Lola
THE FACT THAT I woke up an hour early the following morning to get ready for work had nothing to do with stupid Grayson Lockhart. Nothing at all.
Or at least that’s what I kept telling myself as I took extra care and effort on my makeup and hair. I’d worked at KTSW for ten years — ever since graduating from college — and had never once crossed paths with the man… at least not that I’d noticed. But when my alarm went off that morning, all I could think about was how I could potentially run into him, and how, after the embarrassment of walking into a plate-glass wall, I wanted — no, needed to make an impression. Well, a different impression.
I would not be the woman known for walking into walls. That wouldn’t be my legacy, damn it.
I parted my brown hair down the middle and curled it so it hung in wide, glossy curls past my bra strap. My eye shadow was slightly darker than what I did for work, and the contrasting pale lipstick made the smokiness pop. I’d tucked my white satin blouse into a high-waisted black pencil skirt that hugged my curves just enough, but not too much. Four-inch peep-toe Jimmy Choos on my feet completed my armor, and as I studied my somewhat sultry reflection in the mirror of my master bathroom, I felt ready for battle.
I took the elevator down to the lobby of my building and smiled at Maury, the doorman, as I made my way to the exit.
“Morning, Ms. Abbatelli. Would you like me to me hail a cab for you?”
I looked through the glass front of the building and saw that Seattle was having a rare dry morning. The sun was peeking through the clouds, adding to my already cheerful disposition.
“No, thanks, Maury.” I placed a kiss on his weathered cheek, causing the adorable old man to blush. “It’s actually kind of nice outside. I think I’ll walk.”
He looked down at my shoes and lifted a skeptical brow. “You sure about that?”
I laughed as he held the door open for me. “It’s only a few blocks. Believe me, I grew up in heels. That walk in these babies is nothing.” I pointed at my feet. “Have a good day,” I called over my shoulder as I made my way down the steps toward the sidewalk. “Don’t work too hard.”
“You as well, Ms. Abbatelli,” he replied.
The smile was firmly planted on my lips as I made my way the few blocks to my regular Starbucks near Hart Tower. Visions of maiming Grayson Lockhart during our “date” that night had been dancing through my head all morning long. As I joined the line of waiting customers, the grin stretched further while I pictured him being run over by an out-of-control bus that just so happened to have an advertisement for Girl Talk posted across the side of it.
“You know, you really are quite stunning when you smile,” a familiar smooth, velvety voice said into my ear from behind me. “Even if it’s a smile of pure evil.”
I spun around, ready to lay into the cocky bastard, when my breath froze in my lungs.
Sweet Mother of Mary.
Side note: It should be said that I totally flunked out of Catholic school, so most all of my “Sweet Insert-Saint-or-Holy-Deity-Name-Heres” were totally off base. But moving on….
Did the jerk have to be so freaking good-looking?
“Let me guess,” he continued when I remained silent, words having completely failed me at my very first glance, “you were plotting my demise as you waited in line for coffee?”
My brain finally rebooted a few seconds later, after the system failure it received at the sight of Grayson’s purposely mussed hair and the faint stubble that painted his square, masculine jaw. And my God, could the man where the hell out of a suit!
I gave him a side-eye look, one corner of my mouth hitching up in a smirk. “A bus might have been involved,” I admitted, batting my eyelashes coyly.
He placed on large hand on his chest in feigned hurt. Geez, the man was so ripped I could make out the muscle definition through his shirt. “You wound me, Ms. Abbatelli. I expected more creativity from you. A bus? It’s like you’re not even trying.”
The smile vanished from my face at his quick-witted comeback. I couldn’t remember the last time my acid tongue held no effect on the opposite sex. And I didn’t like it.
“Yes, well. It’s still early,” I muttered.
“Ah, I see,” he chuckled, the stupid sound far too appealing for my liking. “I’m sure you’ll come up with something better once you’ve had your coffee.”
I didn’t respond. Not because I preferred giving him the silent treatment, oh no. That would have been understandable. But because the sheer presence of him had me tongue-tied and tangled in knots. The effect he had on me was completely unwelcomed.
Maybe it was because I hadn’t been laid in an embarrassing number of months.
That had to be the reason. That was the only logical excuse for why a man who wasn’t even close to being my type seemed to fry my brain cells. I made a vow to myself to scroll through my little black book as soon as time permitted.
We shuffled further up the line, coming closer to the register, and from the corner of my eye I caught him giving my body a long, sweeping perusal.
“You look quite lovely today, Lola.” His voice was close. So close I felt his breath whisper across my neck.
I told myself that the tremor that shot up my spine was from disgust, not pleasure, as I took a step away and sneered at him. “Careful, Mr. Lockhart. I get the feeling you’re close to treading into sexual harassment territory.”
He actually had the audacity to smile. The handsome jerk-face.
“I assure you, I meant the compliment with the utmost sincerity. There was nothing lascivious about it.”
I frowned as I took in his features, looking closely for any hint of dishonesty but coming up empty.
“Next,” the girl at the register called out, pulling me from my stupor. I stepped up and opened my mouth to relay my order, only to be cut off by the egotistical stupid-head behind me.
Great, he’s fried my brain so badly even my internal insults are embarrassingly adolescent.
“The lady will have a venti nonfat, no-whip white mocha, and I’ll take a grande Americano.” He slapped a twenty on the counter and offered the poor girl a smile that had her swooning on the spot. “Thank you so much,” — I caught his eyes dart to her name tag before landing back on her face — “Cathy.”
“S-sure thing,” she stuttered with a sigh as she grabbed two cups and wrote our orders down. The whole time she pushed buttons on the register to make his change, she gazed at Grayson as if she wanted nothing more in life than for him to put a baby in her.
“I can pay for my own coffee, thank you very much,” I grumbled as we moved out of the way for the next customer.
“I’m very aware of that, Lola,” he said flatly. “Independent woman that you are. But I’m also a gentleman.”
I snorted. Yes, an actual snort, so help me God. “A real gentleman wouldn’t have tried to impregnate that teenage girl behind the counter with his smile.”
Grayson stepped close, the woodsy, spicy scent of his cologne invading my senses and suddenly rendering me speechless. “First of all, I was just offering the girl a smile and a thank-you. It’s called being polite. You really should try it sometime.” I opened my mouth to spit out something nasty but he cut me off. “And secondly, I’m truly flattered you find my smile that disarming.” To prove his point, he grinned at me, and my ovary popped out an egg. Just like that. Smile and pop!
A grin. Just a simple grin and I could feel my nipples hardening behind my bra, my breasts growing heavy as a heady desire I hadn’t felt in… well, ever flooded through me. It took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my breathing under control as he inched even closer.
I don’t know how long we stood there in a silent battle of wills, as if each of us was daring the other to cave first. I couldn’t explain why, but some part of me felt that Grayson knew exactly how he affected me even though I’d done everything I could to hide it.
“Uh… excuse me.” Our heads shot to the side to find a wide-eyed barista staring at us. “Your drinks are ready.”
“Oh….” Grayson gave a small, almost discernable shake of his head, and a tiny voice inside mine cheered at the fact that he seemed just as flustered as I was. It was good to know I still held that kind of power even on mornings when I was feeling off my game. “Thank you,” he said, clearing his throat. Taking the coffees off the ledge, he handed me mine, and I had no choice but to offer him a thank-you as we both wound through the crowd toward the door.
I needed fresh air. I needed to get the hell away from Grayson Lockhart and whatever weird voodoo he had going on that was throwing my entire world off-kilter.
Unfortunately, we were heading in the exact same direction. And he didn’t appear to be nearly as eager to escape as I was.
“Looks like it’s going to rain,” he said conversationally. “I have an umbrella if you’d like to share.”
I gave him a look that said “Poor dumb man thinks he knows everything. How sweet.” “The sun was shining just a few minutes ago, Grayson. I think your meteorology skills are a little off.” I walked a few feet ahead of him just as the sky above miraculously opened up, as though God had dumped a bucket of water on me just to be spiteful.
“You were saying?” Grayson yelled over the thunder crackling across the sky, his voice chock-full of humor as I stood there, being soaked to the bone.
I turned to look back at him, umbrella opened and protecting him from the sudden downpour. “It’s just a little drizzle,” I argued bitterly, never having been one to admit defeat.
“You have many admirable qualities, Ms. Abbatelli,” he started as he closed the distance between us, “but your pride is not one of them. Please, spare us both the unnecessary drama and just get under the damn umbrella. Mother Nature has already proven her point. No use in trying to piss her off further just because you’re feeling a little butthurt.”
My mouth dropped open to argue that I wasn’t feeling “butthurt,” as he so eloquently put it, but the rational side of my brain kicked in, telling me it was pointless. I moved in, only inches apart from Grayson’s warm body as I accepted the protection the umbrella had to offer. We made the rest of the journey to Hart Tower in complete and blessed silence. I’d started the morning on such a positive note, and there I was, not a half hour after leaving my apartment, already wishing for a do-over.
“Morning, Mr. Lockhart,” Bob’s chipper voice echoed off the marble floors of the pristine lobby. “Skies really opened up this morning, didn’t they, sir?”
“That they did, Bob,” Grayson answered, a laugh in his voice that made me want to reach down and yank a chunk of his leg hair out just to hear him scream.
“Ms. Lola?” Bob asked once I was no longer blocked from view by Grayson’s massive body. “Why, you look like a drowned rat, sweetheart. You know better than to leave home without an umbrella, girl. Lucky for you Mr. Lockhart was there.”
“Shut it, Bob,” I bit out sharply, not sounding the least bit pleasant as my unwelcome companion led the way to the elevator banks. To his credit, Grayson was kind enough to hold in his laughter until the door closed, leaving us alone… utterly alone. Where the hell are the rest of the employees? Damn slackers!
“Well,” he said as we started our ascent, “I have to say, I can’t remember when I started a morning off in such a good mood.”
My only response was a low, threatening growl as I watched the red digital numbers begin to climb.
The ding sounded as we grew closer to Grayson’s floor, and it couldn’t have come soon enough, because the bastard who smelled too delicious for words chose that moment to say, “I’m looking forward to listening to your apology later this morning. Make sure you sound genuine. Wouldn’t want Sam to lose his mind.”
I was contemplating punching the smug look right off his pretty face just as the doors slid open to his floor.
“And I’m looking forward to tonight even more,” he leaned in and whispered into my ear in a low, sultry voice before stepping off the elevator. “Have a good day, Ms. Abbatelli.”
He offered me a wink moments before the doors slid closed.