Keep My Heart (Top Shelf Romance Book 7)

by Lex Martin

  She wants company, to talk, to laugh, to forget about all her problems. I want that too.

  That’s all it’s ever going to be though. She’s told me more than once about the dates she’s been on and the guys she’s meeting up with. And not a damn one of them is a country boy with a reputation like mine.

  I think she knows enough about all the shit I’ve been through. The whole damn town does… although, she’s not from Vinings, so I don't think she knows the whole story. Plus, she’s asked about my dating life before. I didn’t give her much, but I told her the same thing I tell every woman. I’m not interested in settling down. Not now. Possibly not ever. I’m pretty certain I told her that on night one.

  Either way, she's ready for the whole nine yards. She had no problem telling me that and making it clear she wasn’t into one-night flings. Although, I’m not sure if she told me that more to remind herself, or to make me keep my distance. If it was the latter, she failed miserably. It only made me want her more. I’m not interested in all that shit she wants though. I’ve hardly got time for myself, let alone a family. But I fucking love flirting with her. Maybe it’s because I know I can’t have her. It’s the challenge.

  “So how’s your day going?” I ask. “Hopefully better than mine.”

  I grab the stool from behind me and pull it closer to her to take a seat. It’s dinner time now, so the evening rush won’t come till later. I’m going to need my energy then.

  “Eh.” Grace makes a cute scrunched up face and takes another drink with her eyes closed tight.

  “That bad, huh?” I ask her with a grin. I love how animated she is, how she wears her emotions on her sleeve. She really is a sweetheart.

  “Yeah, it was rough,” she admits, looking away.

  She puts her glass back down on the bar and lets her fingertips glide along the edge and my smile falls.

  Leaning back on the stool, I stretch and run my hand over my hair. “Sorry your day was shit. You need me to go have a word with your boss?”

  My joke makes her smile at least, but she shakes her head gently with her eyes closed.

  “I don’t think that would help,” she says softly and then focuses those baby blues on me. She has the kind of eyes a man can get lost in. They're a pale blue with tiny golden flecks that lure me in. She jokes, “Least I’m not doing dishes.”

  That’s my girl.

  Her voice is a bit choked up at the end though, which is unusual for her. She’s quick to lift the drink to her lips, I think to try to hide it. She’s been coming in here for a while. I’m getting used to looking forward to her coming in and chatting with me, but the look on her face right now is making my chest hurt for her.

  “You can tell me if you want.” My offer goes unanswered for a moment and I scan the room casually, not putting any pressure on her. Luckily, she starts talking before I meet her baby blues again.

  “I went to the doctor today.” She taps the bar as she talks, staring where her fingers play along it. “My eggs decided to boycott so I can’t have kids.” She takes in a shuddering breath and then rolls her eyes, playing it off and shaking her head. “Well, not the traditional way anyway. And they’ll be expensive as fuck if I do have them.”

  “You alright?” I ask her. I watch the raw vulnerability as it's replaced with a mask of lightheartedness.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just unexpected.” She finally looks me in the eyes as she adds, “I’m gonna start a bill for each one now so they can cover these fertility treatments. They can pay me back after they graduate.” She laughs at her joke, and I let out a huff of a chuckle just to make her feel more at ease. Fuck, it hurts though to see the pain in her eyes.

  “Sorry,” I tell her sincerely. I’ve never even thought about kids. With the bar, I don’t have the time, even if I wanted them.

  “Don’t be. I just got the news, so I’m all flustered, but I will figure it out.”

  “I can imagine.” No I can’t. But I think what I’m saying is comforting.

  A few more guys and a couple come in and take me from her, but I keep my eye on her glass. I'm waiting for it to empty, so I have a reason to get back to her. The beer flows easily as the orders continue to come in. UGA is playing, and most of the bar is rooting for wins, which means Mickey buys the guys in the back a round of shots.

  All the while Grace spins slightly on her stool and occasionally checks her phone. Mostly she just stares directly ahead of her at nothing in particular, a vacant look in her eyes and her lips turned down slightly. It gets busier and busier, but all I want is for her to call me over to her or finish that last bit of her drink.

  I check with her a few times, but she waves me off with a small smile. Each time she’s just as welcoming and tempting as the last. But work calls, stealing me from her and leaving her alone in the bar. Every time I peek up, I see a sadness behind those big blue doe eyes that I don’t like seeing.

  Time passes quickly and before I know it, she’s taking out her clutch and leaving cash on the bar. The second I see her put the money down, I stop pouring the draft beer in my hands and call out to her over the hum of loud voices.

  “You need a ride?”

  She smiles back at me and shakes her head no, but that happiness on her face makes it worth it.

  I slide the beer down to the very end of the bar, forgetting which one of the two men sitting there ordered it, and walk over to check her out. I grab the cash and turn to go to the register, but she tells me to keep the change. She always does.

  “Thank you, sweetheart,” I tell her and watch as she spins in her seat.

  “I bet you call all the ladies sweetheart,” she tells me playfully, but her words are a kick to my gut.

  “Just you,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice chipper and not let on.

  “Yeah, okay,” Grace says as she tries to get off the stool. She seems a little off balance, so I make my way around to her and I’m damn glad I did. She slips off the stool and nearly stumbles. I catch her in my arms and hold her upright as she struggles to slide her small foot back into her heel. Her hands are firm on my forearms until she’s got her balance back.

  “I’m not tipsy, just these heels.” That beautiful blush rises up her chest and into her cheeks as she shakes her head. She tries to play it off, backing out of my embrace. Her lush ass hits the stool behind her, and her hands grip onto it to keep from knocking it over. I can’t help the rough chuckle from vibrating up my chest.

  “You sure you don’t need a ride?” I ask Grace. I know she only had one drink. I know she doesn’t. That doesn’t change the fact that I want to give her a ride.

  “No, I’m fine,” she says. There’s a small smile on her face I can tell she’s trying to fight.

  “I don’t know if I believe you.” I tell her just to fuck with her. I love getting under her skin. “I wouldn’t mind taking you home.”

  I give her a wink as I back away. Leaving her there, steady on her feet, I walk around the counter to get to unloading the boxes that fucking James was supposed to take care of. I look over my shoulder when she doesn’t respond and catch her staring at my ass… again. It takes her a second before she notices my eyes on her.

  Her eyes widen slightly, those beautiful baby blues looking like she knows she got caught. A violent shade of red floods her cheeks as she shakes her head, pulling her hair to one side and starts walking backward.

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” she says playfully. But it’s that very thought that’s keeping her away from me. A woman like her, someone put together, with her life all figured out... She doesn’t date men like me.

  “Have a good night, sweetheart,” I tell her one last time.

  She waves shyly as she leaves me with nothing more than a “you too”.

  Yeah, I’ve made some mistakes in the past. I have a reputation, and I’m sure as shit not looking for the same things she is.

  But I wouldn’t mind knocking boots with my little sweetheart.

  Grace
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  It’s 3 p.m., and I have a thousand things to do at work in only two hours. It’s not going to happen. That’s the bottom line. I push myself back from my desk in my rolling chair and sigh while looking around my cubicle. It’s littered with coffee mugs with motivational phrases, like, ‘I drink coffee and I get shit done’, notepads that have to do lists on them and pens. There are pens everywhere. In coffee cups, on top of to do lists and in the top drawer. Why? Because everyone takes my pens. Just like my mugs, they have cute things on them. My most recent set: keep your hands off my pens. I bought a six pack, I’m already down to four… I think… unless one is tucked in my purse or a drawer.

  I’m in the advertising design department here at L. J. Scott & Co, which supposedly fulfills my need to create. The stack of ads, printed out on thick photography paper, at my right hand can attest to that.

  I went to Rhode Island School of Design for marketing, with a minor in graphic design not realizing how much both subjects would challenge my creativity. I freaking love it. Eventually, I settled in at this graphic design job, choosing it over the other two offers because I like the work done here. It’s as simple as that. Day in and day out I get a different task and a different market to tap into.

  All but one of the checkboxes on my list have been checked off, tick, tick, tick. Just the last one remains: find a hubby and make those babies.

  “Hey! Drinks after work?” a chipper voice calls out from behind me. The pen in my hand lands on my desk when I jolt back to reality. The cat on my screen licking his chops is nearly just as startling. Nothing says, ‘your cat wants this kibble’ like an open mouthed cat ready to devour it.

  I swivel my chair around and find Diane, leaning on the wall between our cubicles. She tilts her blonde head in a come-hither sort of way. She exudes sex appeal and often unbuttons her blouse a bit too low for client orientation which has led to more than a few rumors at the water cooler so to speak. AKA it’s how she wins a number of her jobs.

  Diane started at the company at the same time as I did, and didn’t really give me much of a choice as to whether I would be her friend.

  It was more that she assumed I wanted to go get drinks after work that first day, and I went along with it, why wouldn’t I? I soon found out why. She doesn’t really know limits and boundaries, not with men, not with alcohol and not with personal questions. She’s downright intrusive and cringe worthy when drunk, but I prefer that to sober Diane. Although in either state, she laughs a little too loud and right now I’m just not in the mood. I’m still processing everything from my doctor’s visit. Unfortunately, I have a bad habit of always saying yes. She’s not mean spirited, she’s not a bad person. She’s just… A LOT to take in. And since Ann is on leave for three months, I’ll admit I’m a tad bit lonely.

  “Sure,” I answer, trying not to look at my desk, at the red blinking light on the phone that means I have messages. “That sounds good.” I close my eyes as soon as the words come out of my mouth. I didn’t even think about saying no.

  “Mac's?” she asks, as if we would go anywhere else. I’m not the only one who lusts after Charlie. Diane flirts with him big time, counting down the days till he’s in her bed.

  “Sure,” I say, breathing a small sigh of relief. At least it’s Mac’s.

  “'Kay! See you at five thirty, then.” Her eyes travel down my body. “I hope you brought a change of clothes. I’m planning on the two of us getting handsy with some hotties tonight,” her smile dims as she rolls her eyes and adds beneath her breath, “not going to a friggin' funeral.”

  Boundaries, Diane. My inner voice is snappy with a comeback but I just smile. I will wear whatever the heck I want. Diane’s embarrassment for me will just have to deal with it.

  With that, she steps back and disappears behind the wall of her cubicle.

  I blow out a breath. It wouldn’t be the first time Diane has called dibs on a guy I liked, slept with one of them. Diane’s a little competitive… in everything. Work’s like that, too; she likes to have the biggest and best clients under her purview in sales, often promising customers off-the-wall things and then dropping the whole stack of work in someone else’s lap. She did it to me when I first started… I learned quick to tell her my own workload was full.

  Wheeling my way back to my desk I send up yet another prayer for more women to be hired here or even men, so long as they’re actually social and then glance at my cell phone, which is face down on my desk to keep me from getting distracted. But right now, I need the distraction. The second I click it on I see a message from Jason on Tinder. I open the app and make a face as I scan the message.

  Hey there — you look beautiful. Are you free tonight?

  A tingle runs down my spine as I read it and look at the guy’s pictures. Oh yeah… there is definitely a reason I liked his profile. He’s blond and handsome in the photos, and his profile says he’s looking for a serious commitment.

  I hesitate for only a moment, then type a message in return.

  Thank you! And I am free, actually. What were you thinking? Double checking it to make sure there are no obvious signs that I haven’t dated in practically forever, I send it.

  Sitting a little straighter in my chair I think: maybe tonight won’t be a disaster after all. Back to work I go. Time to be as much of a super woman as I can be in the final hours.

  I have to return a dozen calls. Only one of them gets to me. Criticism is something I can take. I don’t mind it. But when a client treats me like crap, it gets to me. I wish it didn’t, but it gets to me. Sometimes this job is stressful and it’s 100% the clients who lead me down one path, tweaking a design a million ways, and then wanting to trash it. They do it again and again, while deadlines slip by and they don’t seem to have any grasp on what they actually want. I constantly interact with customers who want four more mock-ups than the three I've initially provided, as per their contract with L. J. Scott & Co. I’ll make them a dozen if they need it. If that’s what it takes to ignite a spark, I will do it all day long. But don’t have me do a dozen, choose one to tweak a million times, then another, then another and waste weeks of work not deciding a damn thing and wanting to start from scratch.

  Tapping my nails on the desk I take in steadying breaths and pretend like Anthony from Bike It isn’t going to take every single one of those tweaked designs and use them all. I know we’re expensive and he has commented such a number of times, but the package he chose isn’t for a limitless number of ads and that’s what I think he wants.

  Of course, Diane has promised this client the moon, she had him first before our boss moved him to me, but at half the cost of the creative hours billed so far, which are now supposedly useless.

  “Hey! Got you a coffee!” Tracey’s voice echoes in the small cubicle. Letting out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, I swirl around and thank her. It’s impossible to be mad or sad or anything other than grateful around Tracey, the office personal assistant. Just the sound of her pushing around that cart is enough to lift my spirits.

  “Anything good?” I ask, eyeing her coffee-with-cream skin and sleek, high ponytail. I'm weirdly jealous of Tracey’s consistent good cheer, her youth, and her easy breezy attire. I’m even jealous of the way she wears that pale pink dress probably because she’s obviously naturally skinny. She could be a model and I’ve told her that a million times.

  “Psshh,” she says, grinning as she hands me a cup. “Same thing as usual. A shot in the dark. Coffee, espresso, two creamers, and one Splenda.”

  “Thank you so much,” I say, looking at the tiny puff of steam that escapes my cup. “I seriously need this right now.”

  “I got you,” she says, winking. “You need anything else?”

  A new client? One not from hell? Maybe some new ovaries? I think. But I stay quiet and shake my head. I’ll give this guy another week and if he’s still yanking me around, I have to go to the higher ups. I hate doing that, but I know my limits. There are givers and takers in thi
s world, the givers have to have boundaries, because the takers have none. My mind flashes with an image of Diane and I shut that down with a gulp of hot coffee.

  “Alright. Well I have tons of three-o’clock-slump-coffees to deliver,” she says, backing her cart out of my cubicle. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Have a good night,” I reply, turning back to my desk after saluting her with my cup.

  The smell of the coffee and espresso makes my lips turn upward. Holding onto it with two hands, I take a sip and sigh with fulfillment.

  Sure my job can suck when one client decides to shit on my entire day, but there’s an endless coffee supply. That’s gotta be worth something, right?

  With only an hour left of the work day, I mouse over to Adobe Photoshop, clicking through the six ads I’m working on for other clients, ones that have given me direction I can actually use and ones I don’t think are using me.

  Another message from Jason makes my phone vibrate and I actually feel a hint of excitement. The corners of my lips kick up as I read:

  Have you ever been to The Brick Store Pub in Decatur? They have great drinks, and the food’s good, too.

  I bite my lip with a nervous excitement although it’s quick to dissipate when I think of exchanging a night at Mac’s with Charlie for this new guy. But the new guy is looking for commitment. He’s not the safe ‘never-going-to-want-me-like-that Charlie’ and Decatur isn’t that far away from where I work. I could get there in under an hour, even, assuming that I stop at home first to change. Maybe Diane is right, after all.

  I type back: I haven’t been but that sounds like a plan to me. It’ll have to be around seven, though. Is that alright?

  Before I can even put my phone down, he texts back.

  Great! Let’s say… seven thirty?

  My lips curl upward. Awesome. See you there.

  There’s a nervousness that’s half excitement, half unease that stays with me for the rest of the workday. And why do I keep thinking about Charlie?