by Tori Blake
“Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you had fun.” He smiled and then motioned to the doors. “It seems like almost everyone is out. Should we go?”
I nodded and stood up and began the slow walk toward the back of the venue. When we reached the main doors, the lobby was still a little crowded, and Grayson got a lot of glances and hushed whispers in his direction as we walked by. A few people pulled out their cell phones and tried to snap some discreet pictures. I turned my face toward the ground and quickened my step.
Once we were outside, the crowds were more dispersed and I felt like I could breathe a little better. Suddenly, all my outings with Amanda, Megan, and the regulars seemed like child’s play compared to what Grayson must endure on a daily basis.
“Did you drive?” he asked.
“I did,” I said and pointed in the vague direction of my car. “I’m parked a couple blocks down that way.”
“I’ll walk with you,” he said, and we continued chatting about the show.
I don’t know whether I was walking slowly intentionally or if my shoes were more painful than I remembered, but I think I didn’t want the night to be over.
“I’d ask you to a late dinner, but we have training early in the morning,” he said.
In my experience, this sort of excuse was used to get out of a terrible date, similar to the way I had ended my date with Greg only last weekend, but there was genuine disappointment in Grayson’s voice. It was as we approached my car, the small, black Audi parked beneath one of the street lamps, that I realized I wanted him to kiss me.
“This is me,” I said and pressed the unlock button. The lights flashed in the dark, and I turned to face him, slightly awkwardly, and looked at my hands.
“Would you mind dropping me off down the block? I have a car waiting,” he said.
“Yeah, of course,” I said and crossed across the front of my car as he slid silently into the passenger seat.
We sat there for a moment in silence, and I realized how nervous I really was. Nothing like this had happened to me before, and I became very aware of my pulse, which was going at a furious rate. He looked as natural as ever, smiling at me easily and nonchalantly, in no rush to move on.
“Tell me a little about yourself,” he said. “I realize that I actually know very little about you other than how beautiful I think you are.”
Again, he said this so naturally that it could not have felt less like a pick-up line.
“Well, I grew up in Michigan, Ann Arbor specifically. My dad left when I was young and my mom remarried Harry when I was ten. I have a younger sister named Carrie; she still lives there,” I said.
“Was it hard moving away?” he asked, genuinely interested, and he turned in his seat to face me.
I shrugged. “A little I guess, but it’s not like it’s too far for a visit. What about your family?” I asked.
“Well I grew up in New York City. I was always good at sports, so I just kept playing. I honestly never realized it was going to turn into something this big. But I’m getting up there, as far as age goes, for a player, so maybe I’ll move back once they force me out,” he said and smiled.
I could tell he was joking, but there was a hint of something more in his voice, a longing for a more simple life perhaps, or maybe a little regret.
It was then that I made up my mind to kiss him. I was nervous, unnaturally so, but still determined. Tonight had been wonderful, such a different and unexpected side of him. I turned to face him and found that he was looking at me too. He leaned in toward me at the same time I reached for him. The instant before our lips met, there was a giant flash across my windshield, and I raised my hand to block the light.
“What the—” I began, and Grayson groaned.
“Just drive,” he said more firmly than I had heard him ever before.
My foot slammed on the accelerator and I veered away from the curb and onto the street. Thankfully it was empty or I would have run into whoever happened to be driving past at the time. The light at the intersection was yellow, but I accelerated faster and spared a moment to look in the rearview mirror to see dark figures gathering in the street where my car had just been.
“What was that?” I asked.
He stewed in quiet, angry silence, and I knew better than to speak again before he did. We passed another set of lights before he answered me.
“It was the paparazzi,” he said. “They’ve been trying to catch me out on a date for a long time.”
We stopped at a red light, and I realized I had no idea where we were going, but I assumed he would stop me when we got close.
“My ex started dating someone new fairly recently,” he said, still looking straight ahead, “and they’ve been trying to catch me on a ‘revenge’ date or something.”
This must have been the longest red light of my life, and we sat in silence for another few moments until he looked at me in horror. He hadn’t spoken about his ex at all that night, and I had been doing my best to avoid the subject, and now I find out that he could be using me for some sort of payback?
“That’s not what this is, Grace,” he said, as if he read my mind. I nodded slowly as the light turned red, feeling a little foolish, and despite trying very hard, I felt disappointed.
“I-I’m so sorry. That’s not what I meant at all. I just, I don’t do the whole fame thing so well I guess. I’m still not used to it and it makes me mad. I promise that this wasn’t revenge; I don’t play games like that,” he said.
“I know. I believe you,” I said, and while the idea of him dating me just to get back at his ex was still in my head, I was more reassured.
“I’m very happy that you do,” he said, putting his left hand on my knee, a gesture that was both sweet and calming.
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, why did you two break up?” I asked without taking my eyes from the road. I thought that this was a question I had earned the answer to.
“Is this for Top Press or am I off the record?” he asked with a smirk.
“No promises,” I quipped. He gave a little laugh and we both relaxed.
“Fair enough,” he said. “It’s a long story, but basically I thought she was it. She was everything to me, and when I met her I thought, no, I knew I wanted to marry her, to start a family, build a life. But she cheated on me about a year ago. We tried to work things out, go to counseling, the whole bit, but it never took and we broke up six months ago.”
There was a silence that followed, more pensive than comfortable, until he spoke again.
“I guess that wasn’t really a long story at all,” he said and laughed weakly.
“I’m sorry, Grayson,” I said instinctively, and I momentarily removed my right hand from the wheel to place on top of his.
We rode like this the rest of the way until he pointed out a black SUV parked on the street after the next light. I pulled over silently and put the car in park.
“I’m sorry that the night had to end this way,” he said, locking eyes with me again. As much as I wanted to kiss him, I knew this wasn’t the right time or place.
“Don’t worry about it; it’s definitely the most exciting date I have ever been on,” I said and smiled.
“I would love to see you again,” he said as his eyes continued to connect with mine. His lips were slightly parted and seductive.
I smiled and nodded, feeling that this was both the best and strangest first date I had ever had. I had no idea what I would tell the girls.
“I would like that,” I said, and the relief on his face was immediate.
“I’d try to kiss you again, but my driver is watching,” he said, and I laughed.
“That’s fine. I don’t kiss on the first date anyway,” I said, and then he was the one to laugh.
“Goodnight, Grace,” he said, and he was out of the car before I knew it, as if the whole evening had been a dream.
“Goodnight, Grayson,” I thought, and after I watched the dark SUV pull away from the curb, I dro
ve off into the night.
Chapter 9
The next day was Sunday, and while I had promised Megan and Amanda I would go to brunch to give them all the details of the night before, I decided to have a lazy day at home, catching up on my closet organization and television reruns. I promised them both I would give them all the details on Monday. We had a promotional event at a swanky new art gallery that Amanda was really excited about, and I thought that would be the best time to give them all the details. In hindsight, I was very lucky that I didn’t leave my apartment Sunday, and I found out why Monday morning.
On the first day of the workweek, I was uncharacteristically early for work. I had spent all of Sunday thinking about Grayson, our next date, and even daydreaming about his last name on my first. Grace Hunter had a wonderful ring to it. This newfound optimism spurred me out of bed on Monday and propelled me through the morning routine that usually took a few hours in under fifty minutes.
I was in the office around eight, and when I stopped for coffee, my favorite barista gave me a weird look, like he was trying to place me, which was weird because he saw me almost every day. He had finally given me my drink after shockingly few words and even fewer thumbs ups. Brushing it off as him not used to seeing me this early, I grabbed my latte and scone and made my way to the elevators. Looking back, I think I remember a few more stares than normal, but I was off in my own little world and didn’t notice.
However, when I finally reached the Top Press floor, I knew something was amiss. First of all, there were people I had never seen buzzing around our cubicles, and when I finally made it to my desk, I could see what looked like hundreds of Post-it notes, all in different colors, tagged on to various surfaces. My monitor, keyboard, desktop, picture frames, phone, everything was all covered in these pieces of paper.
Before I could see what it was that they said, a man I had never seen before confronted me. He had dark skin, thick rimmed glasses, and was rail thin. He had a somewhat bookish, arrogant appearance, as if he had spent his whole life trying to justify who he was and why.
“Grace Taylor?” he asked, his voice high and snooty.
“That’s me,” I said, setting my coffee down and picking up the first of many Post-it notes. “Why do I have all of these?”
He smiled quickly and unsympathetically.
“We’re from the call service your company employs. Usually it is only myself and one other woman, but we had such an increased call volume last night that we couldn’t keep up. Some messages got through to a”—he checked his notes—“Bernadette Combs, and she was quite upset. She insisted we come down here and sort it out immediately.”
“Well that’s great of you, but I don’t understand—” I began, but he cut me off.
“It’s because of you. Many reporters believe you to be the woman in this picture,” he said, slamming a copy of the Herald onto my desk, a picture splashed across the front that I had never seen before.
But of course I had never seen it before. It was a picture of me. The picture of me and Grayson from Saturday night, in my car. The moment that would have been our first kiss. And from the number of papers this man kept laying down in front of me, he had sold the image to every newspaper in Chicago. The headlines reading:
“Curvy New Girlfriend for Chicago’s Most Eligible Man”
“Riot’s Star Finds Love with Voluptuous Journalist”
“Grayson Hunter Hits Home Run With Journalist Grace Taylor”
I was stunned. I knew there had been some paparazzi, and I knew that it had bothered Grayson, but I had no idea things like this could happen so quickly.
“Ms. Taylor?” the bookish man said.
I swallowed and looked at each of the papers again.
“I uh-well I’m not really...I’m not sure what to...” I said, letting myself trail off.
“So I’m assuming that this is, in fact, you?” he asked, apparently irritated with my surprise.
“Yes, this it me,” I managed to get out.
It was then that I saw Megan walking quickly toward me across the office, a few papers clutched in her hand. All of the excitement and happy jealousy that had appeared on her face last week was gone and replaced with worry and nerves.
“Well, now that your office staff are arriving, we are leaving. Please be advised that there will be an additional service charge for last evening,” he said, and before I could answer, he turned on a polished heel and walked off.
“Grace?” I heard Megan’s voice say. It was tentative and soft, not the boisterous and confident sound I was used to.
“Hey,” I said, still looking at the newspapers and headlines splashed across my desk. Their focus on my appearance seemed both deliberate and intentionally controversial. The picture wasn’t a bad one necessarily. In fact, I found myself thinking, it would have been quite romantic had it been a candid shot from a friend. But the fact that some anonymous photographer had taken it made it extremely impersonal and, if I was being honest, a bit scary.
The phones were still ringing, but they had become little more than a dull white noise in the back of my auditory conscious. Megan might have been saying something, but I couldn’t hear her. All I could hear was “Curvy” and “Voluptuous,” as if those were the only words that could define me in the context of my potential relationship.
“Grace?” Megan repeated, and I shook myself out of my daze.
“Yeah? Hey, I’m sorry. Just in a bit of a weird place right now,” I said and managed half a grin, which she returned with a weak smile. She handed me a large coffee that I could smell was pumpkin spice flavored, my favorite, and put a small hand on my shoulder. Even in her heels she still stood about an inch shorter than me, but her touch was comforting nonetheless.
“Has it been awful this morning?” she asked. “Did anyone say anything to you?”
I shook my head. “No, not at all. The barista downstairs gave me a weird look, but I didn’t think anything of it,” I said.
“Are these all reporters calling?” she asked as she motioned to the Post-it notes on my desk.
“I guess so. The call service had to send people here last night I guess to handle all the volume. Apparently Bernie started getting calls at home too,” I said, not having realized that I had even retained this information.
“I can’t believe it,” Megan said. “I mean, I knew it was a big deal to be going out with Grayson Hunter, but I had no idea that the media would swoop in so quickly.”
Then her face changed to one of horror and realization.
“Do you think anyone from Top Press is going to try and interview you? Or make you into a story?” she asked.
At this, I laughed. “Megan, unless it’s you, I doubt it. We’re basically the only entertainment people here,” I said.
“That’s true,” she said, and she seemed satisfied. “So what are you going to do? Return these calls?”
“Do you think I should?” I asked, becoming more and more aware of the phones ringing in the background.
“No, not at all,” Megan said firmly. “They should have some professional courtesy. We’ll talk to Bernie when she’s in and see what she thinks.”
With that, Megan walked to her desk, unplugged her phone, and then did the same to mine. There were a few other desks in our area whose phones were ringing, so she did those as well, until the only phone we could hear was the one coming from Bernie’s office, which we didn’t dare touch.
“That’s better,” Megan said and sat down in her chair. I followed suit, but not before sweeping the newspapers off my desk and into the trash. I did the same with the Post-it notes and felt a small wave of relief at the sight of my clean desk.
“Do you think Bernie is upset?” I asked, taking a sip of the delicious spicy coffee.
“Not at you,” Megan said through a mouth of scone. “It’s not your fault these vultures have no professionalism.”
“Yeah, but I did go out with the subject of one of my pieces. I’m not sure if there
is a rule against that, but I can’t imagine she’ll be thrilled,” I said.
Megan’s mouth twisted to the side in thought, and I turned back to my computer when I thought she wasn’t going to answer.
“She’ll be annoyed, but it shouldn’t be at you,” Megan said with an air of finality.
I was able to sit at my desk and work in relative silence for the next few hours. The remainder of the staff came in and paused when they noticed their phones disconnected, but after answering their first calls, they returned them to that state. I was alarmed that I hadn’t seen Bernie yet, or received an email, but it was entirely possible she had decided to let the whole thing blow over from home.
Amanda called my cell phone around mid-morning, expressing sympathy but also commenting that I had looked gorgeous and had nothing to be sorry for. Megan had just asked if I wanted to go out for lunch when my phone rang again, and I answered it instinctively, believing it to be Amanda again.
“Hello? Grace?” I heard Grayson say when I answered.
“Grayson?” I said as quietly as I could. The last thing I needed was for everyone to know who was on the phone.
“Yes. Listen Grace, I am so sorry for all of this. Stan told me that the media has been all over you. I told him to make it stop, so he’s calling all his connections right now and the calls should stop,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say.
“Grace? Are you there?” he asked again.
“Yes,” I said.
“Please say something,” he said. “I feel so bad about this.”
“I don’t think there is anything to say,” I said, and now Megan was beside me.
“Will you see me again?” he asked, the confidence and charisma gone from his voice. It reeked of quiet desperation.
“Look, Grayson,” I said, “you’re a really nice guy and I had a great time, but I’m not sure this is something I can do. I’m not even looking for a boyfriend really. I don’t think I’m the girl for you.”