“A sentence.” Bradley alternated soft nips with a tingly brush of his tongue along the underside of my upper lip. A pleasant wave of arousal rushed through my body.
Who was this mysterious male creature sitting beside me? I eased away, but only slightly. “We’re going to have to make this a quick drink. My niece, Hannah, will be joining us and it’s a school night.”
I could tell by the quizzical brow he wanted to ask but politely held back.
“My sister was killed two years ago—hit and run driver—right outside Mount Sinai Hospital. She was late to work. It’s…” My voice faltered a little.
“I’m so sorry, Gracie. You don’t have to explain.”
“No, I want to.” I smiled weakly and he put his arm around me. “Leah lived for twelve days in a coma before she was declared brain-dead. Her daughter, Hannah, had just turned six.” A montage of painful memories flooded into my head. Me, at Leah’s bedside, a sickly pale Mitch in shock, looking like death warmed over himself, and the steady mechanical wheeze of the respirator.
“Is that what brought you here to the city?” Bradley’s remark jerked me back to the here and now.
I nodded. “That much of a west coast girl, am I?”
He snorted a soft laugh. “You don’t strike me as a native New Yorker.”
“After the funeral, I called up a headhunter and landed a job here in Manhattan.”
As the cab crossed Fifth Avenue, the city went from darkness to light, revealing his curious gaze. “I take it your sister was older?” His words were gentle, soothing.
I nodded. “Six years apart. Leah and Mitch met in medical school. Hannah was their happy accident.”
“It seems to me that’s what families are for, to pull together in tough times. I imagine you and Hannah are close.”
I nodded. Speaking of close, Bradley Craig and I were on a closeness fast track. “If we are to become…” I searched the upholstered ceiling for a descriptor and failed. “Whatever…”
“A copywriter at a loss for words.” His gaze dropped to my lips. “Why not lovers?”
I nearly came undone by the husky tone in his voice. He spoke the words with casual confidence as if he would be my lover—no stopping him.
His soft chuckle broke the tension. “Admittedly it’s a bit romantic, but it fits, wouldn’t you say?”
My brows crashed together while contemplating the word. “Lovers implies…”
Those beautiful eyes and his heated stare nearly took my breath away. The charming seducer was back in all his glory.
“I was about to say…” A sigh turned into a grumble. “I can’t remember what I was about to say.”
How embarrassing. I leaned forward to speak with the driver. “You can drop us off here.”
The cabbie continued across the intersection and drove well past the tavern before stopping. I slumped back in my seat and into the arms of my ride share.
“I have no clout with taxi drivers.” I sulked.
“You need a beer and a stiff shot.” Bradley stuffed a few bills in the pass through and reached for my hand.
Inside the tavern, he ran interference in the crowded bar filled with thirsty patrons. I noticed several coworkers from the office, who made a point of turning toward us on their bar stools. A good dozen or so DWD employees lived in my neighborhood and tonight they all ended up at Pete’s.
“Gracie, we missed you at the party while it lasted.”
“Randall, this is Bradley.” I twisted back and forth between them. “Bradley—Randall. Bradley just transferred to DWD from London.”
The attractive slightly geekish young man adjusted his wire-frame glasses. “You wouldn’t be heading up Insight, by any chance?”
“I am.” Bradley leaned in and caught the bartender’s attention. “I’ll have a Newcastle Brown. What’ll it be, Gracie?”
“Stella Artois—as long as we’re swilling beer.”
He added a shot of tequila for me—my choice—and a single malt whiskey for himself. “Can Gracie and I buy you another?”
Randall beamed. “Brooklyn Lager.”
As luck would have it, Bradley also scored us a booth by a window. I found myself stuffed between ‘several friendly chaps’, as Bradley described them, all of them jockeying for face time with their new boss. I watched the Stud Master shapeshift into a self-possessed, man’s man—affable with an edge of gravitas. The undisputed alpha of his pack.
And there was something else, we were being viewed as a couple. Even though the messaging was not entirely in our control, the independent, relationship-phobic side of me bristled. But the other part—the hussy with the damp panties—seemed perfectly okay with Bradley’s not so subtle possessiveness.
The word “mine” flashed like a neon sign in my brain whenever we exchanged glances.
As he described his plans for Insight, I warmed up a stiff smile and shot it across the table. Apparently the new division was to be as cutting edge to research, as Barking Mad was to the creative department. A zing of equal parts elation and trepidation ran through me. All signs pointed to the fact that we would be working together closely.
“I should warn you, Gracie’s not keen on research.” Randall teased, nudging my shoulder. A competent research wonk and nice guy, Randall and I often butted heads before, during, and after focus groups.
“I don’t like copy testing. The parsing of words to eek out a few more purchase decision positives, such as ‘would purchase with trial incentive’—that sort of thing.”
“And what if that small change has no effect on the integrity of the message, but a profound effect on potential sales?” Bradley raised a brow in challenge.
I stared at my new handsome co-worker of equal, if not greater authority. “To quote Bill Bernbach, ‘the essence of impact is saying things the way they’ve never been said before’.” I sipped my sipping tequila. “There won’t be any sales if the message doesn’t resonate. I believe in the importance of passion and honesty, and a certain freshness in the way words are put together—words and visuals.”
Bradley was up to the challenge. “With all your heart?”
Hard to hide the simmering heat between us, especially when I blushed.
“And what if I told you I believe in the same things?” He turned his glass, absently, but never lowered his gaze. “In fact, my job is to provide you with a look into the very nature of purchasing decisions. Not just the mechanics like price-points or superficial appeal—brand status or packaging—but the consumer’s deeper, underlying desires.”
A research man who could make me shiver. This was going to be interesting in so many ways.
“We may not be that far apart on our views,” the new ad man continued. “A deep psychological bond with a brand can be just as, or more powerful, than a clever ad slogan.”
Randall piped in, “In fact, you’re kind of opposed to slogans, aren’t you, Gracie?”
I sighed. “Not if they’re brilliant.”
Bradley grinned. “It’s just that so few of them are.”
“Exactly.”
Lordy, Lordy, the man had a way about him. Part Brit, part American made—the total and complete, charm package. My focus narrowed to his mouth as he chatted pleasantly with his underlings.
I chased away wicked thoughts.
In the cab, bringing up Leah had made me realize how much I missed having a big sister to confide in. At times like this I even missed my mother. I could use a nurturing girlfriend right now and Mother could be a surprisingly good listener when she wasn’t drinking.
The Gwen Taylor side of mom, the fifty-something, semi-retired movie star, might even encourage me to let loose my inner wild cat. “‘Let yourself have a little fun, Gracie. You’re always such a sensible little thing.”’
Yeah, that’s me, over responsible from the age of—what? The first time Father left us, Mother had gone off the deep end. The years eleven and twelve whizzed by in a memory blur, coming to a full stop at thirteen w
hen they finally divorced. Leah had just started college, and I was left at home to do the parenting of two younger siblings.
I glanced out the tavern window. A taxi pulled curbside and the rear door opened. I waited to see who climbed out.
Hello Kitty Light Up Karaoke flew out the back door, followed by a pink suitcase with sparkly trim, which I instantly recognized as my niece’s overnight bag. Both items skittered across the pavement. Mitch climbed out next, holding the hand of a reluctant little girl.
“Well, it’s been interesting, gentlemen.” I downed a last cool gulp of ale and gathered up my bag.
“You’re leaving us?” Bradley appeared slightly forlorn.
“Mitch just arrived.”
I nodded to Randall and he slid over to let me out of the booth.
“Hannah looks cranky.” I added, getting to my feet.
I turned back to the table of men, one in particular. “I leave you in good hands.” I nodded. “Randall, Jeff, Bradley—”
I passed a flat screen monitor tuned to WABC New York News, Weather, and Traffic. “The power grid is up and lower Manhattan is back in business,” the anchorman reported triumphantly. Cheers, along with a few ’It’s about effin’ time’ grumbles rose from the crowd and followed me out of the door.
“Get out of the cab.” Mitch stood on the sidewalk arguing with Hannah, who refused to leave the backseat.
“I don’t want to get out.”
“Get out of the cab, Hannah.”
“No!”
Mitch exhaled an exasperated, “Hannah…”
I could just make out my niece’s conspiratorial stage whisper. “Please take me back home, 337 Lexington Place.”
“The driver needs you to get out of the cab, so he can earn a living, and feed his own grateful well-behaved children.” Mitch reached inside. “Come on out, baby, Aunt Gracie’s here.”
Gradually, Hannah scooted to the edge of the door. She wore black and white stripped pirate leggings, in combination with a pink tunic and a blue-gray vest. Pale-pink Converse high tops completed the picture. As sullen as her expression was she looked adorable. Exiting the taxi she adjusted her headband. Even at this inconvenient hour Hannah could throw an outfit together.
“Aunt Gracie, tell him I’m not a baby anymore—”
“You’re not a baby.” I offered, keeping my tone conciliatory. “But you’re also not old enough to be left home alone.”
She stuck her chin out. “You’re siding with him?”
I winced a bit as I exhaled. “Maybe a little.”
Hannah crossed her arms in front of her chest and stomped off in the direction of my apartment.
“I’ll make this up to you.” Mitch gave me a quick hug and disappeared into the cab.
“Come back here and get your suitcase.” I called after Hannah, who didn’t bother to turn around as she yelled her reply. “You get the G–D luggage.”
“Need any help?” I recognized the voice from the elevator, masculine and soothing with a tinge of amusement. He stood under the tavern awning and removed his jacket. I kept one eye on my niece as he covered my shoulders for the second time this evening.
“Hannah!”
Mid yell, Hannah turned and saw me standing beside Bradley. She hesitated for a good long a moment. I hoped curiosity would prevail, but she turned on her heel and continued down the block.
Bradley picked up the karaoke machine and placed the microphone back on its cradle. “My daughter has one just like it.”
“Maybe a little less beaten up,” I muttered.
He stood the pink overnight bag on-end and pulled out the handle. “Let me walk you both home.”
“Not really necessary, my apartment is a block and a half away.”
“Humor me.” Bradley started down the sidewalk rolling the sparkly pink luggage behind him. “Shall we follow at a safe distance?”
I walked up beside him. “I see you’ve handled a few tantrums before.”
“The best thing about these outbursts is that they tend to resolve themselves rather quickly.”
Hannah was sitting on the top step when we arrived at my building.
“Nice.” Bradley looked up at the pale brownstone edifice. “How many apartments?”
“Four, counting the English basement,” Hannah answered, staring at Bradley. “Mrs. Springer lives on four, but no one has ever seen her, so I don’t believe she exists. Aunt Gracie lives on three. Then, Patrick and Luke, they’re both dancers. Patrick is in Kinky Boots and Luke is in Mama Mia. The sushi chefs live in the basement. They work all night and sleep all day.”
My niece was talking in a civil manner, a good sign as these things go.
“Hannah, I’d like you to meet Bradley Craig—Bradley, Hannah Hoffman.”
“Hannah Rose Hoffman,” she added.
“Pleased to meet, you, Hannah.”
Her gaze traveled from Bradley to me. “Is Bradley sleeping over?”
“No, he is not. He is seeing the two of us safely home.”
I moved to take Hannah’s luggage and Bradley nodded ahead.
“This is heavier than you might imagine.”
I added a tight-lipped grin to my nod. “Hannah never travels light.”
My testy niece stood up in a huff and pivoted toward the door. “How am I supposed to know what I want to wear in the morning?”
Once inside the apartment, Hannah insisted on giving Bradley the tour, which began in her room—Alice in Wonderland meets Beetlejuice, meets Barbie’s Show-Biz Dressing Room, and ended in my boudoir as Hannah loved to call it.
The street lamp cast a pale shaft of light across the curved rungs of the wrought iron sleigh bed—rumpled, unmade, and perfectly sensuous.
Bradley finally tore his eyes away. “What a beautiful sight you must be waking up in the morning.”
“Woo-woo! Aunt Gracie sleeps in her boyfriend t-shirt and lace cheekies—woo-woo!” A new, happier, girly-girl Hannah tossed her hair about and giggled.
Heat swept across my cheeks. “Circa late nineteenth-century Paris,” I mumbled, pointing to the bed. “A Columbus Avenue Flea Market find.”
Bradley turned to Hannah. “I was thinking you might want to call your father.”
Hannah’s eyes grew wide. “To say I’m sorry for being me.”
Bradley shrugged. “I know that when my daughter calls me after an ugly time, that’s what she calls them, it makes us both feel better.”
Hannah sucked in air so fast she could barely speak. “You have a daughter?”
“I do.”
“Is she my age?”
“Close, she’s seven.”
Hannah gasped. “Does she live with you?”
“She will soon. Right now, she lives in London with her mother.”
“What’s her name?”
“Olivia.”
Hannah clasped her hands together. “Could we be friends?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“May I call her, now?”
“Let’s see, five hours difference, she’s fast asleep.” Bradley showed us a picture on his phone. “Here we are at the London Zoo. See the odd furry creature with the black eyes in the pen behind us? That’s Pipsqueak the meerkat. Liv and I adopted him last year and visit quite regularly, at least we used to.”
Hannah grabbed my hand and led us back through the kitchen. “Is he replacing Derek? Because if he is,” she leaned close and whispered, “I like him much better.”
“Go call your father. Hurry, before he’s in surgery.”
Hannah turned to Bradley. “Very nice meeting you. May I call you Bradley?”
“I much prefer it to Mr. Craig.”
We both watched her trot down the hallway to her room. Strong hands on my shoulders began to rub. “So this Derek chap, is he the one you’re seeing?”
“He’s been over a few times.”
“As in sleep over—over?”
I pivoted around to stare.
“Obviously none of
my business.” Bradley’s hands went up in surrender. “I just like to know who my competition is.”
“I’m…seeing someone….very irregularly.” In fact, Derek and I were about as iffy as it gets. “My life does not revolve around finding some imaginary hero to sweep me off my feet and take care of me.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” His intriguing half-smile teased. “Why don’t you get ready for bed? I’ll check in on Hannah and call for a car.”
The man exuded some sort of…? Mother used to call it je ne sais quoi, an intangible quality that makes someone irresistibly attractive, or distinctive. And in Bradley’s case, trustworthy in odd ways. There was an element of crisis bonding going on. Being trapped in the elevator together had supercharged the friendship as if we had known each other for years. Instant closeness on a staggering other level.
I trusted him more than a little—but not entirely.
I took a quick shower—very quick—and stopped in to say good night to Hannah. Fast asleep with the most angelic look on her face. She could be so infuriating, but I loved her dearly. I caught a glimpse of my sleepwear in her dressing room mirror. A soft black lace teddy over cotton cheekies, and a super-cozy thin gray sweatshirt. My second favorite sleep ensemble.
I found Bradley in the kitchen, on his phone.
“Irving Place and…?” He looked up at me. “What’s the cross street here?”
“Nineteenth.”
He ended the call and picked up a half-empty bottle of pinot noir. “I found this in the fridge. Any interest?”
“Better taste first, I opened that over a month ago.” I got down a glass and he poured.
“She went straight off to the Land of Nod.” He sipped a drop of wine, then a bit more. “Perfectly fine. May I pour you one?”
I lifted the glass from his hand. “When we were little, Grandma Nona used say, ‘you look like angels when you ’re asleep so that I can forget you were little devils all day.’”
He zeroed in on my mouth. The angle of the glass, the slosh of liquid, how the wine wet my lips. “You’re good with her, Bradley do you babysit?”
I waited for a cute quick comeback, but none came. From the look on his face, my sleeping attire caused the distraction—the lower half anyway—where the see-through teddy revealed skimpy panties.
The Do It List (The Do It List #1) Page 4