want me around too.”
“Yeah, I know that. We’ll bring her and Josey out to the house with us on weekends.”
And now I see exactly what his angle is. He wants me to accept Josey without a fight because, I’d bet my toes, he intends to pay for her, and he knows I’m not going to like it.
I mean, it’s one thing to be a man’s mistress and still be independent. It’s another thing entirely when he’s paying for more than dinner and the odd lunch.
This is a milestone, a point of no return in the screwed up ‘relationship’ we have, and I know that crossing that line is a one-way street with no return option.
“You can pay for it if, and only if, you swear you’ll hand Amber back her bakery,” I say.
It’s a hard bargain, and I know it. I’ve spoken to Amber about her ‘investor,’ and I know that Greg invested quite a substantial amount of money in the failing bakery. To just give it up isn’t good business.
“Darlin’,” he sighs heavily. “I’ll make you a deal. Give me a year to get that place out of the fire and hire on a decent manager, and I’ll consider it. You have to understand, Amber is a terrible manager, and she’s not exactly accurate with her books.”
Not accurate.
“You mean she’s skimming off the top?”
God, I can so see her doing that, even to the detriment of her business, if she wants something. Amber is about as trustworthy and straight as a crooked tire.
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Okay, one year, and you promise not to blackmail me anymore. I can’t go on wondering if you’d kick her to the curb if I leave. Even if she does deserve it,” I say.
From now on we have to be honest, and to do that I need to know I can walk away without the consequences falling on someone else’s shoulders.
“Deal. But Greg?”
“Yeah, darlin’?”
“Do not ever make me choose wedding stuff with your fiancée again. Ever.”
He smiles with such a supreme look of arrogant victory before pulling me into his arms for a kiss that I’m left wondering if I’ve just been manipulated.
Chapter Eighteen
By Thursday I am having serious withdrawals, and I consider calling Greg just to hear his voice and prove to myself that this is real and not a dream. Monday night, after our first real talk, ever, we’d made love — yes, that’s what I’m calling it now — before he’d taken me home. Tuesday morning I’d walked into the office to a message that he’d gone away on business and wouldn’t be back before Friday.
Three days without him have been shockingly difficult. I’d fought so hard, and yet I am in exactly the place I didn’t want to be. I’m smitten with him.
That first Greg-free morning had been the arrival of the first gift, a bouquet of roses so red I’d checked to be sure they were real and not like the plastic ones Nana keeps on her bureau.
Wednesday it had been a pair of silver hoop earrings to replace the one I’d lost on the subway. Today I am staring and blushing at the contents of the Victoria’s Secret bag sitting on my desk.
There’s no way in hell I would ever buy underwear that skimpy for myself, and obviously he knows it. The phone rings, and I drag myself out of my daydreams to answer with a crisp and hopefully not breathless “Hello?”
“Hannah! Hi!”
My eyes close and I force myself not to put the phone down in reflex, knowing she’ll only call back. While I’ve been walking on clouds and loving it, I’ve also been bombarded with wedding arrangements by Selena.
“Hello, Miss Jeffries.”
“Oh, don’t be so formal, Hannah. We’re friends now! Call me Lena. Anyhow, I’m calling to find out where we should have the reception. I looked at Starlight and The Carlton Grand, but they’re both so great I can’t decide which one I like best,” she laments, and I grind my teeth to keep from cursing.
> What difference will it make what I think? I’m just a lowly PA with a huge secret that makes us natural enemies. Not best friends.
“I can’t say. They’re both great. Go with Starlight if you intend to leave for the airport the same day,” I say, willing myself to speak without sounding as if I’m in pain. “The Carlton if you’re staying over and catching a flight the day after.”
Please let that be all, I beg silently as Lucy walks in, giving me a probing look. Selena trills happily, and I’m relieved when she rings off with a squeal of delight instead of another task for me.
“You look like you just swallowed toxic waste.”
“I’m fine. What can I do for you?” I ask, avoiding that can of worms.
“Oh, nothing really, I’m just bored. Jack and Owens left for that conference in Chicago, and what with everything in the packing stages I’m at loose ends,” she sighs, flopping onto the sofa.
I wish I could say the same, but apparently Gregory Lucas is a machine, and our office is pumping with correspondence and phone calls. The only reason I’m not a phone-answering zombie by now is that his other PA, Kimmy, is handling stuff on her end while I handle the agency and travel arrangements.
“What happened to you this morning, anyway? You look like you got hit by a train when you walked in.”
Only because, if it hadn’t been for the guy standing beside me on the platform, I would have been. Hit by a train, that is. The platform had been crammed this morning, and I’d been jostled just as the train was pulling in.
When I’d realized I was falling…well, let’s just say I will be forever grateful to that stranger for his reflexes. I’d been a second away from falling straight onto the tracks when he’d grabbed me.
Unfortunately, my momentum had not been ideal and I’d fallen flat on my ass and now sport a scraped elbow, what I suspect is a goose egg on the back of my head, and an ass that hurts to sit on.
I am not what you’d call graceful, so I am not unscathed. Alive, thank God, but a little banged up.
“Some asshole on the subway decided he couldn’t stand still. I almost did a header onto the tracks,” I say as I check my inbox and fire off a quick email.
“Jesus, some people are animals. You all right?”
“Eh, I’ll live.”
She stands when the conversation is stalled by my preoccupation and wags a finger at me.
“You’re no fun lately.”
“Yeah? Go see how much Taz likes being disturbed, and you can call me a stick in the mud,” I challenge.
Taz is like a madwoman lately. Even I am not going anywhere near her if I can help it. When Lucy walks off with a wave, the phone rings, and I groan before answering.
“Mr Lucas’ office.”
“Oh, darlin’, I sure do appreciate the way you say that,” he drawls, sending shiver down my spine. “How’s my girl?”
It’s corny and weird, but just hearing him call me his girl makes me happier than I should be. Seriously, who gets this giddy about a dumb phone call?
“Good. I think. I got your gift,” I breathe, blushing deeply.
“You’ll wear it for me tomorrow night,” he says, and I can hear arousal in his voice when he growls the words at me.
“I can’t.”
My knees are a torn mess and about as sexy as a case of VD. No way can I pull that thong and bra off now. Bloody knees and a swollen elbow scream emergency room, not let’s have wild monkey sex.
“You have to, darlin’,” he purrs, and I feel my sex tingle to life in anticipation of his return.
I’ve become a sexual animal with Gregory, and while I’m grateful that his business trip falls on my time of the month and I don’t have to have the awkward ‘I’ve got my period’ talk with him, I still miss it. A lot.
“Sorry, stud. I’ve got war wounds right now and showing off scabby knees in that lacy underwear is not hot,” I say regretfully. “We’ll have to do a rain check. As it is, I’ll have to wear band aids to bed tomorrow night.”
“You got hurt? Where? How? When?” he demands, making me chuckle at the authoritative interrogation.
“Calm down, Columbo. Sheesh, you’d swear I was mortally injured or something. Some moron on the subway jostled me, and me being the graceless lump I am, I fell. No big deal.”
Yeah right, tell that to your skull.
“You’re okay? Did you go to the doctor to get checked out?” he demands, making me frown.
“No. Don’t you yell at me. I am totally fine. I’m a little banged up, but I will most definitely live. Now, if you’re done insulting my intelligence, I need to get back to work. My boss is a machine who expects his employees to work themselves half to death,” I tease, attempting to lighten his suddenly dark mood.
I hear a sigh.
“I called because there’s a slight chance I’ll be delayed. The data on one of the ships isn’t adding up, and we’re trying to figure it out. If it’s not done by tomorrow I might need to stay.”
“But—”
I stop myself before an honest whine comes out and fiddle a rose petal that’s fallen and landed on my blotter.
“That sucks. If you’re staying I’ll need to reschedule the jet and call your housekeeper. She’s making you mac and cheese in honor of your imminent return.”
I’m not sure Selena or I stand an actual chance with Greg. Rose, his housekeeper, worships him so fiercely I’m almost afraid to call her in case she bites my head off.
“Yeah. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know.”
We say goodbye and hang up. It’s pretty impersonal, and the complete opposite of the conversations I’ve heard him have with Selena, but I ignore it and assure myself he’s just busy.
When the phone rings again, I answer with a grin and a purr.
“You forget something, darlin’?”
“Han.”
“Tom?” I ask, flabbergasted to hear his voice.
I’d never in my life expected to hear from Tom again. Never, not after the verbal assault we’d launched at each other across that courtroom. To say that we should despise each other for the rest of our lives is an understatement.
“Hey, Han.”
I hear the discomfort and uncertainty there and, being the new ‘let’s forgive and all sing Kumbaya’ Hannah, I decide to give him a break and don’t slam the phone down immediately.
“Hi, um, what’s up?”
“I, uh. I’m having…I mean, Shelly is pregnant and I…you know that locket my mom gave you when we got engaged?” he asks.
Yeah. Of course I remember. I’d loved Grace and she’d loved me, and when she’d given me that locket, a family heirloom, and made me promise to always cherish it, I’d taken it seriously enough not to throw it at Tom the day he walked out on our marriage.
“Yeah.”
I kinda know what he’s gonna say, but as I wait I hope against hope he won’t say it. I mean, I want at least one good thought of the guy. Just one. Just the one where he doesn’t demand I return a gift that was given to me with love. Grace is dead now and she won’t ever know, but that’s not the goddamned point.
“Could…I’d like to have it to give to my daughter.”
And here lands disappointment. Un-fucking-believable.
“How about no? How about you try to remember that your mom gave it to me, and that despite our divorce we weren’t enemies and she actually loved me?”
“Hannah.”
Ooh, here comes the ‘I will brook no arguments tone’. Predictable.
“No. Congratulations on your baby, and tell your wife I send my regards. Goodbye, Tom.”
As I put the phone down slowly, deliberately, so as not to beat it to pieces, I think of Gregory and the gifts he’s given me. He would never try to take anything away from me. He may be controlling and ruthless and relentless, but he’s the fairest man I know. Affair notwithstanding.
Chapter Nineteen
Gregory does not return on Friday. Or Saturday. Or even Sun
day. Which is a damned shame, because if he’d been home I would have been with him and not on the subway, a place that has become my personal nemesis.
Thursday I’d run down to my station, dodging rain and knee-deep puddles. By the time I’d gotten there and stood waiting for my train, I was wet and miserable and not concentrating hard enough to notice anyone or anything.
That’s how I’d ended up falling down half a flight of stairs and broken my left arm. Pain is not something I deal with in any kind of acceptable fashion, so when I’d snapped back to reality at the bottom of the concrete steps, I’d cried like a child and sputtered my way onto the train despite needing to go to the emergency room.
When I’d gotten home my arm had looked like ham, and Chris had gone into hysterics, which meant Josey had to stay over while we got Mr Clinton downstairs to drive us to the hospital.
Saturday had seen me stumbling around and loopy enough that when Gregory called, I’d let Nana take it and fallen onto the sofa to watch old reruns of Friends.
Funnier when you’re loopy. A lot funnier.
Sunday I’d waited for him to call all day, and I have to be honest enough that when he hadn’t, it had hurt.
Now I’m back in the office, and it’s ten and he still isn’t back. Dammit.
“Thanks a lot, A-hole. Get me to like you and then don’t call. Just like a man,” I mutter as I pack another box and grab the tape to seal it.
“I didn’t call because I thought you needed the rest. Besides, Nana told me not to bug you while you were ‘under the influence’ in case you said something you’d regret.”
I jump to my feet at those words and spin around to see him leaning against the doorframe of our joined offices, his pose casual.
“Like what?” I ask, striving for a calm I do not feel.
I want to jump him and kiss the hell out of him. Instead I mirror his casual pose, leaning a hip against my desk, and watch his lips twitch with amusement.
“Well, she said, and I quote, ‘Hannah is a very loving person and would never have sexual intercourse with a man she doesn’t have feelings for.’ Or something along those lines.”
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