My tone is a little harsh. I need to get away from him so I don’t do something stupid. Something like push up on my toes and press my lips against his in the middle of the street for anyone to see—including his wife.
“Please, Bridget. After all the help you’ve been, I don’t want you to walk home in the dark. It isn’t safe. I won’t hear of it.”
I throw my hands up in surrender. “Fine,” I say in exasperation.
We walk in silence for a couple of blocks. “What do you think about the idea for the fountain in the middle of the lobby?” Grant asks awkwardly from beside me.
The fountain? Is he serious?
“Um, I’m not sure it’s needed. The hotel is so beautiful and modern looking. A fountain would take away from that and completely throw off the feng shui.”
He looks at me. “Feng shui?”
“Grant, you can’t tell me you don’t know what feng shui is. You own a freaking hotel, for shit’s sake.”
He laughs at my outburst, sidling up beside me so our shoulders are touching and his hand brushes mine. I warm instantly at the slight touch. “Enlighten me.”
“It’s about centering and balance to make an environment pleasing to all,” I scoff. “From the details I saw, that designer of yours doesn’t even have the damn fountain balanced. Besides, fountains are more old-world in my opinion. The hotel has absolutely zero old-world vibe. It wouldn’t go at all. I’m shocked you even considered it.” This conversation is . . . different.
“Interesting,” he muses. “The decorator was Chelsea’s idea. I think you’re right. We need to pass on it.”
There she is. No matter how much I want to avoid her, she creeps in. The muscles in my back tighten. My jaw clamping tight as I grind my teeth.
“Don’t do that,” Grant commands. “Don’t make that face. I’m sorry I even said her fucking name, but you’re right, the idea was ridiculous. I don’t even know why I entertained it.”
I smile to myself. I’m finally being heard by Grant Lancaster, and chosen in some small capacity over her. It’s childish and the very definition of ridiculous, but I can’t help it. When I finally see my apartment, my shoulders sag in relief.
“Well, this is it. Thank you so much for walking me home,” I say lamely.
I lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek. I turn my head and his lips lightly brush over mine.
What the fuck did I just do?
He pulls me into him, deepening the kiss. I sigh into it, needing this more than I realized. Standing here on the curb of my building, I allow myself to melt into him. A moan escapes my mouth and it only fuels him on. We walk backward toward the wall where he pins me in place, bringing his hands up my sides, just below my breast. My knees go weak and I need more. More of his mouth, more of his touches, more of him.
He strokes my breast through my dress, making my nipple pebble and my core tighten. “Bridget, you’re beautiful.”
“Oh, God . . .”
He grabs my leg, placing it around his hip, pressing his erection into my core. I whimper at the feel of him through my clothes. I’m on fire, and the need for release is growing by the second. I’m about to ask him into my apartment when his phone begins to vibrate in his pocket.
I pull myself away, breathing raggedly. I’m pathetic.
“Don’t say a word, Bridget. We both wanted that, and I won’t let you make this awkward.”
“Too late,” I groan.
“No. It doesn’t need to be. Get out of that head of yours.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.”
“Don’t say anything.” Moving a stray hair behind my ear, he leans in and kisses me once more, leaving me speechless. It’s such a tender thing to do. “Go. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.”
I nod, smile, and walk toward my apartment, every doubt from moments ago forgotten by his actions. I’m on cloud nine and I hope the fall is worth it.
Four days.
It’s been four days since the kiss outside Bridget’s apartment. I’ve found that I count my days based on moments with her. It’s fucking stupid for a number of reasons, but I couldn’t care less. For once I feel something other than the typical animosity, regret, and self-loathing.
My phone rings and I answer an unknown number. “Grant Lancaster.”
“Mr. Lancaster, it’s Margret.”
My stomach shifts uneasily at the sound of my daughter’s nanny calling. The woman sounds like shit.
“What number are you calling me from?” I bite out, annoyed that not only is she calling me at the office, but where the hell is she? She better not have taken my daughter somewhere.
“I just got a new phone. I’m running a fever and vomiting. I’m going to have to leave.”
“Why are you calling me? You’re supposed to call Chelsea if you ever need to leave early. Contact her.”
“I can’t get in touch with Mrs. Lancaster, so I’m calling you.”
Fucking Chelsea. She’s probably off causing me more issues. “Did you call her?”
“Yes, but she’s not answering.”
“All right, I’ll get my stuff together and be right there.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lancaster.”
“It’s not your fault. I’ll hurry.”
I hang up without another word. The soft opening is a few weeks away and I have a mountain of things to do. The last thing I need is to quit my day early. I stand and pace my office.
“Everything all right?” Bridget asks from the doorway.
“My babysitter is sick. I have to go home, but I have shit to do.”
“Can your daughter come here?”
“We won’t get anything done here with her.” I get a crazy idea. “Would it be all right with you to work with me from home?” Shit, I didn’t think that through. Having her in my home is a bad idea for so many reasons.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
It’s not, but we don’t have any other options. Bringing Isabella to the office isn’t an option, and we can’t lose a day with the opening approaching. In truth, the only person who would have an issue with it is Chelsea, and she’s the reason we’re in this predicament to begin with, so I don’t give a fuck what she thinks.
“It’s the only option we have. There’s too much to get done and I need you, Bridget.” My eyes penetrate hers, begging, pleading for her to agree.
“Okay.” Her head nods as she contemplates my suggestion. “Sure. I mean, I need to be flexible, right?”
My body relaxes. “Yeah?” I should have known Bridget would rise to the occasion. She’s amazing and I don’t deserve her in my life.
“Let’s go get your daughter.”
She strides out of the room like she’s on a mission, and I watch in awe of the beautiful woman. She’s willing to sacrifice her own comfort to help my daughter. She’s everything Chelsea never was, and in this moment the thought of never truly making her mine causes a stabbing pain in my chest.
My hands are sweating as we walk through the doors of Grant’s home. On the other side of this threshold is his daughter. Oh, God. What the hell am I doing? This is a bad idea. I can’t meet his daughter. I’ve practically been the other woman.
I am. Present tense. I. Am.