Grace
It took every ounce of strength in my body not to slam the door of Fletcher’s office shut. He more than deserved it, but I doubted my coworkers would see it that way and I wasn’t interested in being involved in office drama. So, I calmly walked to my desk and pretended to focus on my work.
As much as I had enjoyed Fletcher’s jealous fit, I had to admit it was infuriating. I had given myself to him completely and, in return, he had tossed me out like he always did. He had hurt and humiliated me time and time again for no reason other than his vanity. There was no logical explanation why he’d feel entitled to demand answers out of me the way he did.
Adding to my exasperation was the fact that despite what I had led Fletcher to believe, things between Harrington and me weren’t going too great. He was loving, warm, sexy and overall amazing, there was no doubt about that. However, my original reasoning that the lack of spark between us was something I could learn to deal with proved very false.
Despite his seeming perfection and our amazing friendship, sexually Harrington bored me to death. Kissing him was about as exciting as kissing a rock, and every time he tried to take our make out sessions further than first base I literally cringed. His advances were just awkward and uncomfortable.
Deep down, I knew I should break things off already, but he would only be in town for another week or so, and then we’d go our separate ways. Also, as selfish and awful as it may seem, I needed the distraction he provided.
Hating myself for turning into a mini version of Fletcher, I shook my head and forced my mind to focus back on work. Thanks to a million preparations that had to be made for the upcoming charity launch and to some other projects our company was developing, I had a lot to keep me busy.
I had no idea how much time had gone by when the ringing of my cell phone pulled me back to the real world. As I reached for the device, I noticed three things. The first was the time—a quarter past ten at night. The second was that, once again, Fletcher and I were the last two people in the office. And the third was that the caller was Harrington.
With a heavy sigh, I picked up the call. “Hi, Harry.” After some protests from him, I had adapted his old nickname for something a little less embarrassing.
“Hey, babe!” he greeted in his usual chipper tone and with the new pet name he had given me. “I came over to your place, and I’ve been waiting for like an hour, but you’re still not here. I thought we were going out tonight.”
I closed my eyes and silently cursed. I had been so determined to find distractions to pull my brain away from Fletcher that I had completely forgotten about our date. It was official, I had turned into an asshole.
“Oh, my gosh! I’m so sorry,” I started, doing my best to sound truly bummed out as I lied. “I got pulled into a bunch of meetings and had to run a million errands for my boss. I’m still at the office.”
There was a pause, then he said, “Wow, that guy really works you to the bone, doesn’t he?”
“Kind of,” I stated with a chuckle.
After a moment, he asked, “Want me to wait?”
God, no! “Thanks for offering, but I may be here a while.”
Harrington sighed. “I had some cool plans for us tonight, and with my mom’s move this weekend I won’t be able to see you until Monday, so that sucks. But I get it. Your work is important, though, and your boss needs you, so I get it.”
My body was filled with disappointment at his reaction. A part of me hoped that he would get angry. I knew it was crazy, but I wanted him to yell at me and be mad. I wanted anything that would create at least some friction and excitement between us, but it was hopeless. He was too good of a guy—which should be a good thing but wasn’t.
“I’m sorry. We’ll go out for dinner on Monday; it’ll be my treat,” I said in my most honest tone and could almost hear his smile on the other side of the line.
“Okay to dinner, but you’re not paying. I’m the guy, and I insist.”
I laughed at his machoness but didn’t tease him about it. His gentleman side was one of my favorite things about him. “Deal. Happy moving.”
He thanked me, and we hung up. Relieved to be done with that, I rested against my chair and looked across the hall to Fletcher’s office. It was eerily quiet, and he hadn’t called me once the entire afternoon, which was unusual. Worried about him, I quickly got up and crossed the hall.
As per usual, I knocked three times on the times on the door and waited. When no reply came, I opened the door, and my heart started pounding.
Fletcher lay on his desk with an empty bottle of whiskey by his side and one arm hanging off the side. His face was turned to the side and propped over this his computer’s keyboard. His eyes were closed, but he looked more dead than asleep. I quickly walked towards him.
The smell of alcohol as I approached him was the strongest I had ever felt, and it made me sigh. I honestly hated his drinking habits; he was so much better than this. Annoyed and worried in equal measures, I brought my fingers to his neck to feel his pulse and realized he was alive—thank goodness.
Less patient than usual, I nudged him a few times to see if he would wake up, but he didn’t. I did it again, a little harder this time, and still, his eyes didn’t open.
After a heavy sigh, I picked up the phone and called his driver. I explained what was happening and asked him to come help me. As I waited. I closed Fletcher’s computer and then walked over to my desk to close mine and gather my things.
“He’s in bad shape tonight?” Charlie asked as he walked out of the elevator.
I rolled my eyes. “That’s an understatement. For a moment, I thought he was dead.”
“Geez,” was all Charlie said as he walked into Fletcher’s office. I followed right after him.
With practiced ease, the large man propped Fletcher into a sitting position and then brought him to his feet. His eyes fluttered open, and he squinted at Charlie.
“She’s his, but she should be mine,” he mumbled not making any sense.
“That sometimes happens, sir,” Charlie said in his gentle voice as he helped Fletcher out of the room.
I grabbed his briefcase and followed them. Once we were in the elevator, F.letcher’s droopy eyes focused on me. He took a deep breath.
“Gracie,” he said on an exhale. “I remember the last time we were in this elevator.”
His slurred words were intelligible enough to make me blush. As my heart pounded and my lips curled into a smile, I looked at Charlie, and my face fell. What had happened between Fletcher and me in this elevator was a secret that had to remain buried, and his drunkenness was risking everything. To my surprise, however, instead of the reproach I expected to see in the driver’s eyes, I saw nothing but friendly solidarity. I smiled appreciatively at him.
Together, we helped Fletcher to the car, and I climbed in the back with him. I didn’t want Charlie to have to manhandle Fletcher alone, and since I had the key to his apartment, I figured I’d help.
It took fifteen minutes for us to reach Fletcher’s fancy apartment building and then five minutes more for Charlie to help me load him into the elevator. Once we were all settled, I told the driver I’d handle our boss so he could go home. I knew he had a brand-new wife and didn’t want him to miss even more time with her.
By the time I finally opened the door to his penthouse, Fletcher was slurring nonsense, and his face was green. I took him straight to the bathroom and removed his jacket and tie before settling him on the floor in front of the toilet bowl. Seconds later, he started to hurl.
For the next twenty minutes, I took care of him. I wet rags to put on his forehead, flushed the toilet so the smell wouldn’t make me sick as well, helped him brush his teeth and finally took off his clothes before I settled him into his bed. Exhausted but satisfied that he was safe and settled, I covered him with a blanket and turned to walk away.
His cold hand grabbed my wrist, and I turned back around to look at him.
“Grace?” His voice was rough.
I raised a brow. “Yes?”
“Why are you so nice to me?”
The sadness and honesty in his question made me forget the anger I felt towards him and remember why I had fallen in love with him in the first place. Although I knew I shouldn’t, I ran a hand through his messy hair. His tresses felt soft between my fingers like they had on the night we made love.
I sighed and replied honestly. “Because I know you’re not the asshole you try so hard to be.”
A small and very drunken smile curled in his lips. I stood there waiting for him to let go of me so I could go home, but he continued to hold on to me like he was lost at sea and I was his lifeboat.
“Stay with me, Gracie.”
My heart ached with joy and fear. Knowing Fletcher as well as I did, I knew that if I accepted his request and stayed, the next morning would bring nothing but heartbreak for me. However, weak for him as I was, I knew I really had no choice. If he wanted me to stay, I would stay. It was as simple as that.
With heavy breaths, I kicked off my shoes and lay next to him on the bed still in my work dress. Fletcher’s lips curled up into a smile, and he draped an arm around my waist. Within seconds, we were both asleep.
* * *
When I woke up the next morning, I didn’t know where I was. The ceiling was different, the sounds were different, and I wasn’t alone in bed. For a groggy second, I imagined it was Harrington with his arms around me and dread filled my entire body. But then, as my brain started to work, I remembered working late, seeing Fletcher sick on his desk and bringing him home. I also remembered him asking me to stay and my lips curled up into a smile.
I turned my head to the side and saw Fletcher, laying shirtless as he smiled at me. He looked sleepy and hungover, but he was still the most handsome man I had ever seen.
“Good morning,” I greeted.
His smile widened. “It is. You wake up prettier than I imagined.”
The idea that Fletcher had imagined me waking up made weird things to my stomach. The realization that he was being warm and sweet instead of sending me away as he usually did, made my lungs forget how to breathe.
“So, do you,” I replied in the steadiest voice I could muster. “It’s really not fair. Someone who drank and puked as much as you did last night should wake up looking like death, but you seem perfect.”
As soon as that last word was out of my mouth, I regretted saying it.
“Perfect, hmm?” Fletcher asked with a smirk that made him look twenty years younger.
I couldn’t help but smile back. I had no idea who this man was or what he had done to my asshole boss. All I knew was that I liked him—maybe even more than I liked regular Fletcher, and that was saying a bunch.
With an eye roll, I replied, “Yeah, but just in the hair and the not puffy eyes. The rest is pretty ordinary.”
My words made him laugh—laugh! It was the first time I had ever heard the sound in all the four years I had known him. It was a throaty sound that reverberated in my own chest. It was also not the kind of sound you’d expect out of a hungover person.
“How come you’re happy? Your head should be pounding, and you should be whining about the mother of all hangovers right now,” I said without even noticing.
Still with that smile on his lips, Fletcher shrugged and tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. I held my breath.
“My head is pounding, and I am extremely hungover. But I woke up and you were in my bed, Gracie.”
He said those words as if they should make sense to me, but they didn’t. To me, everything about this moment was like a dream, one I wanted to last forever.
In this dream, I was bold. The tenderness and desire in Fletcher’s eyes made me like that, and I felt like I could do anything. I could even lean forward and kiss him.
And so, I did.
I inched my body closer to his, held the back of his neck and pressed my mouth to his. The dream was so real I could feel the softness of his lips against mine and the grittiness of his stubble against the soft skin of my chin. It was heaven.
Then, Fletcher’s hand reached to touch my hip, and his tongue stroked mine and the dream melted away into the most perfect reality.