Creature of Habit (Creature of Habit #1)

by Angel Lawson

  An hour later I had my keys in one hand, tea mug in the other. I struggled to throw my bag over my shoulder and open the door. Using my elbow for leverage, I managed to twist the knob enough to crack the door open. I pushed it the rest of the way with my foot and it flung back, crashing into the wall. There went the last of my security deposit. At this rate I’d never make it into work.

  "Fuck," I muttered, knowing I probably made a dent in the wall. I peered behind the door and saw a dark scuff mark but no real damage. When I came back around I came face to face with him. Grant stood in my hallway with a tense grin on his perfect face.

  "Good morning," he said, in his ridiculously charming voice. His voice never matched his face. Add that to the list of things about Grant Palmer that didn’t add up.

  I stared at him for a moment trying to figure out what he was doing outside my apartment and how long he had been there. I must have stood there for too long because he spoke again.

  "I…” he hesitated for a moment, his eyes apprehensive, "I wondered if you would like me to drive you to work?"

  Huh.

  That was how the rest of my week unfolded. I would wake up, sticky with sweat, sobbing and reaching out dream Grant in the dark. He caught me every time, pulling me off the cliff into his tight grip.

  I’d prepare for work, open my door, and he would be on the other side waiting for me, hand out for my bag, which he would then carry to the car. We would sit, side by side, speaking only of the weather, current events or work. We avoided the subject of Sasha and why he was actually escorting me to work each day and how really, really weird that was.

  On the upside, I did learn several things about him.

  He had an innate sense of direction. No matter which way we traveled he seemed to get there just before the train passed or the light turned green. He managed to avoid back-ups entirely, driving a different way to work each day, always in perfect accordance to the traffic. At first I thought it was a coincidence but as he veered off the highway before a major jam, or hit six green lights in a row, it seemed like more than that.

  I also found that he changed his cars with his mood or habits. He had several, three in the garage at his townhouse but I suspected more stashed away. He loved his cars, his eyes growing energetic when I asked him about them. On the days he had to go into his office, dressed in a crisp suit and tie, he would drive his dark gray Tesla, shiny and clean, with lightly tinted windows. The interior was pristine, the leather soft and cool to the touch. Other days, when he was more casually dressed, prepared to work from home, he would arrive in an SUV. When I asked about it I was forced to listen to a twenty minute lecture about how it was the new Lexus hybrid, unavailable to the public until later this year. Apparently, between the car and the fluorescent lighting, Grant was very concerned about our earth's natural resources.

  Then his third car, which I'd never seen him drive, was tucked away in the corner of the garage, beneath a light blue canvas cover. I wasn’t sure what day and activities warranted the use of that mystery car.

  It was Thursday, Tesla day, apparently, and I decided to ask him about it specifically. "Tell me about your other car. The one you’ve got hidden in the back of the garage.”

  “It’s not hidden.”

  “Then why don’t you drive it?”

  His looked over at me gauging whether or not I really wanted to know. His eyes bore into mine and his body relaxed, comfortable for once. It was one of those moments that if he wasn't gay I would think he liked me. I raised my eyebrows in encouragement and he said, "It's a 1968 Plymouth Belvedere GTX."

  I had no idea what that was and it must have been apparent because he laughed again, a sparkle glinting in his eyes. He went on to explain how it was known as the "Gentleman's Muscle Car" and how it has some kind of enormous engine called the Commando or something. Oh, and it was a convertible.

  As he spoke I realized how much I loved hearing him talk about the things that interested him. He knew so much about art and music. He could fix my computer or printer when it conveniently decided to not to work. And this, the talk about cars. A spark glinted behind his eye, like a little boy in a candy shop.

  "How come you never pick me up in it?" I asked, envisioning his wild hair whipping in the wind, his muscular arm resting on the edge of the door.

  He shrugged and said, "I don't know. I don't really drive it anymore."

  His tone changed slightly, sounding sad so I attempted to veer this back in the right direction. "How did you get it? It looks like it is good condition. Do you maintain it yourself?" I asked, curious as to how he acquired his many collectables.

  He his brow furrowed slightly at the question. I couldn't imagine why since it should be easy to answer. "I've had it for some time. Taking care of cars in our family is not really an issue. It’s sort of a group hobby.”

  I laughed a little, looking down at my fingers laced together on my lap. "You couldn't have had it for that long. Contrary to the way you act sometimes, you're not really all that old, you know,” I said, making a face at him.

  "It was Miles'. He gave it to me when I was old enough to drive." He looked away at that last part, not meeting my eyes.

  Miles. Grant mentioned him when he described his family the other night but very little about Miles specifically. I reached over and placed my hand on his arm, feeling the soft fabric of his suit. "It’s really nice that he did that for you. He sounds like a great man."

  He mumbled, "He is," and continued to keep his eyes forward. “I owe him everything.”

  I moved my hand and placed it back in my lap, wondering how he had gone from happily talking about his passion to closing off so quickly.

  We spent the rest of the ride in quiet, the only sound from the speakers of Grant's musical choice of the day. I thought about how no matter how many steps forward I took with him, I always managed to push it too far.

  Chapter 30

  Grant

  After five days you would think I would be used to it. The trembling, the sobs, the sound of my name as it quivered over her lips. Each time, against my better judgment, I reached out and wiped the tears from her face and brushed my thumb across her thick bottom lip.

  The first morning had been by invitation. She had asked me to stay, to keep her company after having her home violated by Sasha. I agreed, of course, it was my duty to stay and protect her. After all it was my fault she was in this situation in the first place.

  That night she didn't try to hide her fear and it pained me to watch her cry, to worry and spill tears over Sasha and by default, Caleb. I had promised her I would keep her safe and there was no decision I had ever made that I felt more strongly about. She was so tired and sleepy, her eyes barely staying open and when she shifted on the sofa to get more comfortable, I saw my shirt under her jacket.

  My eyes narrowed and fire licked the back of my throat.

  Mine.

  I returned the following night, after she and Drew were safe in bed, and repeated this dangerous trend over and over, taking liberties. Each one inappropriate and illegal, not to mention possibly bordering on perverse. I didn't really care. Because every morning, as dawn broke through her window, I heard her call for me, and it filled my empty heart with a sliver of hope.

  Each time I tempted fate. Rubbing my thumb over her lip, wishing more desperately each day it was my mouth upon hers.

  Chapter 31

  Amelia

  Today was a Tesla day and I was alone in the townhouse completing the jobs left for me by Grant. He had left early to go into the office, his real office in Raleigh, to take care of some business for the Foundation. He was already so busy, add on his obsessive need to drive me to and from work, I had no idea how he had any down time. He assured me he was fine, so I let it go. Honestly, I was selfishly happy to have someone around.

  The doorbell rang and I disengaged the alarm system to open the door for the postman, who had a thick package I needed to sign for. The envelope was addressed to Th
e Palmer Foundation, with CONFIDENTIAL stamped across the front in bold red letters. Grant usually didn't get paperwork addressed to the Foundation at his home office, so I took a moment to call his office to find out what I should do.

  "The Palmer Foundation, Mr. Palmer's office," the steady, official-sounding voice on the other end of the line said.

  "Hi, this is Amelia Chase, Mr. Palmer's assistant. I think I have some paperwork at the house that may need to be at the office." I described the envelope to her.

  "You're probably right. I can send a courier over to pick it up this afternoon," she told me.

  I thought about it for a minute and looked at my watch assessing the time. It was still early morning and my work load for the day was pretty light. I said, "You know, I’d really like to see the main office. Maybe I’ll drive down and deliver it in person. It would take just as long.”

  I hung up the phone, excited to observe Grant in his work environment. I'd never seen him with anyone other than his family and I was intrigued to witness how he behaved with other people.

  A couple hours later, I turned Grant's SUV into the underground parking garage and pulled in one of the spots reserved for guests of the Palmer Foundation. Grant had given me permission to drive his cars while he was out since his daily transportation meant I didn’t have mine at work. The Tesla was parked in the space closest to the elevator. The shadowy darkness of the garage was making me uncomfortable, but before the panic could fully take over the doors slid open and I stepped inside.

  A last minute panic attack rolled over me as I glanced at my reflection in the mirrored elevator doors as I rode to the top floor to the PNT offices. I had on charcoal gray capris, a cream colored V-neck, capped sleeved shirt. My sandals had a heel and my hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail at the nape of my neck. No doubt I was underdressed for a visit to his corporate offices.

  The elevator chimed and on the other side of the doors was an open reception area. The hardwood floors were a deep reddish brown, and the walls were adorned with beautiful artwork. One wall was solid glass, obviously tinted to keep the glare out. The view of the city was magnificent. The space had a very open floor plan with offices divided by large glass walls, so each employee was visible to the reception area. Large vases of yellow and white flowers brightened the area and filled the room with a fragrant light, soapy smelling scent.

  I walked in clutching the package and stopped at the curved front desk occupied by an attractive woman in her early sixties or so. She had on tortoise shell half-glasses and her hair was grayish blonde, elegantly styled. Busy on the phone, she gestured for me to sit and wait until she was done. I found a chair by the windows and I scanned the room, my eyes eventually falling on an office furthest from the reception area. Grant’s name was etched on the door. Through the glass, I could see him at his desk.

  He was wearing the suit I’d had seen him in that morning, his tie still perfect, his shirt crisp. His face was smooth and he had his typical professional air about him but as he bent over, writing with nimble fingers, I realized he looked so young. Like a boy sitting at his father's desk.

  A young, attractive man in a suit and tie approached his office. I watched as he knocked gently on Grant's door. Without looking up Grant waved him in and the man tentatively approached, stopping several feet away from the desk. Their interaction was fascinating and I was completely enthralled to see him interact with another employee. Grant never looked up but continued to scribble on the paper in front of him, even at one point lifting his hand and retrieving a folder from his employee.

  Grant always seemed one step ahead of those around him, including myself. He often seemed to appear from nowhere, startling me. I always thought it was just me being unobservant but watching him around others made me realize this was not the case. The two men in the office were polar opposites, Grant calm and nonchalant, the other shifting on his feet. His employee clasped and unclasped his hands nervously. After a second, Grant waved him off and he left the office, quickly and looking a little distressed.

  "Can I help you?" I pulled my attention away from Grant and looked at the receptionist.

  I stood up and walked over to her desk. "Yes, I'm Amelia Chase. I called earlier about the package for Grant." She looked at me quizzically glanced at me over her glasses. "Grant?"

  I held the package out to her. I looked in his direction and found him staring back at me, the corner of his mouth barely turned upward. Before I could smile in return his eyes shifted and his face fell neutral. I followed his gaze and realized he was looking at the receptionist, who was watching both of us intently.

  "Umm…Mr. Palmer? I'm his personal assistant."

  "Of course, I was uh, taken back by the familiarity," she said, eyeing me carefully.

  I peeked at Grant from the corner of my eye and he hadn't moved an inch. He simply watched me talk to his receptionist with a concentrated look on his face. I rolled my eyes at him and lifted my hand to wave. That broke his focus and he awkwardly waved back.

  His eyes darted around once more and I realized that a small group of office workers had paused to watch our interaction. He pressed a button on his desk and at that moment the reception phone rang. She picked it up.

  "Mr. Palmer would like for me to show you to his office."

  Chapter 31

  Grant

  I lifted the phone handle and called the front desk. "Joyce, please send Ms. Chase into my office." Now, I wanted to add, because she was here and there was nothing more that I wanted than to be with her.

  I opened the door and watched her walk down the hallway. My eyes roamed over her neck and wrists, landing instead on her slim waist and curvy hips. I blinked as she came closer and ushered her in. "Are you okay? Nothing happened, did it?"

  "No, everything is fine. Something was delivered to the house by mistake so I brought it in. I didn't mean to worry you."

  I looked at her sitting across from me, ignoring the curious looks from the employees who suddenly became very interested in the area near my office, and frowned. "We have couriers, you know, you didn't have to come down here. That’s not a short drive."

  "I didn't mind. I wanted to see where you worked. It is an amazing office, beautiful, but I guess I wouldn't expect less."

  The room was filled with her glorious aroma. I had the entire office filled with the scent of lemon, to replicate hers. I told myself I was doing it to desensitize myself but it was really so I could surround myself with something that reminded me of her. But now, with her actually in my office, I realized nothing compared to the real thing.

  “Genevieve organized and designed the offices,” I explained. “She had this whole concept for an ‘open floor plan,’ to make me seem more approachable.”

  “She’s very talented.”

  Again, I fell for a loss of word. Talking to her in my home or in the car was one thing but having her here in my office, in front of other people proved overwhelming. I was very aware of how close I had let her get to me compared to anyone else.

  "I had to drive your car to get here. I hope that’s okay?" she asked.

  My eyes were drawn to her mouth but I forced myself to respond. "No, I told you that I would rather you be safe driving back and forth to work with me. I’m not entirely convinced your car could make the trip anyway.”

  “My car is perfectly safe,” she said, defiantly. It was an argument we’d had before.

  I fought back a smile. I had found I rather liked it when she was upset. Her face flushed and her heart beat quicker, she became infinitely irresistible. I caught myself provoking her on more than one occasion to see what reaction I would get. So far, she had yet to let me down.

  I watched as recognition registered in her eyes, aware now that I was picking on her. She puffed her cheeks and lips out in a pout. I smirked back, leaning my elbows on my desk.

  “Wow. Look at that, Nancy, I told you he wasn't gay….what I would give to have him look at me that way….”

&n
bsp; The curse of enhanced senses meant the voices slipped through my consciousness from an employee in the outer office who had a full view of our interaction.

  “I don't care what anyone says that girl is more than a personal assistant for sure…”

  She was right. Somewhere along the line, Amelia and I had passed the position of employee to employer and had moved somewhere else. Exactly where, I hadn’t determined yet, but it wasn’t nearly as scandalous as my employee suggested.

  “Would you like a tour?” I asked, deciding that was an appropriate offer. “Genevieve made the break room terribly extravagant. I understand it’s quite the hit with the staff.”

  She smiled, confirming my instincts. “I’d love to see everything.”

  I stood, intentionally ignoring the outside voices. Amelia never failed to show an interest in my work. She never failed to show an interest in my life, my family. Ushering her out of the office, I plastered on a brave face. Rogue vampires and fledglings I could handle. This woman and an office full of prying eyes? Terrifying.

  Chapter 32

  Amelia

  The streets whipped by as I rode in the passenger seat of the SUV. Casual day, of course. Grant sat next to me in jeans and one of his beloved T-shirts, Ben Folds, and a lightweight jacket. The funny thing about Grant was that although he was so private, so quiet, his behaviors were predictable. I often felt a false sense of familiarity.

  We were quiet in the car, occasionally discussing some work to add to my schedule. During one of the quiet spells, his phone vibrated across the shelf by the stereo. He glanced at it quickly and pressed the mute button, ignoring the call.