“You’re here early,” I hear from across the room. Grant is standing just inside the doorframe. His presence is overpowering in the small space, sucking the oxygen right out of the room.
I shrug. “I figured I should get an early start today.”
“Smart.” His head is inclined as he speaks. “You want coffee?”
Did Grant Lancaster just offer to make me coffee? I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “I’d love a coffee.”
He nods, then walks out the door. A few moments pass before he reappears. This time, he’s holding two mugs with steam curling up from them. I’m surprised when he sits in the chair that fronts my desk, looking relaxed and happy. This is the first time in the few weeks I’ve worked here that he’s come into my office for a purpose other than to stand at the threshold barking orders. A glimmer of hope spreads through me. Have we finally turned a corner? Who would have thought a burger could do this . . . although it was a pretty damn good burger. My lips spread, but I refrain from laughing at my ridiculous inner monologue. He leans forward.
“What are you working on today?”
The warmth of a crimson flush rises up my neck and colors my cheeks. I’m working on something that was never asked of me. Something that could potentially overstep the boundaries of my job. The idea of telling him has my heart racing and the trembling in my hands causes my coffee to slosh. I’ve worked hard and I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished, but what if he thinks it’s dumb?
“I’m compiling a list.”
“A list?”
“Yeah. A list of influencers.”
“What type of influencers?”
I bite my lip. Here goes nothing. “Instagram travel influencers. I’m compiling a record of Instagram profiles that revolve around travel and have over one million followers.”
He bobs his head up and down as though he’s considering what I’m saying. The corner of his lip rises as though he’s impressed. Leaning forward, he places a folder on my desk. I look up and then down at the large stack now sitting in front of me.
“For when you’re done,” he says before walking out the door.
Uh . . . That went well?
Not that I expected some huge show of gratitude for my ingenuity, but I was thinking we’d have a conversation. Something that gave me a chance to explain my idea. I guess at this point I should be glad he didn’t shoot it down.
I look down at the papers he laid in front of me. The stack is overwhelming, but once I open it, it’s really not that bad. I set to work and not even an hour passes before I’m at the end. Truth is, I’m a fast worker. Most people would have taken double the amount of time, but I’m not most. I don’t stop until I get what I want, and right now what I want is to impress Grant Lancaster.
Why?
Pride. I refuse to be seen as a mere temp. I need a glowing recommendation and to do that, I need to wow.
If I’m being honest, it’s also a little self-preservation. I don’t want to be another mistake. I want him to remember me long after I’m gone. It doesn’t matter whether it’s for the kiss or the work, as long as I’m burned into his memory.
I step into his office, standing tall in front of his desk. His eyes lock on mine. Neither one of us says a word. I came in here with the intention of impressing Grant with my work, but in these few moments, something has changed. There’s a shift in the air, and I see something brewing in his eyes. I feel naked under his gaze.
“All done.” The words come out husky. “Anything else I can do for you?”
Grant drags his teeth over his bottom lip again, grinning at something I said. I can’t even dissect what he could find funny because my attention is locked on his lips. He clears his throat, bringing my attention back up to his eyes.
“I didn’t think you’d get through it all.”
I shrug. “I’m good at my job.”
“Bridget, you’re incredible at so many things.”
His words turn my legs into jelly. All the air in my lungs whooshes out of me. This man is so good. So good at his job. So good with his words. So good at making me feel so, so good.
“Thank you,” I whisper back, wanting to reach out and touch him, but knowing better.
His phone rings and our connection is broken.
“I do have more work for you. But it’s not urgent, so take your time with these.” He motions to a stack in front of him.
I grab the new set of papers, then head back to my office. About thirty minutes pass when my phone buzzes.
“Bridget Miller.”
“Hey, Bridget.” Grant’s voice echoes through the earpiece of the phone. The sound of the rasp of his voice has little butterflies taking flight in my belly. “Can you please come to my office? I want to go over some work I’ll need done in the next few weeks before the launch.”
“Okay. I’ll grab a notebook and head your way.”
A few minutes later, I enter with my pad in hand. He furrows his brow, and for a moment I’m afraid I did something wrong. He’s just staring at me, not saying a word. Until he does.
“Look, I . . .” he starts, and I know it’s serious. “About that first time, at the bar—”
I hold up my hand. I don’t look at him—too embarrassed. “No need,” I mutter. My face has grown hot and my hands are shaking slightly as I pretend to write in my notebook. “Don’t worry about it. Honestly, it’s forgotten. I don’t hold it against you, and I don’t think you’re a bad person,” I say without making eye contact. Good, my heart hums in my chest. That’s the first word I think about when I look at him.
“Don’t you dare say sorry,” he hisses, and at the tone of his voice, I force myself to look up at his tormented expression. “I’m the one who should be saying sorry. You had every right to be upset with me.”
“It’s okay,” I promise earnestly. I don’t want to disregard his feelings or his sincere apology, but this isn’t a conversation I’m comfortable having. The memory of being left in that alley is embarrassing no matter how much time has passed.
“It isn’t. I can see it in your eyes, Bridget. Please don’t lie to me.”
“Honestly, Grant, I’d rather not relive that night.” I lower my gaze, hoping he sees how over this conversation I am.
“Bridget—”
My eyes meet his and I hope he hears my next words. “No. Please. Things are good right now. Let’s not make it more complicated.”
He nods. “Fine.”
Yesterday didn’t go well.
Yes, he respected my decision to shelf the conversation of that night, but I can’t help but feel bad. As much as I didn’t want to talk about it, I could tell he really did, so today I’m second-guessing my decision to push the memory to the side. Did I ruin our easy work atmosphere? Will things be stifled and awkward again today?
When I arrived today, Grant wasn’t in his office yet. I decided to grab the items I needed from his office before he got in. Maybe I can buy myself a couple of hours before I have to face him.
I’m in the corner of his office bent over riffling through files when Grant sneaks up behind me. “Bridget,” he calls, causing me to jump a mile.
“Jesus, Grant. You scared the ever-loving shit out of me.”
He chuckles. “Sorry about that. I probably should’ve announced myself in my office.”
“Hardy-har-har.” Relief. That’s what I’m feeling. The fact we’re able to fall right back into this easy conversation makes me happy.
“Could you check in the bottom drawer to see if there’s a file called Access? I can’t find it anywhere,” Grant asks.
I pull the lower drawer open and look through all the files, but it’s not there. “I’m not seeing it,” I say, looking over my shoulder at him. He’s staring at me intently. I know that look. Lust. He likes what he sees, and God if I can help it, but I feel the same damn way every time I look at him. “Um, let me check one more spot,” I say, breaking our stare. This train of thought isn’t healthy for me.
I move a few things around until I spot a misfiled item tucked within another folder. Access. Bingo. I lift the file, but as I do, I notice there’s also a framed photo in the file. I take both out and look up at Grant. He narrows his eyes as he spies what’s in my hand.
“I forgot that was in there,” he states with a hint of sadness.
I look down at the photo. In it, Grant looks much younger and much happier. He’s smiling into the camera, looking carefree. It’s a look he definitely doesn’t wear often anymore. Next to him is a young woman, and in his arms is a little girl.
“Your family?” I ask hesitantly. For as long as I’ve worked here, I’ve never heard of a daughter. I obviously knew about the wife, of course, but not the child. There’s a lot about Grant I don’t know, and right now that thought hurts. We’ve spent so much time together in this office and he hasn’t confided in me at all.
“It was my family. Things aren’t the same as they were then.” His eyes are hard. He almost seems angry.
“Grant—”
“There are parts of my life I’d rather not discuss.”
And there it is. Once more I’m shut out. Suddenly, I feel unsure about everything. The thought sours my stomach, but then my uncertainty is replaced with sheer . . . anger. He’s acting like I snooped or I’m pushing him into sharing. I’m not, dammit, and I’m tired of always feeling awkward and out of place. Fuck this.
“I’m not asking you to share parts you don’t want to share. I stumbled across this because you left it lying around in places I’ve been given access to . . . to do my damn job. It’s not as though I was digging through your personal items.”
“I’m sorry. You’re right. It’s not your fault. I put it there and truly forgot.”
“It’s a nice picture. You look happy in it.” The words come out before I have a chance to think.
He stiffens. “It was a lifetime ago, Bridget. Trust me, you don’t want to know about any of that.”
He’s wrong. I do want to know about him. I don’t know why after everything. I shouldn’t care, but I do.
“You’re wrong, Grant,” I say honestly. “Tell me. Please.”
He stares at me for what feels like a solid minute. “That photo was taken two years after I had a falling out with my family. Chelsea was pretending to be a doting wife. I thought things between us were turning around. She seemed to be obsessed with our daughter.” He huffs. “But it was all a mirage. If I’d look closer, I would’ve seen what was really going on.”
“What was going on?”
“A hostile takeover. Soon after this picture was taken, she suggested we take my family head-on by starting our own luxury brand of hotels. It was all an act to butter me up.”
He starts pacing the room, toying with his watch absently. He looks tortured, and I can’t tell if it’s because of his relationship with Chelsea or the fallout with his family. Perhaps it’s both.
I need to comfort him.
I approach him like one would a wounded animal. Slow and steady. When I reach him, I place my hand on his shoulder, stopping his movements. He turns to look at me.
“I can’t claim to know anything about what happened between you and your family, but I’m sure they miss you too.”
He scoffs. “Not after everything I’ve been a party to.”
What exactly did he do? What’s the hostile takeover that he mentioned? I’m finally starting to get answers, and I don’t want to push too hard, so I switch up tactics. “Starting your own chain of hotels seems like a big undertaking. Was it something you’d thought about doing before?”
I know very little about the Lancaster family, but from what I do know, he would have never needed to start his own. In fact, it would be in direct competition unless he was opening another branch or sister hotel, but that’s not what The L is.
“I always planned on owning and operating my own hotel. It’s my family legacy. It was always supposed to be mine.” His tired eyes pierce mine. “I fucked that all up. I’m not a good man, Bridget.”
His words strike me. After everything that transpired between the two of us in the alley, I would have been inclined to agree at one time, but something tells me not to judge this broken man. There’s something dark and haunting about him. What’s happened to you?
“You’re not a bad person, Grant.”
At the sound of his name, his eyes lift to mine. “You give me too much credit, Bridget. You’re too good for me.”
“No. I’ve done bad things too. We all do. It’s what makes us human. It’s what you do with your life after the mistakes that make you good or bad.”
“How so?”
“Did you learn from your past? Have you atoned? If not, will you?”
“I haven’t done anything but wallow in self-pity and regret. I’ve let time slip through my fingers and I can’t get it back.” He shakes his head. “It’s too late for me.”
“It’s never too late, Grant. You have time to change and make things right. You’re a better person than you’re giving yourself credit for. I know you are.”
“You make me want to be better, Bridget.”
For the first time throughout this conversation, he smiles and it’s a beautiful thing.
“Grant, I . . .”
He moves in close. Too close. “I like my name on your tongue.”
Heat spreads through me at his words. Our shared kiss floods my mind, leaving me warm and tingly all over. Too close.
He extends his hand, palm cupping my cheek affectionately. “What am I going to do with you?” he says huskily.
I sigh into his touch. It feels . . . right.
Our eyes lock in a heated gaze, far too inappropriate to be occurring in his office with the door open, but I couldn’t care less. His touch feels wonderful and I’m reveling in it. Without another thought, I reach up on my tiptoes and bring my lips to his. He pulls me the rest of the way in, smashing our bodies together. His mouth opens, allowing my tongue to enter and meet his. We stand in the middle of his office, lip-locked and embracing, not caring who sees. As much as I want to push this further, I know I can’t.
Pulling away, I try to catch my breath. Grant’s forehead rests against mine. “I can’t infect you with the poison that is my life, Bridget. No matter how fucking hard it’s been to stay at arm’s length, I have to.” He frowns, grabbing my shoulders to keep me in place. “I have to, Bridget,” he huffs. “I have to.”
“Why?”
“My life with Chelsea is complicated, and you’d be smart to keep your distance.”
“What if I don’t want to?” My eyes pierce his. I want him to see how little I care about Chelsea in this moment. If he wants me, if he’ll allow me to be part of his life, I want that. I’m being careless with my heart, I know it, but I can’t stop. There’s something about this man I can’t resist.
“Chelsea would ruin you just as she has me.”
My eyes widen at his words. What could she possibly do? What has she already done?
“What happened, Grant? Tell me what Chelsea has done to you.” His tenderness and open attitude give me the courage to finally ask what’s been on my mind for weeks.
He tenses and pulls his hand away, leaving me cold and desperate to take back the words. He’s closing in on himself and shutting me out again. I feel it as much as I see it. He points at the picture still in my hands.
“Back then, things were easier. She lied, and she lied well. I believed every poisonous word she spoke. I didn’t know what I do now.” He turns away, effectively ending the conversation. I replace the photo in the cabinet, closing the door on all the questions swirling around in my head.
“I think that’s about all I need for today.” The tone of his voice has changed. He sounds angry and distant. This Grant isn’t the same man who stood in front of me moments ago.
“I’ll just grab my things,” I say, picking up my stuff and walking out on the one man I want more than anything.