Getting Down to Business

by Allison B Hanson

  “I’m not trying to control you. Was that a problem with someone in the past?” he asked, unable to help himself.

  “No. But I’ve always been independent.”

  “I hadn’t noticed.” He let the sarcasm ooze as he opened the door to the pub. The air conditioning rushed out, hitting him in the face.

  There were two seats together at the bar, so he helped her get settled and then sat next to her. It was a different bar, but it felt very similar to the night they’d met. The night they first had sex.

  He let out a disappointed sigh.

  “Startin’ early?” Mac said as he put coasters down in front of them. He had a Scottish accent that made it difficult to understand what he said after a few drinks.

  “On the way home. Mac, this is my roommate Alyssa. Liss, this is Mac, my favorite bartender in the city.”

  “She’s a fine bit prettier than your old roommate.”

  “Yes,” Grayson allowed.

  “What’s your pleasure?” Mac asked Alyssa.

  “For some strange reason I feel like a Scotch,” she said with a chuckle. “I’m celebrating, so give me the good stuff.”

  “Aye, this one’s a heartbreaker, Gray. You’re in for it,” the bartender warned, giving Alyssa a wink. He brought their drinks and went to help the regulars at the other end of the bar.

  “Starting with the hard stuff?” Gray asked looking down at her drink.

  “I was hoping it would help me sleep.”

  “You still don’t want to tell me what your nightmares are about? It might help to talk about it. Take the power away from your subconscious.” She raised a brow at him and he shrugged. “My older sister is a psychiatrist. Stuff rubs off.”

  She took a sip of her drink and let out a big sigh.

  “I dream that a man is attacking me.”

  “I kind of gathered that by the way you kick and hit, and yell things like ‘No!’ and ‘Get off me!’ Who’s the guy?”

  She shook her head and looked away.

  “I don’t know. I can’t see his face, he’s wearing a—I can’t see.” It was obvious by her body language she didn’t want to talk about it, so he changed the subject.

  He didn’t know what she needed from him, so he backed off.

  Since she was a lightweight and her drink was kicking her ass, he bought them dinner. When they’d finished eating, he helped her up to their apartment.

  She fell asleep on the sofa while he watched TV. She jumped when he woke her up to go to bed.

  “You seem pretty sleepy, maybe tonight will be the night,” Grayson encouraged as he left her by her door. “Sleep tight.”

  “Thanks. You too.”

  Despite their wishes, Grayson was awoken by the screaming at 12:06 a.m. He sat up and waited until it stopped, then lay back down wishing he could do something, but he was powerless to help.

  His door opened and the light from the hall illuminated Alyssa’s silhouette in the doorway. She just stood there.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Would you mind…would it be okay if I stayed with you?” she asked. Her voice sounded so sad he wouldn’t have been able to turn her away even if he’d wanted to. He didn’t want to.

  “Sure.” He slid over and she climbed in next to him. He draped his arm over her waist as she snuggled up against him, her back against his chest. His face was near her hair and he closed his eyes, breathing in her scent. He could do this. Casual.

  They both fell asleep and slept peacefully the rest of the night.

  * * * *

  Doug frowned when he walked into MacGregor’s on Friday evening and found two new people behind the bar. When he’d left Chanda’s place last Sunday, they didn’t have future plans. He’d been so absorbed in his post-sex high that he hadn’t thought to ask her schedule.

  “What can I get you?” the younger male bartender asked.

  “Uh, is Chanda working tonight?” Maybe she would be coming in later.

  “No. She’s off tonight.”

  “Oh. I’ll have a beer.” He pointed to the brew list and tapped his fingers as the guy went to get it. Mac noticed him and came closer.

  “You’re Doug?” His accent was so thick it took a second to piece it together.

  “Yes. I’m Doug.”

  “Chanda isn’t working tonight.”

  “Yeah. He told me.”

  “Did she give you her number?” Mac tilted his head in confusion.

  “She did. I just wasn’t sure if I should bother her.”

  Mac’s face broke out in a wide grin.

  “Nah, you probably shouldn’t bother her.”

  “So you’re saying I should call her?” Doug asked as Mac walked away laughing. Weren’t bartenders recognized for their ability to give their patrons good advice? Maybe not in Scotland.

  Doug looked down at his phone and sighed.

  Chapter 9

  Chanda tossed a lump of clay aside and frowned at the line she’d just created. It wasn’t the way she’d seen it in her head. She lifted her ribbon tool to take another try when her phone vibrated.

  She wiped her hands and answered, seeing Doug’s name on the display.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi.” She could hear the familiar sounds of the bar in the background. “You’re not working tonight.”

  “No. I have the night off.”

  “That’s nice.” She smiled at his words. One of the things she enjoyed about Doug was the way he didn’t know how to be a player. He was honest to a fault.

  “Is it?” she teased.

  “Of course. It’s nice for you. I’m sure you’re enjoying your time off. Are you sculpting?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good for you.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “I came to see you at the bar. Now I’m trying to figure out how I might get an invite to come watch you sculpt.”

  “Watch me sculpt?” She laughed, assuming that was not what he really wanted to do. Maybe he was a player after all.

  “Yeah. I saw your art when I was at your place, but I don’t know how it works. I’d like to see you making it.”

  “Are you for real?”

  She heard him sigh.

  “You probably don’t like people watching you. I get that. Would you like to get breakfast on Sunday morning?”

  He was serious. She could tell. He actually wanted to watch her work.

  “Come over. I’ll show you my stuff.”

  “You’re sure? I don’t want to mess up your mojo or anything.”

  “I don’t think you will. Maybe you’ll even inspire me.” He laughed at that and with a “see you soon,” he hung up. Chanda put her phone down and drew the perfect contour through the clay. He already inspired her.

  It didn’t take him long to get to her place. He smiled when she opened the door. He kissed her and she smiled back.

  “So what are you working on?” he asked, genuinely interested.

  She showed him her drawing and what she had so far.

  “It doesn’t always turn out like the drawing. I sketch it out as a guide, but then as I’m sculpting, I sometimes deviate if the clay wants to go in a different direction.”

  “Can I try?” he asked.

  “You want to help?” She looked at her project with worry.

  “No. I don’t want to touch that. That’s yours.” He looked over to the pile of clay. “Maybe I could work on something of my own. Something way smaller.” He shrugged.

  “Why would you want to sculpt?”

  “My ex-wife accused me of not taking an interest in her hobbies. To be honest, I’m not even sure what they were besides spending all my money on shoes and fighting with her mother. But I do understand what she meant, and while this is more than just a hobby to you,
I find I’m very interested in it. Mostly because I can tell how much you love it when you talk about it and I want to see why. But I’d also like to have something we could do together. Besides…well…I’m not saying we’re going to do that again, but… I mean…I hope we will…if not, that’s okay.”

  “Doug, go cut off a lump of clay and put it on this board.”

  “Excellent.”

  Doug definitely wasn’t a player. He was a refreshing change from the guys she normally dated. And he wanted to share in her love of art. No one had ever suggested such a thing. She found herself hoping he liked it.

  * * * *

  An hour later, Doug was filthy. He had clay in his hair as well as on his shoes and—thanks to her pulling him close to kiss him—he had clay down the back of his shirt. But he’d never had more fun than he had while making his little sculpture and laughing with Chanda.

  “You’re sure it doesn’t have to look like anything recognizable.”

  “I’m sure. It just has to look like what you see it being.”

  “I think you hang out with Mac too much. I don’t know what either of you are saying half the time.”

  She laughed at his joke and he smiled. He couldn’t remember a time he’d smiled so much that didn’t involve his daughter.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked casually as he used one of the wooden tools to carve an indentation into his piece of art.

  “Tomorrow is Saturday. Don’t you have Lucy?” He’d explained how he only had his daughter one day a week, and how he couldn’t keep her overnight because she didn’t have her own room at his apartment. He didn’t want to hide anything from Chanda. She already knew he was just a regular guy. And for some reason she seemed to like him the way he was. He didn’t get it.

  “Yes. I’m thinking it would be nice to take her to the Met. Would you like to go? Maybe you could give us the inside scoop on some of the art.”

  “You want me to meet your daughter?”

  “Would that be a problem?”

  “That’s kind of serious isn’t it? Would I be Aunt Chanda, her father’s friend?”

  “No. You would be just Chanda. And you are her father’s friend. But if you want to call yourself my girlfriend, I’d be okay with that too.” Very okay. Though he wouldn’t push for that. He would only hope.

  They had a wonderful time at the museum. Lucy was sleeping heavily in his arms as he carried her into Julie’s house that night. Chanda waited with the cab, but that didn’t keep Julie from noticing her.

  “Who’s that?”

  “Chanda.”

  “Chanda?” Julie sniffed and Doug fought the urge to defend his girlfriend. Julie was a miserable person who wanted him to pay for his failure to make her happy. There was no reason to stoop to her level. “She looks like trash.” Or maybe there was.

  “She’s a great person, and Lucy loves her.” It was evident by Julie’s reaction that he’d said the wrong thing. He hadn’t said it to antagonize his ex-wife—he did that just by breathing—but because it was true. Chanda was fun and Lucy couldn’t get enough of her.

  He should have known Julie was too quiet about the situation. Her normal response was to yell until he apologized. She didn’t do that this time, but he realized it was only because she was too angry to even yell. Instead, she was seething.

  The call came the next afternoon around three.

  “Doug Phillips. How can I help—” His greeting was cut off by the sound of his daughter’s crying in the background. “Hello? Julie? What’s wrong with Lucy?”

  He heard a door close and the crying was now muffled.

  “She’s in a timeout because she decided to give herself tattoos today. She said she wanted to be like Chanda.”

  This was not good, but not the end of the world.

  “Don’t they come off with rubbing alcohol? She’s had them before at your sister’s house.”

  “She didn’t use temporary tattoos, Doug. She used permanent markers.”

  “Oh crap.”

  “This morning when she got up the first thing she asked me was if she could get her nose pierced for her birthday.”

  Double crap.

  “I don’t want my daughter exposed to this…this sleazy woman who looks like a wannabe rock star. Either you keep her away from Lucy or I’ll contact child services and tell them I don’t think you’re helping to raise your daughter in a nurturing environment.”

  “Julie, I only have one day with Lucy. Are you really going to try to take that too?”

  “I’m doing what’s best for my daughter.” No, she was punishing Doug and Lucy for liking someone more than they liked her.

  Rather than risk a battle with child services, Doug agreed to her ridiculous conditions.

  * * * *

  After a few more nights of needing to sleep with Gray, Alyssa was finally able to make it through the night in her own bed. She couldn’t believe she’d asked to stay in his bed like a little kid, but she slept so much better. She hated the nightmares and had downplayed the frequency, not wanting him to think she was crazy.

  “I made it all night without a nightmare,” she said in the morning when she came out for breakfast.

  “Good for you.” To her surprise, Grayson seemed disappointed by this.

  She had to admit, at least to herself, that she had missed sleeping in his arms. A few times she thought she felt his lips by her ear, and she felt safe.

  “I’m sorry I bothered you,” she said, embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry about it. If I had a nickel for each time Trent needed to come to my room to snuggle, I wouldn’t need to go to work right now,” he joked it off. “Today’s the day?”

  “Yes. Martin said they would make their decision on Wednesday.”

  “Good luck. I’m sure they’ll pick you. You’re the best choice.”

  “You don’t even know what kind of job I’d do.”

  “Right, but I know you’d be the best at it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I’m going to gym tonight, so I’ll be late.”

  “Okay. I’m making pork chops for dinner.”

  “Sounds good. Have a great day,” he said with a smile.

  “You too.” As he closed the door behind him, she couldn’t help but think the only things missing were the kiss goodbye and the wedding bands.

  They sounded like a married couple. She laughed it off.

  Fortunately, she knew it wasn’t real. Despite the few times she found herself wanting to kiss him, she had held her ground on the just-friends thing.

  She’d had her doubts about their living arrangement, but so far it was working. And if it stopped working because he got too attached, she would be ready to bolt.

  She picked her most professional outfit in case it came down to who looked the part.

  Freddie and Mia greeted her when she got to the office.

  “I’m not sure how to feel today. I mean, I want the best for you, which is for you to get the job. But I want the best for me, which is for you to stay here. You see my dilemma?” Mia frowned.

  “I understand. You know I will only be moving up a few floors. I can still come down here for lunch sometimes.”

  “I’m changing my wish so you’ll get the job and I’ll stop being selfish.” Freddie blew her a kiss and went to his desk.

  “I don’t care what floor you work on. We will still get together for drinks sometimes.”

  “Definitely.” Alyssa only then realized how long it had been since she’d gone out with Mia. She’d been spending all her time with Gray.

  She needed to fix that before he got the wrong idea.

  Alyssa didn’t get the call on Wednesday. She’d tried to gain some distance with Grayson, but he didn’t seem to notice. Instead, he came into her room to talk to her, even sitting on
her bed for an hour while they discussed the guy at his gym who made sex sounds when he lifted weights.

  She didn’t hear anything on Thursday either. And Grayson seemed off that night when he got home. He didn’t sing in the shower, or make any jokes about her getting in the kitchen and making him a pie, like he normally did when it was her night to cook.

  “Bad day?” she asked.

  “Not really.”

  “Do you not like sesame chicken?” she pushed. He’d only eaten one piece with two beers. Not that she was counting.

  “I guess I’m not that hungry.”

  Red flags were going up everywhere. A man who was not hungry was a man with a problem. Everyone knew that.

  She decided to back off, since he didn’t seem to want to talk about it, and because they were only roommates. This meant her responsibility ended with paying the rent, not making him happy. Although she would have tried if she’d known how.

  Then she wondered if this wasn’t about him at all.

  “It’s the job? You heard they hired someone and you don’t want to tell me?” she accused after storming into his room without knocking.

  “No. I haven’t heard anything. I’d tell you. I swear. I told you not to worry about it. They never do anything on time. I doubt you’ll hear anything until next week.” She nodded. It did seem like Martin moved at his own pace. As if he owned the place or something.

  As the night went on, Gray seemed a little better. He wished her a good night as they passed in the hallway.

  She took a deep breath as she got into bed, hoping for another night free of nightmares. As she reached for the light by the bed, there was a knock at the door and her heart rate kicked up.

  “Yeah?” she called.

  Gray poked his head inside.

  “You got a minute? As a friend?” he asked.

  “Okay.” She sat up, making sure the sheet was tucked around all the important parts. “What is it?”

  “I need your advice.”

  “On?”

  “I let this girl move into my apartment. Smokin’ hot. Only we’re supposed to just be friends, which is great and I don’t want to mess it up. The problem is, I hadn’t considered the fact she would be walking around the apartment in shorty shorts and baby tees all the time with no bra. And since I’ve already had amazing sex with her multiple times, I know how great it is. So basically I have a perpetual hard-on so bad I’m light-headed from the lack of blood going to my brain.”