Grace let her gaze sweep over the landscape and behind her toward the hotel. Several sets of automatic glass doors lined the hotel halls that wrapped around to the ballrooms. Several people meandered about inside, but none seemed to have noticed her.
She was about to give up looking for the person behind the heat on her neck when she saw him.
He leaned casually against an inside pillar on the other side of a floor-to-ceiling window. He wore a suit, minus the tie. Grace tried to place him. Was he at the wedding?
No.
She would have noticed him the second he walked into the room. Tall, which considering she was as vertically challenged as they came, didn’t take much. Rugged . . . as in sharp features and shoulders that filled the suit jacket really . . . really well.
Grace realized she was staring and averted her eyes back to the fountain.
Despite the fact she could still see the vapor her breath created in the night air, she didn’t feel quite as chilled as when she walked out. That alone told her the man continued to watch.
She knelt down to adjust the strap on her shoe solely so she could confirm her suspicion.
He hadn’t budged.
In fact, she was pretty sure he smiled.
Grace stood tall to the extra three inches her heels allowed and turned away. She’d normally be a little freaked out about a man staring at her from inside a building. But she was standing out in the cold like an idiot, and if she’d seen someone doing the same thing, she’d probably stop and stare, too.
Lucky for her, the doors leading to the reception were opposite of where Mr. Stare Happy was perched.
Men in hotels were not the kind she wanted to meet. They were either there on business, visiting someone, or cheating on their significant other. Nope, nope, and nope.
She checked over her shoulder right before sliding back into the ballroom.
Stare Happy wasn’t there.
Good!
Although she had to admit, the man was good-looking. From what she could tell from her distance.
The music had switched to something fast, and the dance floor was crowded.
Erin approached, confusion on her face. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you.”
Grace waved a hand toward the direction of the door. “I’ve been . . . I was . . . never mind. What’s up?”
“They’re about to cut the cake.”
“Right. Cake . . . got it.” There was a wedding going on, and a lively one at that. The last thing she should be doing is wallowing in self-pity about her lacking love life.
Once the cake was cut and the bouquet was tossed, her responsibilities to the bride and groom were over, and she could do what every other self-respecting bridesmaid did at a reception . . . get hammered or hook up.
Considering most of the people in attendance were family or close friends she knew too much about to consider a one-night stand, it looked like she had a date with a bottle of champagne.
But first . . . cake.
The sound of a horn blaring outside dragged Grace from the far depths of sleep.
Thick paste had taken the place of saliva in her mouth, and she heard every beat of her heart between her ears.
Sun filtered through the windows of her condo with such brilliance she knew she’d missed most of the morning.
She tested her head slowly, moving it to the side to catch the time.
Ten thirteen? How did that even happen?
Slapping her lips together, she tasted a little too much of what she’d eaten, or more importantly, drunk, the night before. And the need to pee was dire.
Moving more quickly than her brain liked, she staggered through her bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. Two minutes later she stood in front of the mirror while water rushed into the sink.
Her hair stuck out in every direction, her eyes were bloodshot, and her lips were as dry as the Mojave Desert.
“That last glass was a mistake,” she said to her reflection.
Her feet still throbbed from the dancing. She’d made sure to spend the remainder of the evening dancing with anyone with a pulse. And then, when the night came to an end, because her condo was only a few blocks from the hotel in the heart of Santa Clarita, she left her car in the parking lot and walked home.
In short, her feet hurt like hell.
So did her head.
She flipped on the hot water in the shower and let it steam the room while she brushed her teeth. Even coffee didn’t sound like the right thing to add to her digestive system.
By now her brother and Parker would be on a plane. One solid week in Maui, courtesy of her parents. Lots of money spent so they could stay inside a hotel room and exercise the heck out of each other.
She smiled through the headache and stepped into the shower.
Thirty minutes later, with her thick, wavy hair pulled back in a short ponytail and a big pair of sunglasses hiding the lack of restful sleep under her eyes, she headed out for the short walk to the hotel to gather her car. Halfway there, the scent of java had her making a detour.
The coffee shop was wall-to-wall customers on a late Sunday morning. By the head count of people carrying shopping bags from the mall across the street, it looked as if most of the people there had been up for hours holiday shopping.
She rubbed the back of her neck through the turtleneck sweater she’d put on. Her headache was starting to fade.
Thank God.
The line inched slowly. As it did, her need for a large shot of caffeine grew.
And sugar. She needed sugar.
Finally, her turn came.
She looked at the menu as if she was seeing it for the first time. “Cappuccino,” she blurted out. “Double shot.”
The barista typed her order into the register.
“With pumpkin spice. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.”
“The pumpkin is sweet, right?”
“Yeah.” The kid behind the counter wasn’t amused.
“Can I get that in a large?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you want a latte?”
She shook her head. “No. Double shot cappuccino with pumpkin spice is fine.”
“Is that all?”
“With whip cream.”
He sighed. “How about an extra-large pumpkin latte, double shot, with whip cream?”
Someone behind her cleared their throat.
“Fine.”
He rang her up.
“And a blueberry scone.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Full milk or soy?”
“Nonfat.”
Whoever had cleared their throat behind her now laughed.
Grace refrained from looking around to see the face behind the laugh, paid, and stepped aside.
She pulled her cell phone from her back pocket while she waited for her coffee. Her mother had sent two text messages. Erin had left one. All were in regard to helping with moving the wedding gifts over to Colin and Parker’s place and cleaning up the mess they’d left behind the day before.
“Double shot nonfat pumpkin latte with whip cream with a blueberry scone and a complimentary side of diabetes,” the barista called out.
Grace glanced up, saw a familiar face. “Very funny, Leah.”
Leah pushed her order across the counter. “Let me guess, big Saturday night?”
“My brother’s wedding.”
“Oh, that’s right. How was it?”
“Beautiful. Of course. They both said ‘I do’ at the right time.”
The guy at the register shouted out another order.
Leah looked over her shoulder. “Come by next week during lunch. I want to see pictures.”
“I will.” Grace grabbed her coffee, pastry, and dignity and headed for the door.
“Nice to see you’re more appropriately dressed for the outdoors today.” The deep baritone voice came from her right. She took one step before realizing the words were meant for her.
/> Slowly, like something out of an old cartoon, she turned to the man behind the voice.
Mr. Stare Happy relaxed in a chair with his arm leaning on the table. Unlike the night before, when she couldn’t see his face clearly to tell for certain that he smiled at her, there was no mistaking it now.
He was smiling . . . if not laughing at her.
She feigned innocence. “Have we met?”
A flicker of amusement passed over his lips. “The hotel . . . last night?”
What was up with his voice? It vibrated the entire room. It was deep and salty like a jazz musician in a New Orleans club. Like a deep purr of a lion.
“You were at the hotel last night?”
He blinked and snickered.
She lifted her coffee to her lips to hide any expression that might leak through.
“And you were walking the gardens in a thin dress without a jacket.”
The sugar in her coffee reached all the right spots and gave her the words she needed.
“Oh . . . was that you who opened the door for me?”
His eyes narrowed. “No.”
“You weren’t at the wedding, right? I think I would have remembered you at the wedding.”
Mr. Stare Happy’s smile slid from his lips. “No.”
“Were you one of the waiters? There were so many—”
“No. I’m not a waiter. I saw you . . .” He stopped talking and reached for his cup before standing.
When he did, she was struck by the size of him. Close to her brother Matt’s height, but not taller than Colin. Still, since she was five three and wearing a pair of Keds, Mr. Stare Happy dwarfed her.
She looked over the edge of the sunglasses she hadn’t bothered taking off. She did a complete sweep of the man with the lion’s voice and came to rest on his amused eyes. “I’m sorry, last night was a blur. My brother got married . . . there was champagne.”
He reached a hand out. “Dameon.”
Unable to stop herself, she chuckled. “With a voice like that, I’m not surprised.”
“Excuse me?”
That was rude. Her little cat and mouse pretending to not recognize him was one thing . . . “Grace.” She shuffled the bag to her hand holding the coffee and shook his hand. It was warm, and firm . . .
She swallowed.
He looked at their hands before he let her go.
“A pleasure meeting you, Dameon. I’m sorry I don’t remember you from last night.”
“Pleasure’s mine,” he said.
She nodded toward the door. “I gotta go. I left my car in the parking lot. Wouldn’t want to get towed.”
“Because of the champagne and the blur?” he asked.
She waved the coffee cup in the air. “Yes. Those two things.” With the back of her hand, she pushed her sunglasses higher on her nose. “Enjoy your stay in Santa Clarita.”
He watched as she retreated. “I will.”
Even outside, she felt his eyes. Damn if she couldn’t stop herself from making sure he was watching.
Their eyes met, much like they had the night before, and Grace smiled.
CHAPTER TWO
“Hudson?” Her boss, the head of the civil engineering department for the city, knocked on her office door once, called her name, and entered.
“Morning, Richard . . . thanks for knocking this time.”
Richard was thirty years her senior and still lived in the dark ages when it came to working with women in the office who weren’t clerical.
He pushed past the door and dropped a two-inch-thick file on her desk, displacing the paperwork she was currently working on. “We have a new developer coming into the city. Bought a bunch of land in and around San Francisquito Canyon.”
Grace opened the file, glanced at the first page. From the thickness of the preliminary file, she knew it wasn’t a small job. “Looks extensive.”
“It is. Thought it was time to give you something with more meat in it.”
“Define meat.” She had a bad feeling that Richard’s meat would mean unpaid overtime. She already had a full fifty hours’ worth of work on her desk every week and had only recently shaved her days down by a half an hour. She was the only female civil engineer in their department. For five years she’d been proving herself to Richard. To have him insinuate that she needed to prove herself yet again was insulting.
“Several acres. Residential and commercial with a ton of infrastructure and open space considerations.”
None of which sounded like any meat she hadn’t yet chewed.
“Possible zoning changes,” he added.
“Sounds like work for a team and not one person.”
From the tip of his balding head to the redness of his gin-blossom nose, Richard stared down at her.
“A team starts with one person.” He leaned over as if to take the file. “But if you don’t think you can hack it . . .”
She placed her hand over the file. “I didn’t say that.”
He righted himself. “Good.” Turning to leave he added, “Become familiar with the file before we meet with the developer.”
“When is that?”
He cleared the door.
“Two hours.”
Her head shot up in alarm. “What?” That was insane. “How long have you known about this meeting?”
“A week.”
Yeah, she didn’t buy that. “And you waited till now to give this to me?”
Richard gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You were a little busy wedding planning and taking extra time off.”
Oh, that was rich. Half of the people that worked in their building had been at the wedding. It helped that Colin was a supervisor for the public works department and knew just about everyone in the city. Between him, her firefighter brother Matt, and their retired law enforcement father, the safest place to be in Santa Clarita had been the hotel ballroom.
Yet here Richard was snarling about her involvement as if it was a girl problem he couldn’t understand.
“Fine.” She glared at the file. “You can close the . . .” She was talking to herself. Richard was gone.
“Two hours,” she muttered.
She crossed her office to close the door and knew her entire plan for the day had just flown out the window.
Only after she sat back down did she realize she’d just been completely manipulated into taking on more work. Not that she had much of a say in things. But this time, Richard practically made her ask for it. Which meant when she wanted to leave the office at five like most of the staff, he would use that against her.
She opened the file and started skimming the highlights.
“Tell me why it is you’re here again? I can do this without you.”
Dameon stared out the picture window that had a ground floor view of one of the busiest streets in the city. It was much more congested than he expected it to be on a Monday.
“Because small towns want to know who they’re doing business with. They don’t like working with corporate entities. They like working with people.”
“Santa Clarita isn’t that small.”
No, it wasn’t. He’d spent the weekend driving around and getting a feel for the place. Less than forty miles from the center of Los Angeles, the Santa Clarita Valley boasted a suburban atmosphere with a large dose of country living. The outlying boundaries of the city were filled with small family ranches complete with horses and other barnyard animals. The old west atmosphere was felt in the heart of the older sections of the city. He’d purposely booked a room for the weekend just so he could come to the meeting armed with knowledge of the area you couldn’t find in a scouting report or online.
He’d driven through the Santa Clarita Valley several times in the past year and a half while the properties were being purchased. Now was when the work began. And a good relationship with the city and the people who approve things . . . was key.
“No. It’s not small. But it has everything to make this project work. We�
�ll get things off on the right foot today and I’ll leave you to it.” He finished talking at the same time the door of the conference room opened and a man walked in.
“Hello, gentlemen. Sorry to keep you waiting.” He looked between the two of them. “I’m Richard Frasier. I believe I spoke to you on the phone.”
Dameon stepped up and offered his hand. “You spoke with me. Dameon Locke.”
Firm handshake. Always a good sign.
“Pleasure to meet you.”
“This is Tyler Jennings, my project manager.”
Richard smiled, shook hands, and looked over his shoulder. “We’re just waiting on Hudson. Hold on.” He glanced out the door and looked both ways before leaving the door open and pulling out a seat. “Please sit.”
Dameon took the man’s lead and made himself comfortable. No sooner did his butt hit the chair than he heard the distinctive sound of a woman’s heels clicking their way through the door.
“Sorry to keep you wait . . .”
It was her.
The petite spitfire who had pretended she hadn’t noticed him gawking through the window of the hotel. The lady who needed an IV of sugar after a night of drinking. The woman who made every single nerve ending in his body stand at attention and make him perfectly aware that he was a healthy, able, heterosexual male.
He lifted his ass out of the chair as she hesitated just inside the doorway.
Tyler shot to his feet.
Grace placed the folder she was carrying on the table and stared.
“It’s just Hudson. You don’t have to stand,” Richard said as he remained seated.
“Thank you, but Richard is right. Please, have a seat.” Her voice wavered.
If Dameon hadn’t been on the other side of the table, he would have pulled out her chair. He realized in the workplace, that wasn’t expected, and in fact, was often frowned upon. But with his libido drumming in his chest, all the lessons his mother taught him rushed forward.
“It’s Grace, right?”
“Have you two met?” Richard asked.
Grace looked directly at him, her cheeks filled with color.
“At the coffee shop,” he explained.
Silence sat in the room with both of them staring at each other until Tyler broke it. “Well, we haven’t met. I’m Tyler Jennings. Mr. Locke’s project manager.”
Everything Changes Page 2